The alarm didn't ring.
It screamed.
Sharp.
Violent.
Unforgiving.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Like the whole school was being torn open.
Pak Rahmat looked at the screen only once.
Then his expression hardened.
"…they're already inside."
Arga moved before anyone else.
"…we go now."
No hesitation.
No second discussion.
The hallway blurred as they ran.
Then the doors burst open—
and chaos swallowed them whole.
Smoke rolled across the schoolyard.
Glass glittered across the ground.
Students screamed.
Teachers dragged children to safety.
Desks burned near the canteen.
Bodies were already down.
Some shaking.
Some unconscious.
Some not moving at all.
Bimo slowed for half a second.
"…we're too late…"
Arga's voice cut through everything.
"…not this time."
At the center of the yard—
they stood waiting.
Not carriers.
Not scouts.
An execution squad.
Ten men in black jackets.
Boxes already opened.
Corrupted food scattered across the floor.
The man in the hat watched from the rooftop above.
Hands behind his back.
Like this was theater.
And he was waiting for the best scene.
Sinta's jaw tightened.
"…they came for all of us."
Arga stepped forward.
This time—
he didn't feel fear.
He didn't feel doubt.
Only clarity.
"Listen."
The battlefield was loud.
But his voice hit harder than the sirens.
"Bimo—evacuate everyone."
"Move fast. No heroics."
Bimo inhaled once.
Then vanished.
"…got it."
"Dika—left side. Break their line."
"…finally."
He charged.
"Lila—track unstable signals."
Her fingers flew across the tablet.
"…three near the canteen—two by the hall—wait… six total!"
"Tono—roofline."
A blur above.
"…already there."
Arga turned.
"Sinta."
"Rani."
A beat.
"With me."
The first enemy lunged.
Fast.
Arga met him head-on.
No wasted movement.
No flourish.
One step.
One pivot.
One strike.
THUD.
The man dropped before he understood what happened.
Then everything exploded.
Three enemies rushed at once.
Sinta moved first.
Not like a fighter—
like a blade.
She slipped between attacks, broke a knee, elbowed a throat, spun low, and sent another crashing into broken concrete.
Rani surged forward.
Energy rose around her—
wild—
then stopped.
She controlled it.
Compressed it.
Released.
CRACK!
The ground split beneath two attackers.
They stumbled.
Dika hit them before they could stand.
"DOWN!"
Near the gate, Bimo darted through panicked students like lightning.
"This way!"
"Keep moving!"
"No pushing!"
A crying child tripped.
Bimo caught him mid-fall without slowing down.
"…nobody dies today."
Then Lila's voice shattered through the comms.
"UNSTABLE TARGETS SPIKING!"
"Six signatures merging!"
Arga turned.
Near the canteen—
students were collapsing.
Energy tore out of them like fire through cracked walls.
Wild.
Violent.
Impossible to predict.
"…split!" Arga ordered.
They moved instantly.
Arga dropped beside the nearest boy.
The energy hit him like a bomb.
His arms shook.
His breath caught.
The same feeling.
That same memory.
Too slow.
Too late.
The body going still.
His vision blurred.
For one second—
fear almost won.
Then Arga exhaled.
Slowly.
Deeply.
"No."
Not loud.
Not angry.
Absolute.
He didn't fight the chaos.
He entered it.
He matched its rhythm.
He listened.
And for the first time—
he understood.
The energy wasn't trying to destroy everything.
It was screaming because it had no shape.
So he gave it one.
The air around him tightened.
The pressure shifted.
The violent surge bent inward—
not forced—
guided.
Held.
Bimo froze mid-step.
"…what the hell…"
Sinta turned sharply.
"…Arga?"
Rani felt it too.
Her unstable pulse calmed instantly.
Her shaking stopped.
The boy beneath Arga gasped—
then relaxed.
The convulsions ceased.
"I… I'm okay…"
Silence spread.
Real silence.
Not empty.
Controlled.
Pak Rahmat stared.
"…he crossed it."
Arga rose slowly.
Different now.
The battlefield no longer felt random.
Every movement.
Every panic.
Every unstable wave.
He could feel all of it.
And where he stood—
chaos weakened.
"…stay close to me."
Nobody questioned him.
Because they already knew.
This wasn't stabilization anymore.
This was territory.
A space where disorder lost its power.
Above them—
the man in the hat smiled wider.
"…so this is your answer."
He raised one hand.
The second wave arrived.
More enemies poured through the gate.
More corrupted boxes.
More pressure.
More fear.
But this time—
the battlefield did not break.
Because Arga stepped forward.
And the space around him expanded.
Wider.
Sharper.
Heavier.
Invisible force rolled across the yard.
Broken energy slowed.
Enemy movements faltered.
Fear itself seemed to hesitate.
Sinta grinned.
"WE PUSH!"
They crashed forward as one.
Bimo faster than ever—but precise.
Dika unstoppable—but controlled.
Tono dropping from above with perfect timing.
Rani unleashing power without losing herself.
And at the center—
Arga.
The anchor.
The axis.
The one holding everything together.
One by one—
the fake boxes shattered.
One by one—
the attackers fell.
One by one—
the panic died.
The schoolyard was still broken.
But no longer lost.
The man in the hat watched in silence.
Calculating.
Revising.
Then he lowered his hand.
"…enough."
Every remaining attacker withdrew instantly.
Disciplined.
Cold.
Gone.
Only smoke remained.
And breathing.
Bimo collapsed onto the ground.
"…we actually won…"
Rani touched her own hands.
Still steady.
"…I didn't lose control…"
Sinta looked at Arga.
No smile.
Only certainty.
"…nobody was late."
Arga said nothing.
He opened his lunch box.
Six grains.
Burning brighter than ever.
But lighter now.
As if the power inside had finally found its purpose.
Pak Rahmat stepped beside him.
His eyes remained on the battlefield.
"…that wasn't just a skill."
A pause.
"…that was a domain."
The word settled over everyone.
Sinta crossed her arms.
"…then call it."
Arga closed the box.
Slowly.
His eyes lifted toward the rooftop where the man had stood.
Cold.
Steady.
Certain.
"…Anchor Domain."
Far away—
inside a dark control room—
the man in the hat replayed the battle.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then he smiled.
Wide.
Satisfied.
"…excellent."
He pressed a single button.
Across the city—
new red signals lit up.
Then more.
Then hundreds.
"…now we begin for real."
Back at the ruined school—
the wind carried ash across the yard.
Arga looked at the sky.
And for the first time—
victory felt exactly like a warning.