Entrepreneur

Rascal moved like a shadow through the dimly lit hallways of the government building. His breathing was controlled, his movements precise—he had practiced this a dozen times in his head, each step calculated. The guards were doing their rounds, but Rascal knew their patterns. He had watched them from the roof for weeks. 

He reached the office without making a sound. The door wasn’t locked; his mentor had made sure of that. Slipping inside, Rascal pulled the folded envelope from his jacket. His fingers trembled slightly as he placed it on the desk—the desk his mentor had described with such precision. It felt strange, wrong even, to leave something so secretive behind. He wasn’t a thief, wasn’t a criminal. But there was no turning back now.

He turned to leave, glancing at the dark hallway outside. All clear. Rascal eased the door shut behind him, the soft click barely audible. Just as he made his way down the corridor, he heard the echo of boots approaching.

His stomach tightened. Security.

He ducked into a darkened alcove, his heart pounding in his chest. The guards were closer now, their voices low, gruff.

“Yeah, shift’s almost over,” one of them muttered, his footsteps heavy.

Rascal held his breath, pressing himself against the cool stone wall. They walked past without a glance in his direction, oblivious to his presence. He waited until their footsteps faded, then slipped back into the hallway.

The exit was just ahead—freedom. 

But as Rascal rounded the corner, he heard the sound of a distant radio crackling to life. “Intruder alert on the third floor. All units, sweep the area.”

The chase had begun.

Rascal cursed under his breath and sprinted toward the stairs. The quiet infiltration was over. He bounded down the steps, taking them two at a time, the sound of his shoes light on the stone. The building's alarms hadn’t gone off yet, but it was only a matter of time. He could hear the guards mobilizing above, their boots thundering as they fanned out to search.

Bursting through a side door, Rascal found himself in a long, narrow alley. His lungs burned as he sprinted through the twisting paths behind the government district, trying to stay ahead of the pursuing footsteps. He knew they would call for backup soon. He needed to disappear, fast.

Up ahead, two guards emerged from a side street, blocking his path. Rascal skidded to a halt, mind racing.

“Don’t move, kid!” one of the guards barked, his hand on the baton at his waist.

But Rascal didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He darted forward, ducking under the guard’s outstretched arm. The man swung his baton in a wide arc, but Rascal twisted, using his slight frame to his advantage. He felt the air rush past his face as the baton missed him by inches. In one fluid motion, he brought his knee up, striking the guard in the gut. The man doubled over with a groan, giving Rascal the opening he needed.

The second guard lunged at him, but Rascal was already moving, a quick step to the side before planting a hard elbow into the man’s ribs. The guard stumbled, but Rascal didn’t stop to finish him off. Instead, he sprinted toward a narrow alley at the edge of the square, the sounds of pursuit growing louder behind him.

The wail of police sirens echoed in the distance. More were coming. He needed a way out, and fast.

His eyes darted around the alley, scanning for an escape route. That’s when he spotted it: a storm drain, tucked beneath a stack of discarded crates. It was narrow, barely large enough for someone to squeeze through, but Rascal had no other choice.

Without hesitation, he slid inside, wincing as the rough metal scraped against his skin. The space was tight, claustrophobic, but he forced himself to keep moving, crawling deeper into the maze of pipes beneath the city.

Above, the guards’ shouts echoed, confused. They hadn’t seen where he’d gone.

He crawled through the drain, water trickling beneath him as he twisted and turned, navigating the network of tunnels. His heart was still racing, his muscles trembling from the exertion, but the further he went, the safer he felt. 

Finally, he emerged into a shadowed alley several streets away, far from the noise of the chase. Rascal wiped the grime from his face, glancing around to make sure no one had followed him. The streets were quiet, empty. He was free.

The Mentor

Hours later, as the first light of dawn painted the horizon, Rascal slipped into his mentor’s office. His clothes were still damp from the storm drain, and his legs ached from the chase, but he was here. He had done it.

His mentor sat behind his desk, the room filled with the soft glow of the morning sun. He didn’t turn as Rascal entered, merely continued sipping his tea, eyes fixed on the skyline outside.

“You’re early,” the mentor said without looking at him. “Impressive.”

Rascal dropped into the chair across from him, exhaustion settling deep into his bones. He had delivered the letter. He had escaped the guards and the police. But still, something gnawed at him.

“I did what you asked,” Rascal began, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I got in, I left the letter... but why?”

The mentor finally turned to face him, his expression calm, unreadable. “Because you needed to learn how to move in this world. Not just how to build something, but how to survive when others want to tear it down.”

“But it’s illegal,” Rascal said, frowning. “I’m not a criminal. I thought you were going to teach me how to be an entrepreneur, how to... I don’t know, succeed the right way.”

