An hour passed.
That day, I didn't know that one small mistake would lead me to the coldest place in the entire school — the math teacher's office.
Mr. Aslan's office.
It had been three days since the math assignment was given.
I knew the deadline was today, but somehow I still ignored it.
Not because I couldn't do it, but because… well, I was lazy. Maybe even careless.
I thought, "It's just homework. Worst case, I'll get scolded a little."
When class finally ended, the sound of the bell felt like forgiveness.
Students rushed out of their classrooms, their laughter and footsteps echoing through the hallways.
I was still standing under the flagpole, staring down at my shoes, my heart slowly freezing.
A few of my classmates glanced at me with sympathetic looks as they left, but no one dared to say anything.
Everyone knew: when Mr. Aslan was angry, it was best not to get involved.
And just as I was about to return to class, someone ran toward me.
"Chi!"
It was Rega. His breath was uneven, a bit of sweat on his forehead.
"Mr. Aslan… told you to come to his office. He's waiting."
I turned to him, my heart immediately sinking.
I stared at Rega for a long moment, hoping he was joking.
But his face was far too serious for that.
Even he — the stubborn, carefree one — looked worried.
"Are you serious?" my voice was barely a whisper.
Rega nodded. His eyes… held a mix of pity and caution, like someone about to escort me to an interrogation room.
I walked slowly toward the teachers' room.
Each step echoed down the empty hallway.
Every step brought me closer to something I didn't want to face — but couldn't avoid.
His office was at the end of the corridor.
A small room with frosted glass windows.
An old wooden door with a nameplate that read: "A. Hiems Samudra – Mathematics."
I knocked softly.
"Come in."
His voice carried through the door even though he didn't turn around.
I stepped inside. Closed the door.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was knocking against my ribs.
He didn't waste time.
"You think standing outside for fifty minutes is enough to make you understand responsibility?"
I lowered my head. I didn't know what to say.
"You said you forgot. But forgetting isn't an excuse. It's negligence. Carelessness. Laziness."
Every word struck like an arrow, sharp and precise.
"If you can't handle something as simple as bringing your notebook, how do you plan to handle your own life later?"
My heart sank.
His words were sharp — too sharp.
I knew he probably didn't mean to hurt me, but they still did.
"I gave you three days. And you still didn't do it."
I wanted to speak. To explain.
But nothing came out except silence.
And maybe… that was better.
Because whatever I said would sound like an excuse —
and excuses always sounded like desperate justifications.
He didn't speak again.
Just looked at me — that cold, steady stare that pressed down harder than any scolding could.
I hated that look.
It made me feel like I wasn't a person, just an interruption in his perfectly ordered world.
Then he stood and walked slowly toward me.
"When you forget, it means you placed this at the very bottom of your priorities. It means you're telling me, 'I don't value your time.' Isn't that right?"
"No, sir, I—"
"But that's what you did."
I lowered my head.
He still stood tall before me — calm, composed, but his presence cut through the air like a blade.
Then, in a quiet but piercing voice, he continued:
"You're not a genius. But you're not a complete slacker either. You're somewhere in the middle — the danger zone. The place where people pretend to try, but never truly move."
He paused. "Do you know what happens to people like that?"
I swallowed hard, too afraid to answer.
"They become a burden. Wherever they go."
I held my breath. My chest tightened. My eyes burned.
But I couldn't talk back.
Couldn't explain that I was just human — that I forget things sometimes because I'm… yes, careless. Stupid. Too dismissive of everything.
Even his assignment.
"You think you can survive in this world with that kind of attitude?" he continued. "Homework isn't about numbers. It's about discipline. When you start neglecting small things, you'll fail at the big ones. And the world won't care. The world will crush you until you mean nothing."
All I could do was lower my head. Silent. Swallowing my embarrassment.
He turned around. His eyes were still sharp, but there was something behind them. Not anger—something closer to disappointment.
"You're an average student. Not bad, but not remarkable either. If you don't start taking responsibility for even a single sheet of homework, then you'll remain… ordinary. Forever."
His words hit harder than any shout could have. And somehow, it hurt because it was true.
"And if you keep being like this, you'll grow up into an adult who ignores important things just because you think they don't matter."
I bit my lip. I wanted to cry—but not in front of him. Not now.
He sighed, then walked toward the window, looking outside. His voice came again after a few seconds.
