Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology

Jayamma was surprised by how quickly the boys reached a decision when they came back to speak with her only a few minutes later. She looked toward Zafir for the reply, as she clearly understood the dynamics between the two. Raftaar was more of a carefree guy, talented mainly in athletics, while Zafir was more cautious and handled all the intricacies, with a knack for business.

As she expected, Raftaar kept quiet, and Zafir stepped forward. "Madam, after careful consideration, my brother is willing to accept all three forms of cooperation you mentioned earlier: representing your company during the race, representing it after the race, and, finally, mentioning your company as an advertisement during interviews."

Jayamma looked thoroughly into Zafir’s and Raftaar’s eyes, glancing back and forth several times to ensure there was no hesitation in their words. Both Zafir and Raftaar appeared slightly confused by her intense scrutiny but did not waver, displaying their determination. Jayamma was satisfied with the result.

"That’s an excellent choice." She said as she continued, "Now, I know the match is going to start in another 10 minutes, so let’s finalize the first part of our cooperation: Raftaar will wear our company’s logo on his jersey, in exchange for a certain amount of money."

"Do you agree with the premise?" Jayamma enquired.

Zafir carefully considered the terms once more in his mind and asked, "Does this current cooperation apply only to the 500-meter sprint, or does it cover both the 500 meters and the upcoming 100 meters?"

Jayamma looked at Zafir with a newfound appreciation, impressed by the teenager’s meticulousness. "I’d love for the deal to cover both events. I’ll pay 2,000 Varaha for both races. How does that sound?"

Although Zafir managed to maintain a calm appearance on the outside, he was inwardly shocked by the amount. So far, his brother Raftaar had earned nearly 15,000 Varaha from both events combined—the 100-meter sprint and the 500-meter sprint. But every Varaha had been hard-won, the result of gruelling practice and intense effort. To earn 2,000 Varaha or more, Raftaar had to win the district-level competition held in Ormara and to earn an additional 3,500, Raftaar had to succeed in the state-level championship. Although raftaar had made considerable money, none of it had come easily. Yet here was the woman before him, casually offering 2,000 Varaha just to have her company’s logo on his brother’s jersey.

Zafir, despite understanding how important Raftaar was to the kind old lady, ultimately failed to grasp the full value of that importance. He had been considering asking the old lady for a maximum of 1,500 Varaha for the initial cooperation; now, it seemed he needed to reconsider.

Raftaar was immediately stunned by the amount offered by the kind woman. While he wasn’t fully aware of his own value, he knew he’d have to win two separate taluk-level championships to earn that amount, hence. Unlike Zafir, who hid his reaction, Raftaar immediately showed his excitement, as if ready to agree to the deal on the spot.

Zafir sensed this excitement from his brother and felt annoyed. Fortunately, even though Raftaar was overwhelmed by the large amount, he remained conscious enough to stop himself at the last moment before making a big mistake, casting an apologetic smile toward Zafir.

"Phew!" Zafir rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of relief, feeling grateful that Raftaar managed to hold back just in time. Even though he knew getting the maximum from the old woman was impossible, he could still try to negotiate a better deal.

Jayamma, observing the peculiar dynamic between these two Balochi boys, couldn’t help but feel amused.

Zafir countered, "Madam, the price you have put forward is too low. Two thousand Varaha is equivalent to only 13.4% of my brother’s earnings so far, and that is nowhere near enough to sell his likability to promote your company."

"Let’s raise the price a bit, shall we? Let’s do 4,000 Varaha for the 500-meter sprint event, with an additional 500 Varaha if he gets second place and an additional 1,000 Varaha if he gets first place."

"If he secures second place in the 500-meter sprint event, the base salary of the 100-meter event should increase from 4,000 Varaha to 5,000 Varaha. And if he wins the 500-meter sprint event, then the base salary will increase to 6,000 Varaha. The same rule will apply if he wins the 100-meter sprint event, but the payment will double—meaning 1,000 additional Varaha for second place and 2,000 additional Varaha for first place."

"So, what do you think, madam? I feel like this deal could bring ample benefits to both of us."

Jayamma immediately felt that Zafir was a little less pleasing to the eye than she had anticipated. Although she revealed Raftaar’s commercial value to the Balochi boys out of her own professional courtesy, she hadn’t expected the boy in front of her to grasp the concept so quickly.

’Fortunately, we don’t have any competition,’ she thought to herself, feeling relieved, as she knew the actual value that Raftaar could bring to her was much greater. The money Zafir asked for was not even 30% of what she usually spent on advertising in the *Bharatam Daily*. Now, with less than 30% of that amount, she would gain front-page advertising which was worth tens of thousands of Varaha—what was this, if not a large bargain?

However, despite feeling that the deal was a bargain, she didn’t agree so readily, so as not to seem like she had taken advantage of the boy’s. "I am okay with the step-by-step salary increase according to performance like you mentioned, but the base salary for the 500-meter sprint event will only be 3,000 Varaha, and for the 100-meter race event, the base salary will only be 4,000 Varaha."

Zafir wanted to negotiate further, but she immediately cut him off.

"Son, this is my final offer. Either you accept it, or we can discuss only the second cooperation." Jayamma glanced at the athletes heading to the track. "You don’t have much time, after all."

Zafir was troubled, but he understood that if he missed this opportunity, his brother wouldn’t even get paid the initial 2,000 Varaha. "Deal!" Then, remembering something, he added, "I hope Madame Jayamma will keep to her words after the event."

Jayamma nodded her head, she understood that the boy was worried about her keeping her promise since there was no contract involved due to the urgency. "That is natural; I do have a reputation to uphold, you know. But I hope you will follow the same requirements and don’t raise the price soon after the event." She looked intently into Zafir’s eyes with a hint of warning.

