Jakarta — Next Morning
I woke up to sunlight stabbing through my curtains like it had a personal vendetta against my eyeballs.
For a blissful three seconds, I thought yesterday was a dream. Shadow monster? Magic sword? Mom being secretly badass?
Just a weird nightmare brought on by eating too much indomie before bed.
Then I sat up and caught my reflection in the mirror across the room.
My eyes.
Gray-green, like always. But around the iris, barely visible unless you looked closely—a thin ring of red. Like someone had taken a marker and traced the edges with crimson.
Oh. So that happened.
I stumbled out of bed, legs still unsteady from yesterday's adrenaline crash, and moved closer to the mirror. The red ring was faint. You wouldn't notice it unless you were actively looking. But it was there. Undeniable. Wrong.
I blinked. The red stayed.
Great. Just great. I have anime protagonist eyes now. What's next, a tragic backstory reveal? Wait—
I already had the tragic backstory. Died at twenty. Got reincarnated. Found out supernatural stuff is real and apparently wants to kill me.
Check, check, and check.
"Arthas! Sarapan!" (Arthas! Breakfast!) Mom's voice drifted up from downstairs, sounding way too normal for someone who'd killed a shadow demon with a magic sword less than twelve hours ago.
Right. Normal family breakfast after deeply abnormal supernatural revelation.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
I threw on my glasses—enchanted suppressors, apparently, which explained why they always felt slightly weird—and headed downstairs.
Kitchen — 7:30 AM
Mom was at the stove, making nasi goreng like yesterday hadn't fundamentally altered my understanding of reality. Dad sat at the table reading the newspaper—actual physical newspaper because he's old-school like that—with a cup of coffee steaming beside him.
Perfectly normal domestic scene.
Except I now knew Mom could summon glowing swords and Dad was apparently from some disgraced holy warrior bloodline.
"Morning," I mumbled, sliding into my chair.
"Pagi." (Morning.) Mom set a plate in front of me. Rice, egg, chicken, sambal. My favorite. "Kamu tidur nyenyak?" (Did you sleep well?)
Did I sleep well? Lady, you killed a demon in front of me. I had stress dreams about shadow monsters and glowing blades fighting in a void while I ate popcorn and provided commentary.
"Yeah. Fine."
Dad lowered his newspaper, looking at me over the rim of his reading glasses. His gray-green eyes—same as mine—studied my face carefully.
"We need to talk," he said in English. "After breakfast."
The sudden language switch made me blink. Dad only used English for serious conversations. Or when he didn't want eavesdroppers understanding.
Oh. So it's THAT kind of talk.
I picked at my food, appetite mysteriously absent despite the nasi goreng being objectively delicious. Mom and Dad exchanged one of their silent couple conversations—the kind where entire paragraphs of meaning get transmitted through eye contact alone.
Finally, Dad folded his newspaper with the kind of deliberate precision that meant serious conversation incoming.
"Arthas," he said, still in English. "Your mom explained the Kanzaki family yesterday. The spiritual energy manipulation. Murasame."
I nodded, pushing rice around my plate. My English was decent—growing up with a half-British dad and a mom who insisted on language education meant I'd been bilingual since I could talk. Now I understood why. Secret keeping required it.
"But there's something else you should know." His expression shifted—serious in a way I rarely saw. "About my side. The Wirawans. Or rather... what came before."
Oh no. Please don't tell me I'm double-cursed.
"My father was British," Dad said slowly, each word careful and measured. "From an old family. Very old. They called themselves the Pendrath."
The word hung in the air, heavy with implications I didn't fully understand yet.
"My mother was Indonesian—that's where the Wirawan name comes from. Her family name." He paused, jaw tightening. "When I had to leave England, I came here. To her homeland. Took her name. Tried to disappear."
"What happened to your mom?" I asked. "My grandmother?"
"She passed away when I was young. Before the exile. Before everything fell apart." His expression darkened. "Maybe that was a mercy. She didn't have to see what her husband's family became."
Mom reached over, placing her hand on his. Grounding him.
"The Pendrath family," Dad continued, voice steadier now, "were protectors. Holy warriors. We fought things normal people couldn't see—darkness, corruption, evil, whatever name you want to give it."
"Like... church exorcists?"
"Similar concept, different execution. We weren't bound to any single church. Independent. Our own organization with our own methods." He paused. "Until the war."