"You think I'm angry just because you didn't do your homework?"
I slowly looked up at him. "Isn't that the reason, sir?"
He looked at me more softly now, though his gaze was still sharp.
"I'm angry because you have potential, but you treat your own ability like a toy. You know you can do better than this."
I could only stay quiet, not knowing what to say.
Then he sat back down and looked straight at me from his chair. "Two options. You redo this assignment now, or you stand under the flagpole for two hours while everyone else eats lunch and watches you."
I didn't think twice. "I'll do the assignment, sir."
"Good." He gave me one last look. "And if you still don't take it seriously, I'll personally walk you to that flagpole. Understood?"
I nodded quickly and stepped forward, staring at the sheet of paper like it was a death sentence. Then I sat at a desk near his. My eyes lingered on the paper for a long moment—until I could almost see the numbers dancing mockingly on it.
The first three questions were already enough to make me want to faint. The fourth? I had no idea what language that even was. And the fifth… just looking at it made my eyes water. Five questions—long, complicated, and merciless. And Arvin wasn't here to help me.
My brain froze. I couldn't think. My stomach growled, twisting painfully.
Only then did I realize—I hadn't eaten anything since morning, and lunch break had been wasted standing under the flagpole, burning in embarrassment.
If only Sasha were here… She would've scolded me for leaving the house without breakfast. She would've rescued me—or more accurately, dragged me to the nearest food stall and forced me to eat two plates of rice or stuffed me with a chicken sandwich or an emergency onigiri from her bag before daring to face "Mr. Ice Skull," as she secretly called Aslan.
Without Sasha… without Arvin… without Anira's calm gaze or Mika's quiet presence—I felt like I'd lost my shield against the cruelty of the world. Especially the world that belonged to Aslan.
"If you can let yourself fail just because you forgot something, maybe you need to learn what it means to live like a responsible human being."
His voice was low, sharp, full of weight.
And it made me feel even smaller. Even more insignificant.
I lowered my head further, staring at the first problem. The ticking clock was the only rhythm in the room—alongside Aslan's steady breathing across the desk.
I gripped my pen tightly, though my hands trembled.
One number after another, I began to write—even if half of it was wild guessing. Every mark felt like an act of survival in a storm. It didn't feel fair. But I knew—in Aslan's world, fairness wasn't about feelings. It was about discipline and consequence.
And even though his words had wounded me…
Some small part of me wanted to prove something to him.
That I wasn't weak.
That I could do it—even if it hurt.
----------------
The ticking of the clock on the wall was unbearably loud.
"Tick. Tick. Tick."
Every second felt like another weight pressing down on my shoulders.
I tried reading question number three for the fourth time, but the numbers on the page seemed to move on their own. My eyes watered—not from sadness, but from hunger.
My stomach was empty.
I had answered the first two questions with a little confidence, though still unsure. But the last three? My scribbles could barely be called effort. The numbers were a chaotic puzzle, and the letters x and y felt like my natural enemies today.
Eventually, my hand gave up. I set my pencil down, stared blankly at the desk, let out a quiet sigh, and stood up in defeat, placing the paper on his desk.
Mr. Aslan looked at the answer sheet without a trace of emotion. Then, in a flat tone—devoid of even a hint of pity or sympathy—he said,
"You didn't even try."
I bit my lip.
"Two correct," his baritone voice came again, steady and cold.
"The rest… if this is what you call effort, then we need to redefine that word."
I tried to stay still, to not react.
But my face was burning—not from anger, but from shame. I wanted to come up with an excuse, but I knew, in front of Mr. Aslan, excuses were no longer valid currency.
"Halfhearted work is worse than doing nothing," he said, his gaze unwavering. "Because it means you know you've failed, but you didn't try to fix it. You close your eyes and hope no one sees how bad it is."
I clenched my hands. I wanted to explain. To scream, "I'm just hungry! I'm exhausted! I did try!"
But nothing came out. Only silence and air.
And he didn't know. He didn't know that my brain had stopped working because my stomach was empty.
He didn't know that today began with hunger and humiliation.
He didn't know what it felt like—to be me.
I gritted my teeth, finally forcing myself to speak.
"I'm sorry, sir…" my voice was small. "It's not that I didn't want to try, it's just… I—"
My words faded. Because trying to explain everything… felt useless.
