A student sat atop the stairs with an air of arrogance. His legs were spread wide, a physical blockade forcing other students to take the long way around to avoid trouble. In his hand, he toyed with a Zippo; the rhythmic clack-flick of the lid echoed like a ticking clock. Every so often, he would exhale, filling the hallway with cigarette smoke.
"I thought you'd have learned by now, Sir," Raka said. He only glanced at Agung when the heavy thud of the teacher's forearm crutch struck the concrete floor.
Agung stopped two steps below him. His face was a map of bruises; deep purples and blues mottled his cheeks and the area around his eyes. The bandage on his temple was yellowing from seeped sweat, and his breath hitched against cracked ribs. His long hair was no longer neatly tied—his wrists were still too stiff to even manage a comb.
He let out a small laugh. "It seems we expect the same thing from each other, Raka. Can I get through?"
"You're the one who needs to learn, not me." Raka shook his head with a look of condescending wonder. "At least get angry or something. Instead of laughing."
"Oh, I am angry. Very angry. But no matter how much I want to retaliate, I know you are just a product, not the root of the problem." Even as he spoke, Agung heard his heart whisper: Hit him, kick him, scold him! Scum like this only hides behind your morality!
"Coward," Raka hissed. The word slid out like spit aimed at his teacher.
Agung simply raised an eyebrow. Taking a long breath, he banished the intrusive thoughts and turned away. Patience, it all ends today, he told himself. His hands clenched, as if gripping the barbed wire he called his morals and principles.
"Why are you still so stubborn?"
Raka was talkative today. There was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice that made Agung pause.
"Because I am a teacher."
"The person who's going to finish you off later is also a teacher, Sir. What's the difference?" Raka knew exactly what awaited Agung in the meeting room. He was certain of his victory. To him, seeing this self-righteous teacher only brought nausea, especially when other students followed him like sheep.
Agung turned back and chuckled again. "It seems your timing isn't great. That would have been a good question to ask last week in the counseling room." The teacher tapped his finger on his crutch, weighing his words for a moment, then added, "Unfortunately, I'm still searching for the answer myself."
"By the way," Agung continued, giving Raka no chance to retort. He pulled a slip of paper from his wallet—messages watermarked with a triangle and a dot in the center. "Did you tell those thugs to give me this, too?"
Raka furrowed his brow, glancing at it with zero interest. "No. Why would I?"
"Fair enough, then." With some difficulty, Agung tucked the paper back away and began to limp off, slowly disappearing from Raka's sight as the boy stared at his retreating back.
Neither of them realized it yet.
That unanswered question began to take root amidst Raka's disgust, mutating into a curiosity about principles he couldn't quite digest. Over time, those roots would crawl deeper, cracking the convictions he once thought were as solid as stone.
***
The meeting room felt colder than usual, and it wasn't just the air conditioning. A long table bisected the room, surrounded by Mr. Sutrisno the principal, senior teachers from the Child Protection Task Force (TPPK), and at the far end: Mr. Heru, Raka's father. There was no warmth to be found. Agung sat slightly apart, the focal point for their icy stares.
The meeting was originally scheduled to consult on Raka's violations. However, the moment Mr. Heru stepped inside, the situation flipped in a flash. The teachers immediately turned the meeting into a trial—not for Raka, but for Agung.
Mr. Heru sat upright, hands clasped on the table. His face was calm. Even though they were at school, the teachers acted as if they were the guests. When Mr. Heru glanced at his watch, guilt crept onto their faces, as if the man's precious time had been hijacked for a triviality.
Mr. Sutrisno cleared his throat. "I believe there are a few things that need to be straightened out. There was a lapse in our supervision that led Mr. Agung to take a unilateral decision to—"
"—Raka committed another act of bullying, and now his target is the student who helped the first victim," Agung interrupted.
He took a breath. The other teachers shot him uncomfortable looks for cutting off the principal. But Agung realized that in this room, a chance to speak wouldn't be handed out for free.
"He is creating a hostile environment for other students, making them afraid to help. I have given warnings and conducted counseling. But the pattern repeats."
"Repeats according to whose version?" interrupted Mrs. Ratna, Raka's homeroom teacher. "According to your reports alone, right?"
Agung turned to her. "There are witnesses. The students—"
"Students often exaggerate," Mrs. Ratna cut in quickly. "Especially when there's already a sentiment against one child. I don't see any problems with Raka in class. Isn't that right, gentlemen?" The other teachers nodded in unison, while Mrs. Ratna looked at Agung as if she had just delivered a knockout blow.