"What war?"
"The kind that doesn't make history books because the victors erased it. A conflict between factions over territory, power, ideology. The details aren't important anymore." His hands clenched slightly. "What matters is that my family—our family—refused to participate."
"Why?"
"Because we thought it was wrong. That the cost was too high. That principles mattered more than victory." He smiled bitterly. "Turns out, principles don't count for much when you're on the losing side of a purge."
Mom squeezed his hand. Supporting him through the memory.
"They cast us out," Dad said quietly. "The ones who survived the purge, anyway. Stripped us of status, power, recognition. The Pendrath name became synonymous with traitor. Heretic. Coward." He looked at me directly. "Those who survived scattered. Changed names. Disappeared. I came to Indonesia—to my mother's people—and became Reynard Wirawan. Tried to leave that world behind."
"And then you met Mom."
"And then I met your mother." His expression softened slightly. "Who was also running from her own legacy. We thought we could build something different. A normal life. A normal family."
Mom took over, switching to English as well. "We thought if we stayed away from that world, if we kept our heads down, maybe you could grow up normal. Without the weight of supernatural obligations crushing you."
"But I'm not normal," I said.
"No." Her voice was gentle but firm. "You're not. You carry both bloodlines. Kanzaki soul manipulation and Pendrath holy light. Two systems that should conflict, that should tear you apart from the inside, but somehow..." She trailed off, searching for words.
"Somehow they stabilized," Dad finished. "Merged. You're something new. Something that's never existed before, as far as we know. A combination that shouldn't be possible."
Oh. Great. I'm a supernatural genetic experiment. Fantastic.
"Is that bad?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"We don't know," Mom admitted. "There are no records of this combination. No precedent. You're unprecedented. A question mark."
I stared at my plate. The nasi goreng had gone completely cold. "And the red eyes?"
"Proof that you're awakening," Mom said quietly. "That both bloodlines are activating. The Kanzaki side is more visible right now because it's dominant. But the Pendrath blood is there too. Dormant. Waiting."
"The glasses you gave me when I was six," I said, pieces clicking together. "They weren't just regular glasses."
Mom's expression turned pained. "No. They were enchanted. Designed to suppress your spiritual presence. Slow down the awakening process." Her hands clenched into fists on the table. "I wanted to give you more time. A normal childhood. Just a few more years before everything changed."
"But it's failing."
"Yes."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Traffic outside. The normal world continuing while mine fell apart.
"What happens when the suppression fails completely?" I asked quietly.
Mom and Dad exchanged another glance. The kind that said they'd already discussed this. Already knew the answer. Already dreaded having to tell me.
"You'll either learn to control it," Mom said carefully, each word chosen with precision, "or..." She didn't finish. The implication hung heavy in the air.
Or something bad. Really bad. Got it.
My Room — Late Morning
I sat on my bed, staring at the wall where Murasame hung in its cloth wrapping.
Just a sword. Decoration. Nothing special.
Except it was alive. Aware. Watching me.
"Not yet," it had said in the void.
My phone buzzed. Group chat. I ignored it for now.
Okay. Think. I have power I can't control. Power that's getting stronger. Power that might... do something bad if I don't figure this out.
So... what do I do?
I thought back to my first life. All those late nights reading manga, watching anime clips on YouTube, scrolling through wiki pages at 3 AM because I couldn't sleep.
Meditation. That's always a thing, right? Characters sitting cross-legged, controlling their energy, achieving inner peace and all that spiritual stuff.
Worth a shot, I guess.
I shifted position, crossing my legs. Straightened my back. Closed my eyes.
Okay. Breathe. Focus. Feel the energy or whatever.
Nothing.
I tried harder. Concentrated on... something. My breathing? My heartbeat? The vague concept of "spiritual energy" that I didn't really understand?
Still nothing.
This is stupid. I'm sitting here pretending I know what I'm doing when I have no idea—
And then I felt it.
Warmth.
Not external. Internal. Like a pilot light deep in my chest, small but steady. Constant. Real.
Oh. That's... that's something.
I focused on it. The warmth grew slightly, spreading outward through my limbs. Not uncomfortable. Just... present. Undeniable.
And beneath it, something else. Cooler. Quieter. Like a second flame made of silver light instead of red heat.
Two energies. Kanzaki and Pendrath.
