Breakfast Table, A Promise of Power
Mornings in the Alister mansion were never truly noisy, but they were always alive in their own way. The soft echo of the servants' footsteps in the halls, the smell of fresh bread just out of the oven, and the quiet sound of porcelain as Una poured tea. She slid the cup toward me without asking—almost as if she knew I needed something warm before I could speak.
Across the table, Jovian was already lounging in his usual carefree way. He grabbed a piece of bread, spread way too much jam on it until it nearly dripped, then pushed it toward me with a half-amused look."Take it. Otherwise, I'll be the only one with a toothache."I accepted, half-drawn in by the silly honesty of his gesture.
Deon sat upright, his tablet glowing with the morning news. Every now and then, he glanced at me to make sure I was actually eating and not just playing with my food. His look wasn't judgmental—it was more like that of an older brother who didn't want his sibling leaving for school on an empty stomach. There was a calmness in his silence.
Effendi came in last, as always. He was never in a hurry, yet he always arrived at the exact right moment, as if his steps followed the rhythm of the house itself. As he passed my chair, he tapped my shoulder lightly—a simple gesture, but one that felt like a promise that I wasn't alone. Only then did he sit, folding his hands on the table.
"There are two things today," he said, his voice steady but heavy, like a stone dropped into water.All attention shifted to him. Even Jovian stopped playing with his bread.
"School," Effendi continued, glancing at me. "And after that, we're going to see an old friend."
I froze mid-bite. "Whose old friend?"
Effendi raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile on his face. "A friend who understands how power works." He paused long enough to make the whole table fall silent. "The right kind of power."
I swallowed slowly, the bread suddenly dry in my throat. In this house, a single sentence could quiet a storm in my head—or spark a thousand questions.
Una glanced at Effendi as if she wanted to say something, but held back. Jovian chuckled under his breath, pretending to be busy with the jam jar. Deon closed his tablet, pushed it aside, and straightened up again—as if he already knew whatever Effendi meant would involve all of us, including me.
I lowered my eyes, distracting myself with tea that was already cooling. But inside, one thing was clear: today wasn't just about school. Today, I was about to be pulled even deeper into the world of the Alisters—a world where the words "old friend" could mean an ally, or an enemy who had never truly disappeared.
A Net in My Hands
In the car, the city streets crawled slowly. The windows reflected the light of the rising morning sun. Deon sat beside me, his hand steady on a small box wrapped in black velvet. He put it in my lap like he was passing down an heirloom, not just an electronic gadget.
I opened it slowly. Inside was a new phone—plain black, no logo, light but cool in my hand—and a tiny memory card.
"What is this?" I asked, though part of me already had a guess.
"It's a net," Deon said calmly, his eyes fixed on the road. "If a snake comes, don't try to catch it with your hands."
I closed the box again. His words were simple, but they kept ringing in my head."A net?" I repeated.
"Davka isn't just a classroom bully. He knows how to humiliate people because he has openings—weak spots he uses to take others down. If you fight back with emotion, you lose before the fight begins. But if you record… if you track his moves… he'll trap himself."
I looked at the phone. It wasn't just a communication device. It felt more like bait."You want me to—spy on him?"
"Not spy," Deon corrected. "Just let him show who he really is. People like Davka can't hold back. He'll bark, he'll bite. You only need to make sure his bite is recorded."
I swallowed. The memory of Davka's triumphant look at the school gate yesterday was still fresh: a look that said he was sure I would fall."And if it works?"
Deon gave a small, cold smile. "We don't need to get our hands dirty. Proof is sharper than a punch. People will see who's rotten. And when he's trapped by his own words, you won't even have to push him."
I stared at the small box, then at Deon."And if it fails?"
He glanced at me, his gaze sharp. "Then you go back to being the kid who runs. And I don't think you want that."
The car engine hummed, but the cabin felt still. I gripped the box tighter. Fear was there, but something else flickered too—an ember of revenge I was trying to control.
