Chapter 4 — Dealer
And thus begins Chapter Four.
Now, children.
There I was.
On the back of the Impulse.
Nyx driving.
Kanyakumari moving around us.
And my brain
creating possibilities.
Because children,
I had never met a weed dealer before.
Not properly.
This was new territory.
And when the brain lacks information,
it fills the empty space with nonsense.
The council nods knowingly.
Version One.
Shady alley.
Some suspicious man leaning against a wall.
Hoodie perhaps.
Hands in pockets.
Looks left.
Looks right.
“You got the money?”
The council squints dramatically.
Version Two.
Sophisticated criminal enterprise.
A man in a suit.
Expensive watch.
Leather briefcase.
Clicks it open.
Rows of weed.
The council pauses.
Why would he have a briefcase?
Children.
I had watched movies.
That was my entire narcotics education.
Version Three.
Weed vending machine.
The council goes silent.
You thought there might be
Children.
Possibilities were endless.
Insert money.
Choose strain.
Dispense agriculture.
Efficient.
The council sighs.
And there were dozens more.
Dark rooms.
Suspicious warehouses.
People whispering in corners.
Maybe a secret password.
Maybe some elaborate exchange.
Maybe Nyx would introduce me to a terrifying underworld figure who had six bodyguards and a knife collection.
Children.
Anything.
Anything except what actually happened.
Eventually
Nyx slowed.
The council leans forward.
We stopped beside
a house.
A normal house.
The council pauses.
Normal?
Painfully normal.
No ominous lighting.
No guards.
No graffiti saying:
ILLEGAL AGRICULTURE SOLD HERE.
Just
house.
The kind of place you could walk past a thousand times
and never wonder what happened inside.
The council becomes suspicious.
Too normal.
Exactly.
I assumed we had stopped somewhere else first.
Perhaps Nyx needed to visit someone.
Perhaps relatives.
Perhaps an errand.
Quest marker temporarily paused.
We walked toward the door.
Nyx knocked.
Children.
No coded rhythm.
No secret handshake.
Just
knock.
The door opened.
A woman.
Mother age.
She saw Nyx.
And her face brightened with recognition.
“Ah, Nyx!
When did you get back to town?”
The council pauses.
That’s
familial.
Exactly.
Not:
Who are you?
Not:
Password?
No suspicious glance.
Just the warm familiarity reserved for a boy who had probably been coming around for years.
Nyx answered.
They spoke.
Easy.
Comfortable.
She invited him in.
And because I had spent most of my life operating under:
Companion enters building.
Nuo enters building.
I followed.
The council nods.
Trust Companion Protocol.
Inside
more normality.
Children.
A living room.
An older man.
Father age.
And a child.
Maybe five.
The council grows increasingly confused.
A child?
Yes.
Small human.
Existing normally.
Probably playing.
Doing whatever five year olds do when strangers interrupt their day.
The older man saw Nyx.
Same reaction.
Recognition.
Warmth.
The kind of greeting where you realize:
Oh.
They know this idiot.
Well.
The council watches Nyx settle in.
And I became more convinced.
Random stop.
Definitely.
Perhaps family friends.
Maybe Nyx had promised his mother he’d visit somebody while home.
Fine.
I sat.
Waited.
Quest marker elsewhere.
Then
conversation.
The council leans forward.
Nyx looked at the older man.
And casually asked:
“How’s the supply right now?”
Silence.
The council slowly turns.
Supply?
The man answered.
“Good.”
Normal voice.
No whisper.
No furtive glance toward the child.
No lowering of volume.
No dramatic criminal atmosphere.
Just
good.
The council blinks.
Nyx continued.
“How’s the quality?”
The man replied.
“Idukki Gold.”
The council pauses.
Children.
Present Nuo understands that phrase.
At the time?
Nothing.
Could have been tea.
Could have been mangoes.
Could have been some award winning variety of banana.
I had no context.
But Nyx?
His eyes widened.
The council notices.
Ah.
So those words meant something.
Something good.
Very good,
apparently.
And slowly
my brain began connecting dots.
Supply.
Quality.
Nyx’s expression.
The quest.
The council gasps.
This is the dealer?
Children.
Yes.
This normal house.
This friendly family.
This father age man sitting beside a five year old.
The woman offering hospitality.
The casual conversation.
This
was the dealer’s house.
The council erupts.