They weren't fighting. They were... coexisting. Circling each other like binary stars, separate but connected. Two forces that should repel but somehow attracted. Balanced.
I tried to reach for them, to pull them closer, to—
Pain.
Sharp and immediate, like touching a hot stove.
My eyes snapped open, gasping. The warmth vanished instantly, leaving behind a dull ache in my chest.
"Ow. Okay. Note to self: don't grab the magic energy without knowing what you're doing."
But it had worked. Sort of. I'd felt it. Both bloodlines. Both powers. Just for a moment.
That's progress, right?
My chest still ached, but beneath the pain was something else. Satisfaction. Understanding. I'd touched something real. Something mine.
I can do this. I just need to learn how.
I sat there for a moment, catching my breath. The ache in my chest was fading but the awareness remained. I'd touched something real. Something mine.
My eyes drifted to the wall. To Murasame.
"So," I said to the wrapped sword. "You felt that, right? You're watching. Always watching."
Silence.
"Any chance you want to explain what 'not yet' means? Or are you the strong silent type?"
More silence.
"Cool. Love a good one-sided conversation." I stood up, stretching. "At least give me a sign if I'm doing something stupid?"
Nothing. Just the faint presence. Watching. Waiting.
"Right. Guess I'm on my own for now."
Kitchen — Lunch Time
I headed downstairs, still slightly dizzy from the meditation attempt. Mom was preparing lunch, but she looked up the moment I entered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Assessing.
"Arthas. Sini sebentar." (Arthas. Come here a moment.)
I walked over. She reached out, placing her hand on my forehead like checking for fever. Her palm was warm, but something else happened—a slight tingle, like static electricity.
"You tried something," she said. Not a question. A statement.
How does she—
"Your spiritual presence is different. Calmer. More contained than it was this morning." She pulled her hand back, studying me with that intense maternal gaze that saw everything. "What did you do?"
"I... tried meditating? Tried to feel the energy you talked about?"
Her eyes widened slightly. "And?"
"I felt it. Both of them. The warm one and the cooler one. They were there, inside me, just... existing together." I rubbed my chest where the ache still lingered. "Then I tried to touch them and it hurt."
Mom was silent for a long moment. Too long.
"Show me your eyes."
I took off my glasses. She studied my face carefully, leaning close.
"The red ring is fainter," she murmured, almost to herself. "Not gone, but... suppressed. Controlled." She looked at me with something between concern and amazement. "Arthas, you shouldn't be able to do that."
"Do what?"
"Self-regulate. Even partially. Without training. Without guidance." She shook her head slowly, like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "It took me months to achieve basic meditation control when I started training at the compound. And I had teachers. Daily instruction. You did it alone in one morning."
"Is that... bad?"
"No. It's—" She paused, searching for words. "It's unprecedented. You're either incredibly lucky, incredibly talented, or..." She trailed off.
"Or what?"
"Or your hybrid bloodline is giving you instincts that normal Kanzaki don't have." She placed both hands on my shoulders, expression serious. "But Arthas, listen to me. Don't try that again without supervision. You could hurt yourself. Destabilize the balance between your bloodlines."
"Okay."
"I'm serious. Promise me."
"I promise."
She pulled me into a brief hug. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I'm proud of you for trying. For taking initiative. But please, be careful."
"I will."
As she turned back to cooking, I caught her muttering under her breath in Japanese: "Hayasugiru… ano koro no jibun mitai… iya, motto hayai kamo." (Too fast… just like me back then… no, maybe even faster.)
She's comparing me to herself. And I'm apparently faster.
Is that good or bad?
School — Two Days Later, Lunch Break
"Lu beneran okay?" (Are you really okay?)
Raka was staring at me with that expression that meant he wasn't buying my bullshit.
We were at lunch, sitting at our usual spot—the bench under the big tree. The five of us crammed together like always, sharing snacks and complaints about teachers.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
"I'm fine," I said for the third time that hour.
"Lu bilang 'I'm fine' sambil keliatan kayak zombie yang belum tidur seminggu." (You say 'I'm fine' while looking like a zombie who hasn't slept in a week.) Raka shoved a pack of chips at me. "Makan. Lu kurus."
"I'm not skinny—"
"MAKAN!"
I took the chips to shut him up.
