Every school, no matter how grand its architecture or how prestigious its name, possesses a "dark side." It is a gray area where the official code of conduct fades into insignificance, replaced by a primitive jungle law enforced by the thick clouds of electronic cigarette smoke and intimidating glares.
At Rajawali High, that place was known as the South Sector.
Geographically, it was nothing more than a narrow, forgotten alley behind the old chemistry lab—a building rarely used due to its outdated ventilation and lingering smell of sulfur. The alley bordered a three-meter-high concrete wall that separated the school's pristine grounds from the crowded, noisy residential slums outside.
There was no polished marble here. No central air conditioning to soothe the skin. Instead, there were cracked paving blocks overgrown with moss, stacks of broken wooden benches, and a damp, oppressive aroma—a mixture of stagnant water and the sickly sweet scent of fruit-flavored vape clouds.
The sun was leaning heavily toward the west, casting long, distorted shadows that made the South Sector look even more desolate. The school day had officially ended thirty minutes ago, but for a certain group of students, life was only just beginning here.
Toto, the self-proclaimed kingpin who had been thoroughly humiliated in the OSIS office just hours prior, sat atop a pile of discarded desks like a fallen monarch. In his hand, a gold-plated vape pod glimmered in the dying light. He took a long, deep drag, exhaling a thick plume of vapor that momentarily obscured his scarred, angry features.
Surrounding him were his loyal lieutenants—Maman, Asep, and Ajis. Maman was busy carving his initials into the brick wall with a rusted nail. Asep played with a Zippo lighter, flicking it open and shut with a rhythmic, irritating cling-clack sound. Ajis, the scrawniest of the group but possessing the sharpest tongue, sat on a broken crate, nursing a can of soda while kicking at the gravel.
"I'm not letting this go," Toto growled, his voice heavy as it pierced through the vapor. "That Salma girl... who does she think she is? Just because my father has a contract with the school, she thinks she can use that as a leash?"
"Take it easy, Boss," Ajis said, wiping his soda-stained lips. "Girls like her need to be taught a lesson. She's too stiff. Too rigid. She needs to be broken a little so she realizes the world isn't as straight as her damn ruler."
"He's right," Maman chimed in, stopping his carving. He turned with a predatory glint in his eyes. "And then there's Salim. That scholarship brat is getting way too cocky. Had the nerve to lecture us about probability? I should stuff his mouth with bills and see how he likes the taste of money then."
Asep offered a cruel laugh. "Forget Salim for now. He's just a bookworm. Salma is the real threat. She controls everything. If we don't do something, our reputation as the kings of Rajawali's underbelly will crumble. Even the tenth graders won't be afraid of us anymore."
Toto clicked his vape pod off and shoved it into his pocket. He hopped down from the desk, his leather boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud.
"You're right," Toto said, his eyes flashing with a dark, vengeful fire. "We need to leave a mark. Something that makes OSIS realize we can't be stepped on."
Toto's gaze landed on a portable announcement board that had been placed at the end of the alley by the logistics team earlier that day. It held a large, glossy poster that was still pristine and shimmering:
"COMING SOON: GRAND STUDY TOUR GRADE 12 RAJAWALI HIGH. PREPARE YOURSELF FOR A JOURNEY OF SCIENCE AND CULTURE!"
The poster featured a luxury tour bus, a microscope, and silhouettes of happy, successful students. To Toto, that poster was the ultimate symbol of the order he loathed. It was the symbol of Salma's "perfect" system.
"Look at that," Toto said, nodding toward the board. "It's so clean. So pretty. It's a shame it's so... boring."
Maman smirked, instantly catching his leader's drift. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a jumbo-sized permanent marker.
"Shall we, Boss?" Maman offered.
"Destroy it," Toto commanded. "Write 'OSIS IS THE FOUNDATION'S SLAVE.' Better yet, draw a pig's face over the President's head."
The four of them erupted into laughter. Maman walked toward the board, uncapping the marker with his teeth. He began to deface the smiling model on the poster with thick, jagged black lines. Asep joined in, kicking the support stand until it bent.
"Suck on that, Salma!" Ajis shouted as he hurled his half-full soda can at the board. The sticky, brown liquid splashed across the expensive paper, soaking the center.
"More! More!" Toto cheered, basking in the small act of vandalism as a release for his wounded pride. "Make it unrecognizable! I want her to cry blood when she sees this tomorrow morning!"