Agung ignored her and looked directly at Mr. Heru. If he could convince the father, the teachers would follow. "I didn't call you here to pass judgment. This is about our shared responsibility for Raka's future, and the futures of the children he targets."
Mr. Heru nodded slowly, as if the term 'future' was a familiar but empty word to him. "Please, continue."
"I'm not just worried about the victims. I'm worried about Raka. A child who grows accustomed to winning by suppressing others will grow up without boundaries. The world might give him space now, but one day—"
"The world does not punish people like that," Mr. Heru interrupted flatly. "The world gives them positions."
The room went suddenly silent.
Agung frowned. "That is a dangerous assumption, Sir."
"It's not an assumption," Mr. Heru replied calmly. "It is an observation I have proven myself."
Mrs. Ratna offered a thin smile. "Mr. Agung, I think you're bringing too much personal feeling into this. This is a school, not a therapy room."
Agung fought the rising heat in his head. "It's because this is a school, Ma'am. We aren't raising robots; we're raising humans. We shouldn't be teaching obedience without empathy."
"This problem only exists by your standards," said Mr. Bahar, another senior teacher. "Not everyone needs to be educated the same way."
Mr. Heru leaned forward, a small movement that immediately pulled the room's center of gravity back toward him. "Mr. Agung, I appreciate your intentions. Truly. But you are misreading the world."
"Or perhaps you've spent too long looking at the world from the top," Agung countered, meeting his gaze.
Several teachers gasped in disbelief.
"Mr. Agung, mind your manners!" hissed Mr. Bahar.
Mr. Heru actually offered a faint smile. "It's alright. Let him be honest. Mr. Agung, I don't raise my son to be a 'good person' by some abstract definition. I raise him to win."
"Win by destroying others?" Agung asked.
"Win by not hesitating to step on them if necessary," Mr. Heru answered without blinking. "The world doesn't reward those who wait for justice. The world gives space to those who are brave enough to take it."
Agung's chest burned. He expected his anger to explode, but instead, a strange silence washed over him. Like someone who finally realizes they've wandered too far off the path and no longer needs to pretend they know the way home. In his mind, he sat down. This journey had been far too exhausting.
He swept his gaze around the room: the long table, the judgmental faces, the bland, cold air. Everything became too clear. For the first time, Agung saw what he had previously denied.
Mrs. Ratna seized the silence. "This has gone off track. We also need to discuss your conduct. The pressure you put on students, and—"
"Pressure?" Agung turned, but his eyes had lost their sharp edge. "I stopped a bullying incident. Why does the truth sound so foreign in here?"
He looked at them one by one with genuine disgust. "You are teachers, adults who are supposed to guide the younger generation. Is that not a strong enough reason for you to stand where I am?"
Silence fell again before Mr. Heru finally stood up. "I didn't come here for a moral lecture. I came to ensure one thing." He looked at the principal.
Mr. Sutrisno immediately replied, "Of course, Sir. This is just a matter of teenage mischief. We will ensure this incident is handled proportionally."
Mr. Heru nodded. "I am an alumnus here. I am a donor because I care about this school. I protect the reputation of this institution in many forums." He glanced briefly at Agung. "I don't ask for much. Just one rational decision."
Agung remained silent. He knew if he spoke again, it would only be an echo that no one would record.
Mr. Heru looked at Agung flatly. "I respect your persistence. People like you are unique. I've met a few, and they all have one thing in common: they don't last long." He gave a thin smile that was far more dangerous than any threat, then added in a casual tone,
"Don't play fair in a game where everyone else is cheating."
For the first time, Agung's gaze faltered. The inner voice he had suppressed for so long had just come out of his enemy's mouth. He almost retorted, but realization held him back. Not because he was defeated, but because he finally understood: the real battle wasn't happening in this room.
When Mr. Heru left, the atmosphere thawed. Mr. Bahar immediately approached Agung with a furious face, pointing at the name tag on Agung's uniform as if questioning his very right to be there. "Don't tell me you didn't know who Mr. Heru is! We warned you time and time again!"
Agung just stood there, enduring the pain in his body. He knew the reputation of PT Cakra Mandala Construction. He knew Mr. Heru was a permanent benefactor whose influence outweighed ten members of parliament.
Mr. Sutrisno approached, looking at Agung with a tone of pity. "Mr. Heru's wishes are clear. This matter will not be brought up again. This decision is final. Are you willing?"
The implication was naked: Keep teaching with your eyes closed, or get out.
Agung's decision was already made.