Lia leaned over, peering at my face with that unsettling intensity she sometimes had. "Arthas-kun, mata lu merah gak sih tadi?" (Arthas-kun, weren't your eyes red earlier?)
I choked on a chip. "What?"
"Di kelas tadi. Pas lu lagi ngantuk. Gue liat sekilas, kayak... merah gitu? Tapi terus normal lagi." (In class earlier. When you were sleepy. I saw briefly, like... red? But then normal again.)
Shit. The suppression is getting weaker. Even the glasses can't hide it fully anymore.
"Lu salah liat kali, Lia," Farhan said without looking up from his phone. "Mungkin refleksi cahaya atau apa." (You probably saw wrong, Lia. Maybe light reflection or something.)
"Tapi gue yakin—" (But I'm sure—)
"Kamu juga kemarin bilang lu liat hantu di toilet. Ternyata cuma sapu." (You also said yesterday you saw a ghost in the bathroom. Turned out to be a broom.) Raka grinned. "Lu gampang kaget, Lia."
"ITU BEDA!" (THAT'S DIFFERENT!)
While they bickered, Dina leaned closer to me. Voice low, just between us.
"Something's wrong, isn't it?"
I looked at her. She was watching me with that quiet, analytical gaze that missed nothing. The same look she'd had since we became friends—always observing, always noticing, never pushing but always knowing.
"Dina—"
"I'm not asking you to tell me everything. I know you can't." She adjusted her glasses. "I just want to know if you're safe. If you're handling whatever this is."
Am I safe? I don't even know anymore.
"I'm... working on it."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. But if you need help. Any kind of help. We're here."
"I know. Thank you."
She smiled slightly, then turned back to the group argument about whether Lia actually saw a ghost or just had terrible eyesight.
But I caught her glancing at me periodically. Checking. Making sure I was still okay.
I'm lucky. In my first life, I had nobody. This time, I have people who actually give a shit.
Don't waste that, Arthas. Whatever happens, don't waste that.
Mall Taman Anggrek — Saturday Afternoon
"GUE MAU YANG INI!" (I WANT THIS ONE!)
Raka was pointing at the largest, most ridiculous boba tea on the menu. The one that was basically 70% sugar and 30% diabetes.
"Lu yakin perut lu kuat?" (You sure your stomach can handle it?) Andi asked mildly.
"GUE ALWAYS KUAT!" (I'M ALWAYS STRONG!)
We were at the mall—our usual weekend hangout spot. The five of us wandering aimlessly between stores, not buying anything, just existing together. Normal teenage stuff.
Normal.
God, I missed normal.
Lia dragged us to a bookstore, immediately gravitating toward the manga section. "ARTHAS-KUN! Lu udah baca yang ini?!" (ARTHAS-KUN! Have you read this one?!)
She held up a shoujo manga with sparkly cover art and a title that was probably about romance and feelings and other things I didn't understand.
Oh no.
"Uh. No?"
"LU HARUS BACA! INI BAGUS BANGET! Characternya deep, plotnya gak cliche, dan—" (YOU HAVE TO READ IT! IT'S SO GOOD! The characters are deep, the plot isn't cliche, and—)
She launched into an enthusiastic summary that somehow involved princes, amnesia, time travel, and magical jewelry. I understood maybe 40% of it.
Raka leaned over, whispering conspiratorially. "Lu suka shoujo?" (You like shoujo?)
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly.
Farhan smirked from behind his phone. "He definitely likes shoujo."
"I don't—"
"Closet shoujo fan. Classic." Dina was trying not to laugh.
I hate all of you.
"For the record," Andi said calmly, flipping through a book, "there's nothing wrong with liking shoujo. It's a valid genre with legitimate storytelling merit."
"THANK YOU, ANDI!" Lia beamed.
We wandered to the arcade next. Raka immediately challenged me to fighting games, which I lost spectacularly because I was distracted by the weird tingling sensation behind my eyes.
Not now. Please not now.
The tingling intensified. I could feel the warmth building, the red threatening to surface.
"Uh, bathroom break," I said quickly.
"Again? Lu kebanyakan minum tadi." (Again? You drank too much earlier.) Raka didn't look away from the screen.
"Yeah. Be right back."
I practically ran to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall. Closed my eyes. Focused on the meditation technique from before.
Breathe. Feel the warmth. Don't fight it. Calm it. Balance it with the cool energy.