The mentor chuckled softly, setting his tea aside. “The right way? And what exactly is that, Rascal? The world isn’t fair. The law isn’t a moral guide. It’s just a set of rules. Some you can follow, others you need to bend. Sometimes, you have to play outside the lines if you want to get ahead.”

Rascal’s hands balled into fists, confusion tightening in his chest. “But you don’t break the law. I’ve watched you—”

“I don’t need to break the law anymore,” the mentor interrupted, standing up and walking over to Rascal. His eyes were sharp, his smile thin. “I understand it. I’ve found the limits, the cracks, the places where the law bends. That’s the real trick, Rascal. You don’t break the rules—you learn how to use them. How to make them work for you.”

Rascal swallowed hard, the weight of his mentor’s words settling in. “So... what now?”

The mentor returned to his desk and pulled out a small slip of paper, handing it to Rascal. “Now you continue learning. You’ve proven you can handle the pressure. This task won’t be as dangerous, but it’s just as important.”

Rascal took the paper, not yet ready to open it. His mind still reeled from the chase, from everything his mentor had just said. He had succeeded, but at what cost?

The mentor’s voice softened as he sat back down. “You’re learning how to thrive, Rascal. Not just how to run a business, but how to navigate a world that doesn’t always play by the rules. Remember that.”

The Struggle

Rascal sat hunched over his desk, a pencil tapping rhythmically against the wood as he stared at his notebook. The tutoring business wasn’t working, and it was gnawing at him. He had set everything up, even started promoting it to students who needed help with their grades. But despite his efforts, no one seemed interested in actually putting in the work.

He had tried every angle—offering lower rates, promising results if they committed to regular sessions. Some students had even signed up, but the follow-through was nonexistent. They missed appointments, forgot their assignments, or just didn’t show up at all. The whole thing was a disaster.

Rascal rubbed his eyes, tired and frustrated. He had expected this to be simple. Teach a few kids, help them improve their grades, and in return, make some easy money. But it was quickly becoming clear that tutoring wasn’t what people wanted. They weren’t interested in learning how to improve; they just wanted the end result. Good grades, without the hassle.

His thoughts drifted to the golf team. His mentor had insisted he join, though Rascal still didn’t understand why. It felt like a distraction, but the more time he spent with the other players, the more he realized they were exactly the kind of people who could afford his services.

That’s why he’d pitched the tutoring idea to them—hoping that the well-connected, wealthy kids would spread the word. He had even framed it as a way to make studying easier, offering sessions at their convenience, promising one-on-one coaching. But it had been a complete flop.

One of the seniors had laughed when Rascal mentioned tutoring after practice. “Yeah, no thanks. Studying’s for try-hards, man. I’ve got better things to do than spend hours with my nose in a book.”

Another kid had shrugged and said, “I don’t need a tutor. I just need to not fail.”

And that’s when it hit Rascal. They didn’t care about studying at all. They didn’t even care about understanding the material. They just wanted to skate by with the least amount of effort. 

Frustrated, Rascal had started wondering if he was doing something wrong. Maybe his approach was off. Maybe he needed to change his marketing or his methods. But no matter how he turned it over in his head, the conclusion was the same: tutoring wasn’t the answer.

But what else was there? 

The Next Meeting

Rascal sat across from his mentor once again, the man’s eyes as sharp as ever, though a hint of amusement seemed to linger in his expression.

“It’s not working,” Rascal said, frustration creeping into his voice. “The tutoring. Nobody wants it. I thought... I thought I could help them, show them how to get better grades by studying. But they don’t care. They just want the easy way out.”

The mentor took a slow sip from his tea, nodding. “And why do you think that is?”

“Because it’s too hard for them,” Rascal said, shaking his head. “They’re lazy.”

“No.” The mentor set his cup down, leaning forward slightly. “Not lazy. People aren’t lazy. They’re practical. They don’t want to waste time on something that doesn’t offer immediate value. What you’re learning, Rascal, is a fundamental truth of business. People will always pay for convenience.”

Rascal frowned. “So... I should just do their work for them?”

The mentor’s smile widened slightly. “Not quite. But you’re on the right track. People don’t necessarily want the process. They want the result. If you can deliver that result without them lifting a finger, they’ll be more than happy to pay you for it.”

“But isn’t that... cheating?”

The mentor’s gaze sharpened, and he raised a finger. “Cheating is a matter of perspective. You’re learning how to meet demand. The key is to ensure that what you provide seems legitimate enough not to raise eyebrows. That’s why you’ve been learning about computer systems, why you’ve been training in discipline. You don’t have to break the rules—you just have to learn how to bend them.”

Rascal sat back, the mentor’s words sinking in. He had been looking at it all wrong. The tutoring wasn’t the point. The grades were the product. The easier he made it for people to get what they wanted, the more willing they’d be to pay.

“So, what’s next?” Rascal asked, already formulating the pieces of his plan.