WHERE IS THE ALLEY?
There was no alley.
WHERE IS THE BRIEFCASE?
No briefcase.
THE VENDING MACHINE?
Children.
Tragically absent.
Reality had done what reality so often does.
It refused to resemble cinema.
The great underworld figure of my imagination was apparently someone’s dad
having a perfectly ordinary afternoon at home.
The council laughs.
And while this revelation was rearranging my understanding of how illicit commerce apparently worked
the woman asked:
“Lunch?”
The council pauses.
Children.
Another test.
Nyx politely declined.
“No, thank you.”
The council nods.
Respectful.
Focused.
Disciplined.
He had come for a purpose.
And Nuo?
I said yes.
The council collapses.
Of course.
Children.
In my defense
I was hungry.
Food was offered.
I wanted food.
Do the mathematics.
The equation is nearly insultingly simple.
HUNGER + FREE FOOD = CHOMP.
The council sighs.
Nyx looked at me.
Disappointed.
Not angry.
Just the expression of a man who had brought his young apprentice on an important quest
and watched him immediately become distracted by lunch.
Children.
What did he expect?
I had no weed tolerance yet.
But food tolerance?
Elite.
So I ate.
The Archive does not preserve what.
Rice perhaps.
Something local.
Something homemade.
The details have vanished.
But I remember the essential truth.
I accepted lunch at my first dealer’s house.
The council laughs.
This entire initiation was refusing to be intimidating.
I had imagined whispered deals in dark corners.
Instead
family hospitality.
A child nearby.
Food.
Casual conversation.
Nyx discussing agricultural quality like two men comparing coffee beans.
The council nods.
And eventually,
I finished.
Probably faster than etiquette recommends.
Because the real objective remained alive in my head.
Weed.
The good shit.
Whatever “Idukki Gold” meant.
The council grows quiet.
Did I see the exchange?
Perhaps.
Did I understand every detail?
No.
And children,
the exact mechanics do not matter.
What mattered was that Nyx got what he had come for.
Quest item acquired.
The council opens the inventory.
MYSTERIOUS AGRICULTURE:
ACQUIRED.
QUALITY:
APPARENTLY EXCELLENT.
NUO’S UNDERSTANDING:
ZERO.
Then
we left.
I thanked the family.
Hopefully.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Children.
I had eaten their food.
Even University Nuo possessed some civilization.
Outside
The Impulse.
Nyx mounted.
I climbed behind.
And this time,
the ride back felt different.
Because now I knew.
Somewhere with Nyx
was the thing.
The thing I had annoyed him about for who knows how long.
The thing he had refused to let me try until he could take me home.
The thing apparently worthy of the phrase:
Your first time is sacred.
The council nods.
And its name
or at least the name Nyx had reacted to
Idukki Gold.
Present Nuo hears that and understands why Nyx’s eyes widened.
Story Nuo?
Children.
Story Nuo heard:
premium weed probably.
That was sufficient.
The Impulse started.
Engine alive.
We pulled away from the perfectly normal house of the perfectly normal dealer family.
And off we went.
Back toward Nyx’s abode.
The council looks ahead.
The location of
agricultural onboarding.
Exactly.
Children.
The quest had moved into its final phase.
Not Kanyakumari.
Reached.
Not dealer.
Found.
Not weed.
Acquired.
Now remained only the question that had started this entire road.
What does it feel like?
The council grows quiet.
And somewhere inside younger Nuo,
confidence still survived.
He still carried that stupid little sentence.
How good can it be?
The council sighs.
Soon.
For now,
Nyx drove.
I held on.
The Impulse carried us back through Kanyakumari.
And behind us,
my first imagined image of a drug dealer died forever.
No alley.
No suit.
No vending machine.
Just a normal house,
a nice woman offering lunch,
an older man talking casually with Nyx,
and one very confused college idiot slowly realizing:
Oh.
This is the quest marker.
Thus concludes Chapter Four.
The Imaginary Alley Dealer.
The Weed Briefcase.
The Tragically Nonexistent Vending Machine.
The Normal House.
The Family Hospitality.
The Words “Idukki Gold.”
The Free Lunch.
And The Agricultural Onboarding Yet To Come.
Children.
I travelled to Kanyakumari expecting the criminal underworld.
Instead,
someone’s mother fed me lunch.
The council nods.
Reality remains undefeated.