The red receded slowly. The tingling faded. My heartbeat returned to normal.
It worked. Thank god it worked.
When I came back, Farhan was watching me with that too-perceptive look.
"Lu okay?" (You okay?)
"Yeah. Just tired."
"Lu always tired lately."
"School's exhausting."
"Mm." He didn't look convinced but didn't push. Just handed me a bottle of water. "Drink. You look dehydrated."
We spent the rest of the afternoon like that—bouncing between stores, sharing fries, arguing about which movie to watch (we never actually watched any), taking stupid photos in the photo booth.
Normal teenage stuff.
For a few hours, I could almost forget about red eyes and shadow monsters and swords that whispered in the void.
Almost.
My House — Sunday Afternoon, One Week After Shadow Attack
"WOOOOAH! Rumah lu gede!" (WOOOOAH! Your house is big!)
Raka was staring at my house like it was a palace. It wasn't. Just a decent-sized two-story house in a quiet neighborhood. But compared to his apartment, I guess it seemed big.
"Gak segede itu juga," I muttered. (It's not that big.)
"Iya, relatif gede," Dina agreed, looking around with her analytical gaze, already cataloging details I probably didn't notice about my own home. (Yeah, relatively big.)
I'd invited them over—partly because we had a group project for school, mostly because I wanted to spend time with them. Normal friend stuff. While I still could.
"Selamat datang!" (Welcome!) Mom appeared from the kitchen, switching to Indonesian with that warm smile she always had for guests. "Kalian temen-temen Arthas, ya? Silakan masuk, jangan malu-malu." (You're Arthas's friends, right? Please come in, don't be shy.)
"Terima kasih, Tante!" (Thank you, Auntie!) Lia bowed enthusiastically.
We settled in the living room. Mom brought out snacks—way too many snacks—and drinks.
"Tante baik banget!" (Auntie is so nice!) Lia was already munching on cookies.
"Makanya, makan yang banyak ya. Arthas jarang ngajak temen-temennya kesini." (That's right, eat plenty. Arthas rarely invites his friends here.) Mom smiled, but her eyes flickered to me briefly. Checking.
I gave her a subtle nod. I'm fine.
She disappeared back into the kitchen, but I knew she was listening. Monitoring. Making sure everything stayed normal.
"Jadi," Raka said, sprawling on the couch like he owned the place. "Project sosiologinya gimana? Gue gak ngerti apa-apa." (So, how about the sociology project? I don't understand anything.)
"That's because you didn't read the assignment," Dina said flatly.
"Gue sibuk!" (I was busy!)
"Sibuk main game." (Busy playing games.)
"GAME ITU PENTING BUAT MENTAL HEALTH!"
While they argued, my eyes drifted to the wall. To the wrapped sword.
Murasame.
For a split second—less than a heartbeat—I swear I felt it pulse. Like a heartbeat that wasn't mine. Watching. Waiting.
"Arthas?" Andi was looking at me. "Lu liat apa?" (You're looking at what?)
"Hm? Oh. Nothing. Just zoning out."
His eyes followed my gaze to the sword. "Itu pedang?" (That's a sword?)
Shit.
"Yeah. Family heirloom. Decoration. Mom's family brought it from Japan."
"Cool." He studied it for a moment longer, and I swear I saw something flicker in his expression. Recognition? Curiosity? But then he turned back to the group. "Anyway, tentang projectnya..." (Anyway, about the project...)
We worked on the project for a while—well, Dina and Andi worked, I helped occasionally, and Raka and Lia mostly distracted everyone with increasingly ridiculous tangents.
Normal. This was normal.
Except Farhan kept glancing at me. And then at the stairs. And then back at me.
"Arthas, toiletnya dimana?" (Arthas, where's the bathroom?) he finally asked.
"Upstairs. First door on the right."
He nodded and headed up.
Five minutes later, he came back down. His expression was carefully neutral, but I knew him well enough to see the questions behind his eyes.
"Lu okay?" I asked quietly when the others were distracted.
"Yeah. Just..." He paused. "Lu punya banyak buku bahasa Jepang di kamar lu. Kayak... a lot. Classical texts, history books, spiritual philosophy stuff." (You have a lot of Japanese books in your room. Like... a lot. Classical texts, history books, spiritual philosophy stuff.)
He saw. Of course he saw. Farhan notices everything.