They were so engrossed in their act of destruction, laughing as if the South Sector were their private kingdom where no law could reach them. They forgot one thing: At Rajawali High, the walls had ears, and the Student Council President had eyes everywhere.
Suddenly, a sound echoed through the alley. It wasn't a normal footfall. It was a steady, measured, and terrifyingly confident pace. The sound of high-quality heels striking the paving blocks with a constant, unyielding rhythm.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
Maman's laughter died in his throat. The marker froze in mid-air. Asep turned around, his eyes widening in alarm.
At the end of the alley, where the afternoon sun created a dramatic, long-shadowed silhouette, stood a female figure. The breeze caught the edges of her long pleated skirt. Her left hand held a clipboard, while her right hung casually at her side.
Salma.
She was alone. No Dimas, no teachers, no security guards. Just Salma Nur Azizah, standing tall against four of the school's most notorious bullies.
"Continue," Salma said. Her voice wasn't loud. She didn't scream. It was flat. Calm. Like the surface of a lake before a hurricane. "Why stop? I wanted to see how much creativity you've put into destroying seven hundred thousand rupiahs worth of school property."
Maman reflexively hid the marker behind his back—a classic gesture of a child caught stealing candy. But Toto didn't flinch. Instead, he took a step forward, shielding his subordinates.
"What are you doing here?" Toto challenged, his voice echoing in the narrow corridor. "This isn't OSIS territory. This is our turf. Did the Ice Queen lose her way?"
Salma began to walk forward, slowly. Every step she took seemed to force Maman and Ajis to retreat an inch. Her charisma didn't stem from physical strength, but from an absolute, unwavering belief in her own authority.
"Rajawali High spans two point five hectares," Salma said, her eyes sweeping over their faces one by one. "Every inch of ground within the school gates is a jurisdiction of conduct. There is no 'your' territory. There is only school territory."
Salma stopped directly in front of the defaced announcement board. She stared at the damage for a moment—the black ink, the sticky soda stains—her face a mask of indifference. Then, she looked back at Toto.
"Vandalism. Destruction of school property. Smoking on campus. And..." Salma sniffed the air briefly, "...littering."
She pointed to the discarded soda can on the ground.
"I thought that after the incident in the office, you would have gained a modicum of intelligence, Toto. It seems I miscalculated. Your IQ appears to be inversely proportional to your father's bank balance."
Toto's blood boiled. Being insulted about his intelligence was one thing, but being humiliated in front of his lieutenants was another. He lunged forward aggressively, closing the distance until his massive frame towered over Salma, who was much smaller.
"Watch your mouth, girl," Toto growled, his face a violent shade of red. His breath, smelling of stale smoke, hit Salma's face. "Who do you think you are? You're here alone. No teachers, no cameras in this alley. If I wanted to, I could make you regret the day you were born."
It was a blatant physical threat. Maman and Asep exchanged nervous glances. Striking the Student Council President was an express ticket to expulsion—or worse, juvenile detention.
"Toto, stop..." Asep whispered, trying to pull him back, but Toto shoved his hand away.
Salma didn't flinch. She didn't retreat a single millimeter. She looked up, staring into Toto's rage-filled eyes with a gaze as cold as the Arctic.
"You want to hit me?" Salma asked softly. "Go ahead. Hit me. Here. On the left cheek."
Salma pointed to her own face.
"But before your fist makes contact, I want you to calculate one thing," Salma continued, her voice growing sharper. "Do you think I came here unprepared? Do you think I am a fool?"
Salma raised her clipboard slightly.
"Five minutes ago, I sent a broadcast message to the School Discipline and Security WhatsApp group. It contained my location and a 'Level 1 Alert' status. Counselor Budi and two security guards are currently walking this way. Estimated time of arrival: forty-five seconds from now."
Toto's posture stiffened. His eyes moved frantically toward the end of the alley behind Salma.
"And one more thing," Salma added, this time with a thin, lethal smile. "The Study Tour. You all want to go, don't you? You want the vacation, the parties, the chance to show off on Instagram?"
Salma pulled a pen from her uniform pocket. She tapped the list of names on her clipboard.
"This is the final passenger manifest for Bus 1 through Bus 5. The VIP coaches. My signature is the only thing validating your participation. If there is a single scratch on my body today, or if this poster isn't as clean as it was this morning within the next ten minutes..."