His mentor’s eyes gleamed. “Now, you start building your network. You’ve got the skills, and you know what people want. Use the connections you’ve made—golf, poker. Build trust, create demand. And when the time comes, you’ll know exactly how to deliver.”

The Business Booms

Rascal stood confidently at the edge of the golf course, watching as the other players chatted, their laughter mixing with the soft sound of golf balls being struck. Over the past few months, he had perfected his pitch—a blend of charm and subtle pressure, delivered at just the right moment. Golf was about more than just the game. It was about connections, trust, and knowing how to read people.

He had learned that well.

When a fellow golfer mentioned struggling with school, Rascal would casually suggest a solution. “You know, if you ever need help with your grades, I can make that happen. No need to waste time with tutoring.”

Most kids didn’t need much convincing. They were smart enough to know that Rascal wasn’t talking about study sessions. His service was discreet, efficient, and, most importantly, effective. In exchange for a fee, he’d adjust their grades, keeping the changes subtle enough not to raise suspicion.

And his poker skills? Those had come in handy too. Rascal had learned to read people in a different way—spotting hesitation, gauging trustworthiness, knowing when to push and when to pull back. Negotiating deals became second nature. He knew who could be squeezed for more money, and who needed a gentler touch.

Martial arts had taught him more than just fighting. The discipline of it, the ability to stay calm under pressure, and perhaps most importantly, how to handle the sting of failure. He had taken his lumps in sparring, learned how to stand back up after being knocked down. And in business, those lessons were just as valuable. No deal was perfect, and setbacks were inevitable. But Rascal didn’t dwell on them. He adapted, adjusted, and moved on.

His business grew, and the money rolled in.

Caught

Everything had been going smoothly, until it wasn’t.

One of the kids—one Rascal had pitched his service to but hadn’t bought in—turned him in. Whether it was jealousy or some misguided sense of righteousness, Rascal didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

He was called into the principal’s office one morning, and the tension in the air was palpable. The principal, a stern woman with a reputation for being fair but unyielding, sat behind her desk, arms crossed.

“Rascal,” she said, her voice low and even. “We’ve been hearing some... concerning things. About your activities.”

Rascal could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His mind raced, searching for a way out, a loophole. But there was none. He was caught, and he knew it.

Still, he remembered his mentor’s words: *Your reputation is your most valuable asset.* 

He could deny everything, try to deflect the blame onto the students who had paid him. But that wasn’t the kind of businessman he wanted to be. If he snitched, word would get out. He’d lose all credibility, and no one would ever trust him again.

“I did it,” Rascal said, his voice steady. “It was all me.”

The principal’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re willing to take full responsibility?”

“Yes,” he replied, standing tall. “I won’t drag anyone else into this.”

There was a long pause, and then the principal sighed. “I appreciate your honesty, Rascal. But this is a serious offense. You’re being expelled, effective immediately.”

Rascal nodded, his face impassive, but inside, a storm raged. Expelled. His future—his entire academic career—gone in an instant. He was left to pack his things and leave, knowing that whatever came next, school wouldn’t be a part of it.

---

The Meeting

Later that day, Rascal found himself back in the familiar office of his mentor. The man was sitting calmly behind his desk, as though he had expected this outcome all along.

“I got expelled,” Rascal said, dropping into the chair opposite him.

The mentor raised an eyebrow but didn’t look surprised. “So I heard.”

“I don’t know what to do now,” Rascal admitted. “My record’s ruined. How am I supposed to get into another school? Or even get a job?”

His mentor leaned back, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re worried about the wrong things. School, a job—they’re not your only options. In fact, they’re not even the best ones for you. You’ve already shown that you can succeed outside the system. And now that you’re out of it, you have the freedom to do what most people never get the chance to: build something on your own.”

Rascal frowned. “But... I got caught. I was doing something unethical.”

The mentor nodded. “Yes. And that’s the real lesson here. You were too easily swayed into doing something you knew wasn’t right. If you want to be truly successful, Rascal, you need to build your own moral code. One that you stick to, no matter what. Because in the end, your reputation isn’t just about not getting caught. It’s about the values you stand for.”

Rascal stared at him, trying to process what he was hearing.

The mentor continued. “But I’m not disappointed in you. Far from it. You’ve learned an important lesson—and now you’ve been forced out of the traditional education system. That’s a good thing.”

“A good thing?” Rascal couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

His mentor’s smile widened. “Absolutely. Do you really want to spend your life as an employee? Following orders? Doing what everyone else does? Now, you’re free from that. You’re going to have to find your own way to success, and that will be far more rewarding than any diploma or job.”

Rascal felt a flicker of hope. “So... what now?”

“Now, we build. But first, you need to think about who you want to be. Not just as a businessman, but as a person. When you know that, the rest will fall into place.”

Rascal nodded slowly, the weight of the day still pressing on him, but a new sense of purpose beginning to form. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but one thing was clear: he was going to shape it on his own terms.