"Oh. Yeah. Mom's been teaching me more seriously lately. Cultural heritage thing."
"That's a pretty serious collection for 'cultural heritage.'" He looked at me directly. "Something's happening, isn't it? Something you can't talk about yet."
Mom's been teaching me more seriously lately. Classical texts, spiritual philosophy, clan history. She's preparing me for something. I don't know what yet, but it's coming.
"Yeah. Family stuff. Complicated." I met his eyes. "I'll tell you guys when I can. I promise."
He nodded slowly, accepting that. "Okay. Just... we're here. Whatever it is."
"I know. Thanks."
School — Two Weeks After Shadow Attack, Economics Class
I was going to lose my mind.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Because sitting through Pak Hartono's economics lecture was actual torture, and I was pretty sure this violated some kind of human rights convention.
"—dan oleh karena itu, inflasi dapat mempengaruhi daya beli masyarakat—" (—and therefore, inflation can affect society's purchasing power—)
His voice droned on, a monotonous buzz that made my brain want to shut down in self-defense. I stared at the whiteboard, trying to care about supply and demand curves.
I failed spectacularly.
Two weeks since the shadow attack. Two weeks since learning about both bloodlines. Two weeks of meditation attempts that sometimes worked, sometimes didn't, and always left me exhausted.
The red came and went. Usually at night. Sometimes in the bathroom mirror. The glasses were holding, but barely.
I could feel it—the suppression weakening. Like a dam with cracks spreading, water pressure building behind it. Every day, the red lasted a little longer. Appeared a little easier. My control was improving through meditation, but the raw power underneath was growing faster.
"Arthas."
I blinked. Dina was staring at me from the next desk over.
"Apa?" (What?)
"Lu bengong udah 10 menit. Pak Hartono manggil lu tadi." (You've been spacing out for 10 minutes. Pak Hartono called on you.)
Shit.
I looked up. The teacher was watching me with that expression that said he was disappointed but not surprised.
"Maaf, Pak. Bisa diulang pertanyaannya?" (Sorry, sir. Can you repeat the question?)
He sighed deeply. "Nevermind, Arthas. Please pay attention."
"Yes, sir."
Dina leaned over, voice low. "Lu beneran gak apa-apa? Lu keliatan tired. Kayak udah seminggu gak tidur." (Are you really okay? You look tired. Like you haven't slept in a week.)
Close enough.
"I'm fine. Just—"
And then it happened.
Heat. Sudden and intense, burning behind my eyes like someone had lit a match inside my skull.
No. Not here. Not now.
The world shifted. Everything slowed down—not stopped, but moving through molasses. Pak Hartono's mouth moved but the sound came delayed, distorted. The students around me turned into blurs of color and motion.
And I could see them.
Not just see. Really see.
Colors. Auras. Life energy radiating from every person in the room like halos I shouldn't be able to perceive.
Dina's was soft blue-gray, calm and steady like still water.
Raka's was bright orange-red, loud and energetic like a bonfire.
Farhan's was dark purple-blue, quiet but deep like the ocean at night.
Andi's was pale green, contemplative like early morning mist.
Lia's was bright pink-yellow, chaotic but warm like sunrise.
Everyone had them. Everyone.
The heat intensified. My vision went red at the edges. Pain spiked through my temples like hot needles being driven into my skull.
The glasses. The glasses are failing.
Crack.
A sound. Small. Sharp. Unmistakable.
The left lens. A hairline fracture spiderwebbing from the corner.
And just like that, everything snapped back. Sound. Motion. Reality crashing into place like a rubber band released.
I gasped, gripping the desk hard enough to hurt.
What the hell was that? Did I just see their souls? Life force? What—
"Arthas?" Dina's voice was closer now. Worried. "Lu okay? Lu kayak—" (You okay? You looked like—)
"Toilet." I stood up too fast, chair scraping loudly. "Pak, boleh ke toilet?" (Sir, may I go to the bathroom?)
Pak Hartono frowned but nodded.
I didn't run. I wanted to. Every instinct screamed RUN. But I walked, steady and controlled, until I was out of the classroom.
Then I ran.
School Bathroom — 30 Seconds Later
I slammed into the bathroom, checked the stalls—empty, thank god—and locked the main door.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I gripped the sink, staring at my reflection.
My glasses sat crooked on my face. The left lens was cracked, not shattered but damaged. A jagged line across my vision that I couldn't ignore.