Zafir did not feel anything wrong with that gaze, since he knew that it was actually her who had to be more careful with this deal. But he and his brother were not unethical people; they wouldn’t do something shameful as going back on their words. "So we have a deal then, ma’am"

Finally, Zafir and Jayamma performed a namaskar together, sealing the deal.

Raftaar, seeing the deal coming to a close, was finally relieved.

Just then, the subordinates of Jayamma immediately brought with them a jersey that was identical to his old one in every way, including the numbers, with the only difference being a bold logo of Jayamma Pickles and Co. engraved on its back in vibrant colours that immediately stood out.

Raftaar immediately wore the jersey with excitement and then walked toward the track since his name had just been called by the announcer.

Zafir hurriedly caught up with Raftaar and whispered, "Brother, if you win this race, you will earn 4,000 Varaha—2,000 more than what she originally promised—and if you get second place, then it is 3,500 Varaha. So, keeping this in mind, do your best."

Raftaar was immediately motivated.

___

"Hey, what is that?"

"Odd. Is that the name of a company?"

"Wow! Who came up with such a brilliant idea?"

"Jayamma Pickles and Co? Hey, isn’t it the pickle company that is crazily expanding lately? How did they get in touch with Raftaar?"

"What a lucky boy!"

The jersey of Raftaar immediately attracted the attention of the crowd because of its bright and vibrant colours. Some understood the intent while others thought it was only interesting, but in the end, the name of Jayamma Pickles and Co had been firmly embedded in their minds as intended.

Realizing this, some merchants were suddenly enlightened and cursed themselves for not thinking of such a way of advertisement. They wanted to immediately contact a popular athlete to advertise.

However, unfortunately, the race events had already started, and it was impossible for them to get in touch with the athletes now. Fortunately, there were many more events to come in the future, so all the merchants began to plan ahead.

Vijay, looking at the first sponsorship of an athlete by a brand, was completely stunned. He hadn’t expected the merchants of the empire to realize the economic potential of athletes so quickly. In the end, Vijay was very happy with the turn of events, which could only signify that the sports industry of the Bharatiya Empire would soon become massive with the inflow of money.

’Maybe I should also establish the Ministry of Sports,’ he thought to himself, as the Aikyotsava events were definitely going to leave a very huge impression on the empire.

---

Putting all the chaotic thoughts aside, Raftaar closed his eyes and listened only to the count of the announcer. The only thing he felt was the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the excitement that remained in his heart.

*Clap!*

The athletes immediately took off after hearing the sound of the clap. Raftaar kicked the ground and ran at a fast speed. His initial pickup was slow to avoid burning out before the final push, but sadly, this left him in last place in the pack.

"400 meters!"

Raftaar began to accelerate, catching up in the turn. Utilizing his superior speed and manoeuvrability, he quickly went past numbers 3 and 4, and his position jumped to that of number three.

"300 meters!"

Raftaar once again maintained his pace down the 300-meter straight track. The people he left behind tried their hardest, but unfortunately, they couldn’t catch up.

"200 meters!"

The speed of Raftaar increased once again, shocking a lot of people.

"Woooahhh!"

"Can this guy still run faster? Amazing!"

"Yes! Come on, Raftaar! Let’s go! Let’s go! My bet is on you! Win me a lot of money, you beautiful son of a bixh!"

Even the group of diplomats were not silent, as all of them were on the edge of their seats, looking closely at a single figure who began to display his actual strength for the first time in the competition.

"100 meters!"

"Come on, brother! Kill them all!" Zafir clenched his fist as he said to himself in his heart.

It was the last stretch of the race, a straight line on the track. Raftaar knew that he had to give it his all in order to win, and so he did.

*Grunt!*

The oxygen in his blood was immediately burned up by his muscles; his lungs sucked in air crazily, and blood was continuously pumped to all parts of his body. Raftaar had already turned on the jets.

His speed shot up with a kick of dust. Raftaar was suddenly much faster, so much faster that he began to change his running posture to one suitable for his superior speed.

Raftaar had the goal right in front of him. Even though he knew he couldn’t maintain this speed for long, it was enough for him.

The runners who were previously in first and second place had no chance against him since they had already used up all their energy and had very little left to continue their acceleration.

Raftaar stretched out his chest as wide as he could and finally dove into the finish line.

"Boom!"

There was a momentary silence in the stadium when the Balochi boy successfully dawned on the red finishing tape on his chest while his competitors were down in the dust.

"Woahhhh!"

"Ahhhhh!" Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"Ha ha ha hahahah!"

The thunderous roar erupted from the crowd, and they spontaneously began to jump around in joy. The wooden beam creaked a little, but fortunately, as the BSO had suggested, it had been reinforced with iron plates.

Flowers were thrown immediately onto the ground, and colours were flying all over the stadium. Despite none of it reaching Raftaar, it still left the stadium looking like a colourful piece of art from the sky.

*Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!* Ten to twenty sky shots went off, showcasing a beautiful myriad of colours in the sky, which only heightened the crazy atmosphere in the stadium.

Raftaar continued to run forward while slowing down his pace. His hands remained stretched wide open, not retracting them as he soaked in the atmosphere. Looking around at the flowers and colors thrown toward him, and at the dazzling array of fireworks that were blasted for his victory, he felt intoxicated. He took a deep breath and simply enjoyed himself.

’Ahhh, I might get addicted to this feeling,’ he said to himself as he finally came to a halt after jogging another 500 meters following the race.

*Hug!*

"Well done, brother! You have won! You have fucking won!"

P.S, Alright ill speed up