"Han," Deon's voice softened, "remember one thing. You're not alone. You have a home. You have us. So don't think this is just about surviving at school. It's about proving you're not a victim. You're part of something bigger."
I nodded slowly. The road ahead seemed to stretch on without end, but for the first time I felt a direction.
At the School Gate
Arka was already standing under the tree near the gate, like he always did, waiting for me. The moment he saw me step out of the car, his eyes narrowed, scanning my clean uniform, my ironed shirt, and the new shoes without holes at the front.
"You've changed," he said, his tone a mix of surprise and relief. Then a small smile appeared. "But you're still you."
I gave him a faint smile. "I thought you'd be mad."
"No," he shook his head lightly. "I'm relieved. You don't look… swallowed by them anymore."
We shared a short laugh, but laughter never lasted long at this school. It quickly died when a familiar shadow appeared at the gate. Davka—always showing up like a bad habit.
"Loser," he greeted with a thin smile. Two of his lackeys trailed half a step behind, pretending they were just "passing by." "Ready to pay up?"
Heads around the gate began to turn. The air tightened.
I stared at him flatly. "Ready. To pay you in shame."
A few students hissed in amusement. Davka gave a short laugh, stepping closer. "You trying to show off?"
I took a breath. "I want to stop. And so should you."
His eyebrow arched. He pointed at himself. "Me? Who do you think you are—"
My hand moved calmly, pulling out my phone. "I counted last night," I said evenly. "Every day you squeeze at least three kids. This past month, around nine million passed through your hands. And this morning… we're recording again."
For a split second, his face froze. He quickly covered it with a strained laugh. "You think anyone will believe you?"
"I don't need everyone to believe," I replied, keeping my voice low but clear. "Just the principal. And… other adults."
Davka narrowed his eyes. "Adults? You mean my father?" His tone was sharp, daring.
I didn't move. From the corner of my eye, I knew many were watching. Kia stood a bit farther back, her gaze fixed on us. On the other side, I noticed the silhouette of Dika Maheswara—our quiet classmate—watching without expression, as if storing something away.
I stepped half forward, keeping a safe distance but drawing an invisible line on the ground. "You mentioned my parents yesterday. Now it's my turn to mention yours? No. I don't want to be like you."
Silence fell, heavy and pressing. My phone stayed lifted.
Then I lowered it slowly. "Choose. Stop today—or we meet in the principal's office, with witnesses."
Davka clicked his tongue loudly, pretending not to care. "Tomorrow, you'll see."
"No. Today." I turned to the students who pretended to fuss with their shoes, bags, or the bulletin board. My voice rose just enough. "If anyone's ever been extorted, send me a message." I knew my number had spread since last night. "Or send it to Arka. We'll gather them."
Arka swallowed hard, nervous, then lifted his chin. "Yes," he said firmly. "Send it to me too."
Whispers burst out immediately. Some faces looked unsure, but others lowered their heads deeply, as if for the first time they felt like they had a choice.
The school bell rang loud, cutting the tension. Students scattered in a rush, pretending what just happened was nothing. But I knew something had shifted. Today, at the school gate, Davka was no longer fully in control.
Inside the Classroom
That morning, class felt different. Usually, as soon as the bell rang, chatter and laughter filled the air. But this time there was a pause—a strange, awkward silence. Students sat down faster than usual, as if waiting for something to happen.
I walked in with Arka and could feel dozens of eyes sneaking quick glances. Not direct stares—just flashes that darted away to the board or a book. But I could feel it: I had become the new center of attention, something they were quietly measuring.
Davka was already at his desk, arms crossed, his face trying to look calm. But the tension in his jaw, the vein at his temple, betrayed him. His two followers sat a little farther away, pretending to read, though their eyes kept flicking toward him, waiting for a signal.
I sat down, placed my bag on the desk, and pulled out my books. My hands moved casually, but inside my chest, everything was pounding.