And beneath them—
My eyes.
Red.
Not a hint. Not a ring. Full, glowing, crimson red, like someone had replaced my irises with embers.
"No no no no—"
I splashed water on my face. Cold shock against overheated skin.
Looked again.
Still red.
Come on. Go away. Please.
I tried the meditation technique. Focused on the warmth inside, the energy churning like a storm. Tried to calm it, push it down, balance it with the cool silver light underneath—
The red flickered. Dimmed slightly.
It's working. Keep going.
I breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
Felt the two energies. Red and silver. Soul and light. Kanzaki and Pendrath.
Not fighting. Coexisting. Balancing.
Calm. Steady. Controlled.
The red faded gradually. Crimson to pink to pale to—
Gray-green. Normal.
I exhaled shakily, gripping the sink edge until my knuckles went white.
Holy shit. It worked. The meditation actually worked. I controlled it.
But the glasses. The crack was still there. A jagged line that wouldn't go away. A visual reminder that time was running out.
You're running out of time.
My phone buzzed.
Dina: U ok?
Dina: That wasn't normal
Dina: I'm not pushing but... if u need help
I stared at the message.
She knew. She'd noticed. Of course she had.
Me: I'll explain later. Promise.
Dina: Okay. Be safe.
I pocketed my phone, looking at my reflection one more time.
Red ring around the iris, barely visible behind cracked glasses. Exhaustion written in the lines of my face.
I can't keep doing this alone. Not anymore.
Home — Late Afternoon
I tried to act normal.
Key word: tried.
I walked through the front door, bag slung over one shoulder, trying to project the energy of someone who'd had a perfectly normal, boring school day where his eyes definitely didn't glow red in the middle of economics class.
Mom was in the kitchen.
She took one look at me and her expression shifted.
"Upstairs," she said in English. The language switch meant this was serious. "Now."
Shit.
"Mom, I—"
"Now, Arthas."
Her tone left absolutely no room for argument.
I climbed the stairs feeling like I was walking to my execution. She followed, closing my bedroom door behind us with a soft click that felt far too final.
Then she just stared at me. Long. Silent. Uncomfortable.
"What?" I finally said.
"Your glasses."
I touched them reflexively. "What about them?"
"They're cracked."
Play dumb. "Oh. Uh. I dropped them. During PE—"
"Arthas."
The way she said my name—quiet and firm, the tone that meant she knew I was lying and was giving me one chance to come clean.
I deflated. "Okay. Fine. They cracked at school. But not because I dropped them."
"Show me your eyes."
Oh no.
"Mom—"
"Show me."
Not a request. A command.
I hesitated for a long moment, then slowly removed my glasses.
She leaned closer, studying my face with an intensity that made me want to squirm. Her hand came up, hovering near my cheek, and I felt that familiar tingle—her spiritual sensing, checking my energy.
I waited for her to freak out, to panic, to do something.
Instead, she just looked tired. Bone-deep tired.
"It's happening faster than I thought," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Much faster."
"What's happening?!"
I didn't mean to yell. But I was tired and scared and really, really tired of cryptic non-answers that explained nothing.
"Mom, please. Just tell me. What's wrong with me? Why are my eyes doing this? Why did I see everyone's auras today? What was that shadow thing? Why do I dream about swords? What—"
"Arthas." She placed both hands on my shoulders, grounding me. Stopping my spiral before it got worse. "I know you're scared. I know you want answers. But you need to understand—once you know everything, once you step fully into this world, you can't go back. You can't unknow it."
"I don't want to unknow it! I want to understand!"
She looked at me for a long moment, searching my face for something. Resolve? Readiness? I didn't know.
Then she sighed. Heavy. Resigned. The sound of someone accepting the inevitable.
"Sit."
I sat on my bed. She stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at Jakarta's skyline like she could find answers in the smog and traffic.
When she spoke again, it was in English. The language of secrets.
"I wanted you to be normal," she said quietly. "For as long as possible. To have friends. A childhood. A life that didn't involve..." She trailed off.
"Involve what?"
"Monsters. Battles. Blood. Duty." She turned to face me, and for the first time I saw real fear in her eyes. Not for herself. For me. "The Kanzaki family... we've been doing this for generations. Centuries. Fighting things that shouldn't exist. Protecting boundaries between the normal world and the supernatural one. Guarding against darkness that most people will never know exists."
