The assignment came unusually not from the app, but from Jamal.
“I have to go to a first aid course today,” he said, shouldering his backpack. “Mandatory training. Unpaid. But without the course, I’m not allowed to continue working.”
Leni blinked. “That is… impressively consistently unfair.”
Keks was already sitting expectantly by the door. Education didn’t interest him, but new rooms always smelled of stories.
“Are you coming with me?” Jamal asked.
Leni looked at her phone. No mission. No push notification. A rare moment of digital silence. “Why not,” she said. “Maybe I’ll learn something too. For example, how to revive systems.”
The course took place in a training center that used to be a school. Now a banner hung over the entrance: ‘Lifelong Learning – Invest in yourself’.
“I’m investing myself in here,” Leni murmured. “And getting returns in the form of exhaustion.”
Inside it smelled of whiteboard markers and coffee that had clearly already had a second career. People sat on plastic chairs: caregivers, delivery drivers, security personnel. All with that look that said: I’d rather be somewhere else, but I have to be here.
Keks lay down under Leni’s chair as if he had decided to supervise this educational measure.
The instructor, a man in his mid-fifties with a calm voice, began: “First aid saves lives. No matter who you are.”
Leni raised an eyebrow. “No matter who you are – but not no matter what you earn,” she whispered to Jamal.
The course was good. Really good. Clearly explained. Practical. Serious. And that’s exactly what made it so bitter.
“Knowledge should be free,” Leni said during the break. “Or at least not depend on whether you have time and money left at the same time.”
A woman next to her, a nurse, nodded. “I’m doing this for the third time. Every time in my free time.”
“Why?” Leni asked.
“Because otherwise I don’t get any more shifts.”
She said it so calmly that it was almost worse.
In the second half of the course, it was about resuscitation. Pressing hands. Keeping rhythm. Not stopping.
“You have to keep going,” the instructor said. “Even if you’re tired.”
Leni pressed on the practice dummy and thought: This is an amazingly good image for our society.
Press. Keep going. Don’t ask why you yourself always hold your breath.
Keks watched everything with a serious expression. When it was Jamal’s turn, he demonstratively placed a paw on his shoe as if to say: Don’t forget to breathe.
After the course, there were certificates. A sheet of paper. A stamp. No payment.
“Congratulations,” said the instructor. “You may work again now.”
“Generous,” said Leni.
Outside, Jamal sat down on the stairs. “Do you know what the absurd thing is?”
Leni shook her head.
“I save lives at work. But my own existence is… optional.”
Leni sat down next to him. “The system loves heroes. As long as they’re cheap.”
Keks barked once quietly. No joke. No comment. Just presence.
Finally, a message appeared on Leni’s phone again.
“New mission available. Education discount! Delivery to university.”
“Education discount,” Jamal repeated. “That sounds like a bad sketch.”
They set off. The university was large, modern, full of glass. Students sat on steps, discussing the future, politics, sustainability.
Leni placed the food by a seminar room. Inside, a discussion was going on.
“Performance must pay off,” said a voice.
Leni stopped briefly.
“For whom?” she murmured.
No one heard her. Or maybe they heard her and took it for background noise.
When they were outside again, Jamal said: “Knowledge is there. Skills are there. Good people are there.”
“But justice is paywall content,” Leni added.
They leaned their bikes. Breathed. Watched others move on.
Keks lay down between them, satisfied, as if he understood that thinking is also work.
“You know,” Leni said quietly, “I don’t think the system is broken.”
“But?”
“It works exactly as it’s supposed to. Just not for us.”
Jamal nodded slowly. “Then I guess we have to learn to function differently.”
Above them hung a banner: ‘Education is the key’.
Leni looked up and thought: Yes. But some doors are intentionally heavy.
And while the city kept talking about opportunities, they silently decided not only to learn – but to question, who actually decides what knowledge is worth.