Mr. Aslan looked at me for a long moment. Then he stood and walked slowly toward the small cabinet in the corner of the room. Without a word, he opened a drawer… and placed something on the desk.
A sausage bun wrapped in plastic.
My eyes widened.
He didn't look at me as he said,
"If you're hungry, eat. But next time, make sure that's not your excuse for not trying."
I… didn't know what to say.
My hands trembled as I picked up the bread—not because of the food itself, but because Mr. Aslan, the cold, feared teacher known as the student grinder, had just realized… that I was hungry.
And for the first time, I saw a side of him not everyone knew existed.
"Your eyes are tired, your focus scattered, and your hands have been shaking since you walked in," he continued. "Did you even have breakfast this morning?"
I opened my mouth, hesitated, then shook my head.
He stared at me for a moment. "Five extra questions."
His hand moved quickly, writing on a fresh sheet of paper. Number after number appeared with terrifying precision, as if he were etching an eternal punishment. Then he handed the paper to me.
"Do it at home. Deadline: today."
I looked up, startled. "T-today?"
"Yes. And deliver it to my house personally."
My eyes widened.
"The address is across from your house," he said flatly.
Suddenly, everything made sense… and at the same time, didn't.
His look when we first met. His cold attitude. That "don't-come-near-me" aura strong enough to dissolve my cheerful greetings like morning mist.
But for the first time… I realized that his coldness wasn't hatred. It was how he kept distance. How he protected himself—and maybe others too.
"Don't be late," he said before I could ask anything else. "If you dare to delay, I'll make the next set ten questions."
I swallowed hard. I couldn't tell if that was a threat or his strange version of kindness.
I lowered my head. "Thank you, sir…"
He didn't reply. Just sat back down and opened his notebook again as if nothing had happened.
But inside me, something shifted.
I was still hurt. Still embarrassed.
But I also began to understand something:
He wasn't as cruel as he seemed.
He was just strict toward a world that was already harsh.
And maybe… toward himself, too.
It wasn't until I'd taken five steps out of his classroom that I realized I'd been holding my breath the entire time.
That day, I couldn't enjoy the rest of school. After classes ended, I sat at my desk longer than usual. Double the homework, huh? Fine. Because one thing was certain—
I'd rather wrestle with logarithms than face Mr. Aslan's stare again.
----------------
And that was how the day ended.
I went home with trembling hands.
Not just because of the five extra questions in my grasp, but because of the weight that came with them—the suffocating pressure of time.
And on top of that, the fact that I had to deliver the answers to his house.
The house directly across from mine.
The house I'd thought was eerie and uninhabited just a few days ago.
When I got home, my mother was in the kitchen making tea. She greeted me, but I didn't say a word. I went straight to my room, shut the door, and sat at my desk—panicked, starving, and still humiliated.
Five questions.
Two hours.
A head full of shame, frustration, and… whatever else that feeling was.
Maybe for someone else, this would be easy. But for me—whose brain had already jammed since question three, and whose stomach hadn't recovered from hours of emptiness—it felt like climbing a mountain in a thunderstorm.
If only Arvin were here, sitting beside me, explaining each formula and symbol with his patient voice.
But now, I was alone.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh, staring at the paper.
"If I faint in front of his house later, please tell everyone it was all Mr. Aslan's fault."
----------------
After two hours—and a few quiet sobs I tried to hide—the problems were finally done.
The sky had begun to darken when I stood in front of house number 17.
The house across the street from mine.
The house of Aslan Hiems Samudra—my neighbor and math teacher, who somehow made me want to flee to another planet.
I stared at the gray wooden door. No sound. No light through the windows. The house was as silent as its owner.
With hesitation, I knocked.
Tok. Tok.
A few seconds passed.
Then… the door slowly opened.
There he was—Mr. Aslan—still wearing his white shirt and slacks, as if he hadn't changed since school ended.
His gaze was just as cold. But there was something in his eyes—a faint flicker.
Maybe surprise that I'd actually come.
Or maybe… he had known I would.
I handed him the answer sheet quietly. "This is… the extra assignment."
He took it without a word. His eyes lingered on me for a moment. Silence.
Then, out of nowhere, he said,
"You don't have to stand there like a statue. Come in. I'll check it now."
I froze. Completely still.
What?!