Salma let the sentence hang in the air. She looked at Maman, Asep, and Ajis in turn.
"...then I will personally blacklist all four of you. Permanently. And while your classmates are enjoying themselves out of the city, you will be here, sitting in the library alone, for the entire duration of the trip. Imagine the shame. The Kings of the South Sector, left behind like punished elementary students."
The threat was far more effective than any physical deterrent. For teenagers their age, the Fear of Missing Out (FOMO) and social humiliation were worse than death. Being excluded from a grade-wide trip was a stain that would never wash off.
Maman went pale instantly. "Wait, Salma! No! I already bought a new jacket for the trip!"
"Then clean it!" Salma barked suddenly. Her voice exploded with a volume that made all four boys jump. "Now! Use whatever you have! Spit, your own shirts, your tongues if you have to! I want this poster clean before Pak Budi gets here!"
Toto stood frozen, his hands trembling. His ego was in a violent battle with his logic. He wanted to crush Salma, but he knew he had been outplayed. Salma held the ace. Salma held the leash to their social lives.
Slowly, Toto's fists unclenched. He let out a harsh, defeated snort and looked away.
"Clean it," Toto ordered his men in a raspy voice, acknowledging his defeat.
"But Boss—"
"I SAID CLEAN IT!" Toto screamed in frustration.
Maman, Asep, and Ajis panicked. They scrambled for tissues, handkerchiefs, anything. Maman even sacrificed his half-bottle of mineral water to dampen his handkerchief and began scrubbing the permanent ink off the poster. Asep picked up the soda can Ajis had thrown.
Salma stood there, watching them like a ruthless site foreman. She checked her watch.
"Thirty seconds until Pak Budi arrives," she counted coldly. "Faster. If Pak Budi sees a single speck of trash, the deal is off."
The four bullies worked with lightning speed, fueled by the adrenaline of fear. Toto himself eventually reached down and picked up the cigarette butts scattered on the ground with a look of pure loathing.
Just as Maman finished wiping the last smudge from the poster's surface, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from a distance.
"Salma! Where are you?" Pak Budi's voice rang out.
"It's clean!" Maman reported, panting, cold sweat pouring down his face.
Salma studied the poster. There was a faint ghost of a stain, but it was far better than before. She looked at Toto.
"You're lucky today," she whispered. "Leave. Use the back gate through the slums. Don't let Pak Budi see your faces."
Without needing to be told twice, Toto and his gang vaulted over the concrete wall with incredible agility. They fled like cornered rats. Before jumping, Toto spared one last look at Salma. His gaze was no longer just hate; it was tinged with fear and a forced, begrudging respect.
Salma was alone again when Pak Budi and two security guards rounded the corner, gasping for breath.
"Salma! Are you alright?" Pak Budi asked anxiously, looking around for any sign of trouble. "Where are those boys? I heard reports of a disturbance back here."
Salma turned around, her tense expression instantly transforming into the calm, polite smile of a model student.
"Oh, Pak Budi. I'm sorry for the trouble," Salma said softly. "There were indeed a few students here... they were volunteers, cleaning the announcement board. I believe they left just now to avoid being late for their tutoring sessions."
Pak Budi frowned, confused. He looked at the slightly damp poster and the clean ground. There was no sign of a struggle.
"Volunteers? Here?" Pak Budi scratched his head. "That's a first. Well, as long as you're safe. Don't stay in these isolated areas alone, Salma. Let's head back to the front."
"Of course, Pak. Thank you," Salma replied.
As she followed Pak Budi back toward the main building, Salma's hand—the one holding the clipboard—began to shake violently. She hid it behind her back. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard it was painful.
That was reckless. Utterly reckless.
In truth, she hadn't sent any messages to Pak Budi. She had only just reached for the 'send' button when Pak Budi appeared by pure coincidence on his routine patrol. Her "forty-five seconds" threat had been nothing more than a bluff—a calculated gamble based on the probability of a guard's patrol route.
If Toto had actually struck her... Salma didn't know what would have happened.
She took a long, deep breath, staring at the darkening evening sky. Being a leader didn't mean being fearless. It meant being able to hide that fear behind a mask of calculation, making your enemies believe you were invincible.
That was just the school bullies, Salma thought. Managing two hundred students on the Study Tour will be far more exhausting.