The night swallowed the city slowly.
Streetlights flickered to life.
Shadows stretched along empty roads.
And somewhere—
danger was already waiting.
Arga, Sinta, and Bimo ran.
Not as students.
Not anymore.
As something else.
"Faster," Pak Rahmat said.
His voice remained calm—
but urgency lingered beneath it.
"The signal is close."
The tablet in his hand glowed.
One red dot.
Blinking.
A small elementary school.
Too quiet.
Too dark.
They stopped in front of the gate.
Half open.
Lights inside flickered weakly.
Sinta lowered her voice.
"…this doesn't feel right."
Bimo swallowed.
"…it's too quiet."
Arga stepped forward.
The heat inside him rose instantly.
Stronger than before.
Sharper.
"…they're here."
The hallway was dim.
Doors hung open.
Chairs lay scattered across the floor—
as if everything had been abandoned in a rush.
"Over there," Pak Rahmat whispered.
A classroom.
Door half-open.
From inside—
a faint voice.
"…help…"
All three froze.
A child.
Weak.
Shaking.
Arga moved first.
He pushed the door open.
Inside—
a boy lay on the floor.
Sweating.
Trembling.
His lunch box sat open beside him.
Dark packaging.
Junk Dominion.
Sinta rushed to his side.
"Hey—stay with me!"
The boy's eyes were unfocused.
"…it hurts…"
Bimo stepped back, uneasy.
"…this is bad…"
Arga felt it immediately.
The energy inside him reacted—
violently.
Not warmth.
Rejection.
As if every part of him was screaming—
this is wrong.
Pak Rahmat crouched beside them.
"He's unstable."
"What do we do?!" Sinta asked.
Pak Rahmat's tone sharpened.
"You stabilize him."
"How?!"
His eyes turned to Arga.
"…use your energy."
Silence.
Arga froze.
"…I don't know how."
"Then learn now."
No time.
No second chances.
Arga knelt beside the boy.
His hands hovered—
uncertain.
The energy inside him wavered.
Unstable.
Unfamiliar.
Sinta grabbed his arm.
"Focus."
"Like training."
"Don't force it."
"…guide it."
Arga inhaled slowly.
Deep.
Steady.
Then—
he reached out.
The warmth flowed.
From his chest—
to his arms—
to his hands.
And then—
into the boy.
The boy's body jerked.
"—!"
Bimo flinched.
"Did you just make it worse?!"
"Wait," Sinta said quickly.
"Look."
The trembling—
slowed.
Just a little.
Arga focused harder.
Not pushing.
Balancing.
Matching.
The chaotic energy inside the boy—
met something stable.
Something real.
The boy's breathing steadied.
His grip loosened.
"…I…"
His voice trembled.
"…it doesn't hurt as much…"
Relief filled the room—
too soon.
Clap.
A slow clap echoed from the doorway.
All of them turned.
The man stood there.
Hat low.
Face half-hidden.
Smiling.
"…impressive."
The air dropped.
Cold.
Heavy.
"You're already stabilizing subjects."
Pak Rahmat stood immediately.
"Stay behind me."
His voice shifted.
Sharp.
Commanding.
The man stepped inside.
Unhurried.
"You see?" he said softly.
"They fix what we create."
A pause.
"…useful."
Arga's fists clenched.
"You did this to him."
The man tilted his head slightly.
"…of course."
Silence.
Rage burned.
Hot.
Sharp.
The man moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Pak Rahmat intercepted—
BANG!
Their clash shook the room.
The floor cracked beneath them.
Sinta grabbed the boy.
"Bimo—help me!"
"Got it!"
They lifted him—
carefully—
pulling him away.
Safe.
For now.
Arga stood.
The energy inside him surged—
but this time—
it didn't explode.
It focused.
"…this time…"
He stepped forward.
"…we don't run."
The man smiled faintly.
"…good."
Arga moved.
Fast.
Controlled.
He blocked.
Redirected.
Held.
For the first time—
he didn't get pushed back.
Sinta moved with precision.
Bimo circled—
his speed controlled.
They moved together.
Not perfect.
But united.
"Don't fight him!" Pak Rahmat shouted.
"Get the kid out!"
Reality snapped back.
This wasn't about winning.
This was about saving someone.
Arga nodded.
"Sinta—go!"
No hesitation.
She and Bimo ran—
carrying the boy.
The man watched.
Didn't stop them.
"…interesting."
Arga remained.
Standing between the man—
and the exit.
Alone.
His heart pounded—
but he didn't move.
Not back.
Not away.
Pak Rahmat stepped beside him.
"…you've done enough."
The man smiled faintly.
"…for today."
He stepped back.
Calm.
Deliberate.
"This isn't over."
Then—
he turned.
And vanished.
Silence returned.
But not peace.
Never peace again.
Outside—
Sinta and Bimo waited.
The boy—
breathing.
Alive.
Arga stepped out slowly.
Tired.
But steady.
Sinta looked at him.
"…we did it."
Bimo nodded.
"…barely."
Arga looked at his hands.
Then at his lunch box.
Three grains.
Glowing.
Stronger.
But this time—
he understood.
This power—
wasn't meant for fighting.
It was meant for protecting.
And this mission—
was only the beginning.