That Morning in Jakarta
That morning, Jakarta had been drizzled with rain since dawn. The air felt more humid, and gray clouds loomed over Dermaga 2 High School like a shadow. But it wasn't just the weather that felt heavy—the atmosphere in class 1-C was thick with something unseen: whispers, glances, and curious stares.
Dimas's loss to Jora during yesterday's basketball match had spread through the entire class—almost the entire school.
It didn't take long. Students who watched the game live had already spread the news through group chats and Instagram stories. Overnight, Jora Nakka transformed from "the new kid from Japan" into "the new kid who humiliated Dimas in front of everyone."
"Seriously? Dimas lost?"
"That Japanese kid was fast. Doesn't look tough, but his moves are scary."
"Hey, I heard he was an athlete in Japan, right? Kickboxing or something?"
Jora sat in his seat as usual, but he knew he was now the center of attention—even if no one said it aloud. Every whisper, every slow head turn, was directed at him.
He didn't look away. His eyes stayed focused on the whiteboard, pretending to take notes in biology. But in his heart, he knew—this victory wouldn't be welcomed by everyone.
And from the corner of the room sat Dimas.
His face was blank. Not a single word had left his mouth since class began. But his eyes were sharp, glaring into Jora's back—filled with pressure and a fire that refused to die.
To Dimas, losing wasn't just about the score. It was a wound to his pride.
And wounds like that… don't just heal on their own.
And Jora knew—someone who loses with pride as strong as Dimas's… wouldn't stay silent for long.
The First Signs
That day, the harassment began subtly. When Jora opened his locker, he found his shoes scribbled on with black marker:
"Weak-ass Japanese, go home!"
In his notebook, the middle pages had been cut out. Even his packed lunch was gone—thrown away, no doubt. But Jora… said nothing.
"You're not gonna tell the teachers?" Arif asked, seeing his ruined shoes.
Jora simply shook his head. "If I report them, they'll only get worse."
Rina, who overheard, clenched her fists. "But you can't just keep quiet, Jora. They're getting out of control!"
Jora shrugged. "I'm used to being underestimated. I just need time. They'll get tired eventually."
But Jora was wrong. They didn't get tired.
In fact, they enjoyed the dirty game more and more.
Psychological Warfare
Over the next three days, Jora became the prime target of Dimas's gang.
Every step he took was followed by mocking comments. In the cafeteria, his chair was pulled before he sat. In the yard, balls were "accidentally" thrown at his head. Even in class, whispers of "nihon freak," "sushi boy," "lost samurai" were constant.
But still, Jora did not react.
Until one afternoon, when the rain poured harder than usual, Jora was asked by a teacher to fetch some lesson folders from the archive room in the old building behind the school.
He walked there calmly, umbrella in hand. But as he stepped into the quiet hallway, three figures emerged from behind a pillar.
Dimas, Andra, and Ferry. All three wore school tracksuit jackets, their faces without a hint of a smile.
"Alone, huh?" Dimas sneered. "No bodyguards today?"
Jora stopped—but didn't respond.
"You think winning once makes you hot shit?" Dimas stepped closer. "Everyone's talking about you. You made me look like a joke in front of the whole school."
Andra nudged Jora's arm. "Hey, say something. Don't just stand there like a temple statue."
Ferry chuckled. "Maybe we should help him talk."
Roughly, Ferry grabbed Jora's collar—but before he could do anything else, Jora slapped his hand away.
"I didn't come looking for trouble. But you're pushing it too far."
"Oh look, now he's teaching us morals," Dimas smirked. "I'm tired of your wise-guy act. Let's settle this right now. You and me. Not on the court. Right here."
An Unavoidable Fight
Jora stared at them. Silent. Rain thundered outside the window. Then, calmly, he took off his school jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
"Alright. But remember one thing."
He looked straight into Dimas's eyes—for the first time showing the fire within him.
"I tried to avoid this. But you've forced me to become someone I left behind."
Dimas laughed. "What are you rambling about? Ready to get wrecked?"
Jora didn't answer. He settled into a stance—quiet, but full of control.
Dimas struck first, aiming a punch at his face. But Jora tilted his head swiftly and caught Dimas's wrist. In one fluid motion, he elbowed Dimas in the ribs.
"UGKH!" Dimas fell to the floor, stunned.
Andra charged next, but Jora sidestepped and swept his leg.
THUD! Andra hit the ground hard.
Ferry threw a punch—but Jora ducked and countered with a straight kick to the chest, sending him crashing into the wall.
Within seconds, all three were down.
They were no match for Jora. His movements were calm, precise. Not wild—but each strike effective and decisive.
Dimas struggled to his feet, groaning.
Jora stepped forward, stopping just inches away.
"Are you satisfied?" he asked quietly. "I won't do this a second time."
Dimas stared—not with anger, but fear. For the first time, his ego was crushed not by shame, but by helplessness.
Jora walked away. Behind him, Dimas remained silent. Not because of the pain—but because of the reality:
He had just been defeated by someone who didn't even get angry.
And that hurt more than any punch.
The Watching Eyes
Meanwhile, from the upper floor of the old building, a pair of eyes had been watching in silence.
Noah stood in the shadows near the window, observing everything from the start. Jora's moves. His precision. His composure. The way he chose silence—until he was forced to explode.
"So that's… your true self," Noah whispered, his voice quiet but cutting.
He opened a small notebook and wrote in neat handwriting:
"Next target: Jora Nakka."
He closed the book, then walked away, vanishing into the empty corridor.
Elsewhere, in a small rented room his father paid for, Jora sat alone, still in his damp uniform. His fists clenched on his knees. His face looked tired, but his eyes remained focused.
He stared into the mirror—not to check for bruises. But to remember who he was.
"I'm no longer Jora the athlete from Japan."
"I'm not just the quiet new kid."
"But I'm not a monster who loves to fight either."
He took a deep breath, then spoke softly—full of resolve:
"I just want a peaceful life… But if this world keeps testing me—I won't run."
Chapter 2 ends here.
But the fire in each of the characters' hearts has only just been lit.
Dimas has lost his dominance—and he won't let it go.
Jora has revealed his hidden side—and now, all eyes are on him.
And Noah… has opened the first page of a plan far beyond mere school fights.
Jora Nakka is no longer just a transfer student.
He's now part of something darker, deeper… and far more dangerous.