Azkia Adriani—Kia—entered a few seconds later. She usually sat in the middle rows, but that day she chose a seat closer to me. Her movement seemed casual, but her glance said otherwise: a quick look that meant I saw, I heard.
I gave her a small nod in return, wordless.
The teacher hadn't arrived yet. The room stayed half-quiet, filled only with the rustle of pages and the creak of chairs.
Then Dika Maheswara finally spoke. From his seat in the corner, he looked straight at Davka—not at me. "Hey, Dav," he said flatly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "At the gate earlier… you looked kind of panicked, huh?"
A few students gasped. Some tried to stifle a laugh; others quickly pretended to focus on their notebooks.
Davka scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Dika. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Dika replied lightly, shrugging. "Just… it was obvious. You usually laugh louder."
The tension crept back in. I could see Davka's face tighten, but he couldn't unleash his anger—not with so many eyes watching.
Then Kia spoke up, her voice calm but steady. "I think it's normal to panic… when someone's caught doing something wrong."
Every head turned instantly. It was the first time Kia had spoken out in a moment like this. Her voice wasn't raised, but it carried a weight that split the silence.
Davka shot her a glare, but Kia didn't flinch. She simply opened her book and looked down at the page, as if she hadn't said anything at all.
I let out a slow breath. In the quiet, I realized the "net" we had cast was starting to catch something. Not just data on a phone, but voices—small, steady voices—finally speaking up.
And that morning, before the teacher even walked in, I understood: Davka's power was starting to crack. Not just because of me, but because the class itself—Kia with her clear defiance, Dika with his sharp mockery—had begun to choose a side.
Cracks on the Field
The first break turned the schoolyard into a different kind of stage. Usually, Davka and his gang sat on the canteen steps, the center of orbit—everyone walked past carefully, making sure not to draw their attention. But that afternoon, the orbit shifted.
Arka and I sat on a long bench near the basketball court. The sunlight hit us directly, casting long shadows on the cement. I thought we'd be alone. But one by one, other students began to sit nearby—not openly, just casually taking seats around us, pretending to open their lunch boxes or books.
My phone kept vibrating. Names, amounts, times, places—message after message. Arka sat beside me, writing neatly in his small notebook."You sure about this?" he asked without looking up."I'm tired," I whispered. "Tired of being a step for others."He stopped writing, looked at me seriously. "And if we fall?""Then we fall together."The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Alright. I've been alone for too long anyway."
I took a deep breath. "There's something else.""Tell me.""I'm staying at a new place now," I said. "The Alisters' house."Arka stared at me for a long moment. Not jealous, not scared—just trying to understand. "They treat you well?""In their own way."He smirked. "If they hurt you, I'll be the first one to show up."I laughed softly. "Too late. You always show up first."
My phone buzzed again. A new message appeared:
I'm a victim too. He takes my money every Monday. I have proof.
Arka glanced at the screen, then wrote quickly. His hand shook a little, but his face stayed steady. "Your net… it's starting to catch fish."
From a distance, Davka was watching us. He sat in his usual spot, two followers at his sides. But this time, his stare wasn't arrogant. There was unease in his eyes—like an animal realizing a trap had been set.
Then Dika appeared, holding his water bottle. He stopped right in front of us. "So, your little plan is working?" he asked quietly, his voice flat. But it didn't sound like mockery. More like… a test.
I shrugged. "Got a few names."Dika studied me for a moment, then said, "Good. If there's proof, I can help speak up.""To who?" I asked."To the teachers who can't be bought." A small smile tugged at his lips. "There are still one or two in this school."
Before I could ask more, Kia arrived. She carried her notebook, pretending she was just passing by. But then she stopped and sat beside me without asking."If you need a list of names, I can help," she said while writing something down. "I know enough about who's been targeted."
Arka's mouth fell open. I just stared at her. Kia didn't look up, just kept writing like this was nothing more than class notes. But her words felt heavy: I know enough.
Davka was still watching from afar. But this time, he looked like a stranger in his own school.
And I realized: this wasn't just me against him anymore.It was starting to become us against him.