She walked over, sitting beside me on the bed.
"It's dangerous. It's exhausting. And it steals your youth. Your innocence. Your choice." Her voice cracked slightly. "I left that life because I didn't want it for myself. And I definitely didn't want it for my son."
Her hands clenched in her lap. "I gave you those glasses when you were six because I could already feel it—Murasame watching you. Your power starting to stir. Both bloodlines beginning to awaken. I wanted to give you more time. Just a few more years of being a normal kid."
"But the suppression is failing," I said quietly.
"Yes."
"And the red eyes?"
"Proof that you're awakening. That Murasame recognizes you as its next wielder. That the Kanzaki blood is surfacing." She paused, looking at me directly. "And the meditation you've been doing? The self-regulation? That's proof that your father's bloodline is active too. The Pendrath blood is giving you instincts that normal Kanzaki don't have."
"Both bloodlines," I said, remembering Dad's explanation. "Kanzaki soul manipulation and Pendrath holy light."
She nodded. "Two powers that shouldn't coexist. But they're stable in you. Merged. Balanced in ways we don't fully understand. You're something unprecedented, Arthas. Something that shouldn't be possible."
Silence stretched between us. Outside, Jakarta continued its endless noise. Inside, my world had narrowed to this room, this moment, this truth.
"What happens when the glasses fail completely?" I asked, even though I was afraid of the answer.
Mom's hands clenched tighter. "You'll either learn to control it, or it will consume you."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Consume me. Not hurt me. Not make me lose control. Consume me. Like it's a living thing that will devour me from the inside out.
"The awakening can't be stopped," she continued, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "Only guided. Controlled. Mastered. Without proper training, the power will overwhelm you. Burn you out from the inside." She looked at me with an expression full of old pain. "I've seen it happen. To people who weren't ready. Who tried to wield power beyond their control. People I've lost."
People she's lost. Not just strangers. People she knew. People she cared about.
"What happened to them?"
"Later," Mom said softly. "When you're older. When you understand the weight of power better. Some stories are too heavy to carry before you're ready."
I wanted to push. To demand answers. But the look on her face stopped me.
"Mom, I can't do this alone."
"I know." She reached out, cupping my face with both hands. "That's why I need to call your grandfather."
My stomach dropped. "Your father? The one in Kyoto?"
"Yes. Kanzaki Genshirou. Head of the clan. The only one who can properly train you now." She pulled her hands back, clasping them together tightly. "I can't teach you. I abandoned the path years ago. My skills are rusty, my knowledge incomplete. You need someone who's mastered the Kanzaki arts. Someone who can guide you through the awakening without letting it destroy you."
"But—"
"There's no other option, Arthas." Her voice was firm but pained. "The suppression is failing. Your power is growing faster than I anticipated. In two weeks, maybe less, those glasses will be completely useless. When that happens, if you're not trained..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
Control it or it consumes me. Got it. No pressure.
I looked down at my hands. At the normal life I'd been building. The friends I'd made. The second chance I was trying not to waste.
"If I go to Kyoto... when do I come back?"
Mom was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Training could take months. Years. It depends on how fast you learn, how well you adapt, how stable your power becomes."
Years. I could be gone for years.
"My friends—"
"I know." Her voice was gentle. "I know this isn't fair. I know you finally have people you care about, a life you're building. But Arthas, if you stay here untrained, you could hurt them. The power could lash out. You could lose control and—"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
I could become a threat. To Raka, Dina, Lia, Farhan, Andi. To everyone I care about.
"When do we call him?" I asked quietly.
"Tonight. After dinner. Your father should be there too." She stood, smoothing her clothes, trying to compose herself. "This is happening, Arthas. Whether we're ready or not."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
She paused at the door, looking back at me. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry. I wanted better for you. I wanted normal."
"I know, Mom."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
I sat there in the silence, staring at the wrapped sword on the wall.
Murasame.
Watching. Waiting. Patient.
Not yet, it had said in the void.
Looks like 'not yet' is becoming 'now.'
I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
In three hours, my life was going to change again.
And this time, I couldn't run from it.
Don't waste this chance, I told myself. You already wasted one life. This time, you face it. Whatever comes.
Even if it's terrifying.
Especially if it's terrifying.
END OF CHAPTER 2