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New Chapter – Shadow of Old Wounds
✨ Enjoy reading, and may this chapter draw you deep into Putra's world. ✨
Putra slept soundly that night, his body seemingly craving rest. But that peace didn't last long. A dream returned—one that ripped open old wounds and tore through scars that had never truly healed.
In that dream, he saw fresh blood gushing from his mother's body. Her face pale, her body trembling from unbearable pain, and her faint cries echoing through the final moments of her life. The sight was so vivid, so painfully real—like he was reliving the very moment that shattered his world.
> "NOOOO… MOOOM!!!"
Putra jolted awake with a scream.
The sudden outburst startled Rangga and Cristian, who had been lounging on the upper bunk.
"Bro! What the hell?! You scared the crap outta me!" Rangga shouted, his heart racing.
Normally, if Rangga yelled like that, Putra would snap back with a joke or maybe throw a punch for fun. But this time was different.
When Rangga peered down, his eyes widened. Putra was curled up on his bed, shoulders trembling, tears silently streaming down his face.
Rangga knew exactly what that meant.
Whenever Putra was like this, there was only one reason—his mother. The one wound he could never truly hide.
Without a second thought, Rangga jumped down from the top bunk. "Put! What happened?!" he asked, panicked.
Cristian quickly followed, worry etched across his face.
Putra wiped his tears away, forcing his expression back into its usual calm. "I'm fine," he muttered softly.
Cristian sighed deeply. "Come on, man. We've known you for years. Don't lie to us. When you act like this, something's up."
"Yeah," Rangga added. "You can fool everyone else with that tough-guy act—but not us. Not here."
Rangga sat beside him, eyes filled with concern. "You dreamed about your mom again, didn't you?" he asked gently.
That question broke whatever wall Putra had left. His tears fell again, this time uncontrollably. In front of his two closest friends, the man who always looked unshakable finally broke down.
Rangga and Cristian said nothing. They just sat beside him, patting his shoulder in silent support. They knew—beneath that cold, unbreakable shell, Putra was still a wounded soul.
Minutes passed before Putra finally regained his composure. "I saw it again," he whispered. "That night… the moment everything in my life was taken away."
Cristian looked at him with quiet sympathy. "And now?"
Putra took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Now… we continue. Just like planned."
"What time is it?"
"Eight p.m.," Rangga replied.
"Order me some food. Bread and milk. Heavy meals might mess with my fight later."
Rangga and Cristian nodded, leaving the room. Meanwhile, Putra began his routine—push-ups, sit-ups, stretches—each movement precise and controlled. Sweat poured down his body, as if he was trying to burn his grief away through pain and exhaustion.
When his friends returned, Rangga teased, "Bro, what are you training for, the Olympics? You're drenched!"
"Shut up," Putra grumbled, tossing his sweaty towel straight at him.
They laughed, then sat together, sharing the simple meal as they waited for the match to begin.
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In the prep room, Putra changed into his black boxing shorts and cloak. A menacing mask covered his face, leaving only his mouth exposed.
A staff member entered, informing him it was time.
Putra walked ahead, Rangga and Cristian following behind—both silent, both tense.
In the ring, the MC's voice thundered through the arena, hyping up the crowd. His opponent was introduced first—a tall, dark-skinned man with scars slashed across his face and muscles like a war machine.
The crowd roared as the fighter raised his hands confidently.
Then came the moment they had been waiting for.
> "And now, the reigning champion! The mysterious fighter who's never been defeated—the man behind the terrifying mask! Give it up for… DARKNESS PUTRAAA!!!"
The arena exploded in cheers.
Putra stepped into the ring, removing his cloak calmly. His opponent sneered, mocking him with a thumbs-down gesture.
TINGGGG!
The bell rang. The fight began.
The opponent charged in, throwing blow after brutal blow. Putra barely dodged—some strikes landed, slamming into his ribs, his shoulder, his chest.
Bruises began to form.
Then—BOOM!—a heavy kick sent him sprawling to the ground.
Blood dripped from his mouth. His opponent strutted arrogantly, taunting him.
But then… Putra laughed.
A cold, bone-chilling laugh that froze the entire arena.
He rose to his feet, wiped the blood from his lip, and slowly licked it off his finger.
A twisted grin spread behind his mask.
> "Come on… wake up. It's time to do your job," he whispered under his breath.
For a moment, silence filled the air—
Then the crowd erupted in wild excitement.
They knew what was coming.
This wasn't just another underground match.
Tonight… hell itself was about to begin.
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