Perkelahian kecil itu pecah di sudut yang tenang di halaman sekolah, di bawah naungan pohon besar yang rindang. Tempat yang biasanya tenang itu berubah menjadi arena bentrokan saat Laigt berhadapan dengan empat kakak kelasnya: Raka, Dimas, Karel, dan Beni.

  Tatapan mereka tajam, penuh ejekan. Raka melangkah maju, menggelengkan kepalanya sedikit dengan jijik.

  "Masih sok tangguh, ya?" candanya.

  Sebelum Laigt sempat membalas, Dimas menyerang lebih dulu. Laigt dengan cepat menghindar, membalas dengan pukulan cepat ke dada. Dimas terhuyung, memaksa Karel dan Beni untuk ikut bertarung. Serangan datang dari berbagai arah. Laigt mencoba menangkis, berputar, dan melawan balik dengan sekuat tenaga. Beberapa pukulannya mengenai sasaran, tetapi banyaknya lawan membuatnya terpojok.

  Karel memukul bahunya dari samping, sementara Beni menendang kakinya, membuatnya kehilangan keseimbangan. Raka menutup serangan dengan pukulan keras ke rahang. Dunia seakan berputar. Tubuh Laigt terhempas ke tanah, tepat di bawah pohon besar.

  Napasnya tersengal-sengal, dadanya terasa sesak, dan pandangannya kabur. Dia mencoba bangun, tetapi tubuhnya terasa berat dan sakit. Debu menempel di seragamnya, dan keringat serta lapisan tipis darah bercampur di pelipisnya.

  Raka berdiri di hadapannya, menatapnya dengan senyum dingin.

  “Sekarang dengarkan baik-baik,” katanya. “Kami menginginkan kucing oranye kesayanganmu.”

  Laigt terdiam. Jantungnya berdebar kencang. Bayangan Sambo, kucing kecil yang selalu setia menunggunya di rumah, langsung memenuhi pikirannya. Dia menggelengkan kepalanya perlahan.

  “Aku tidak membawanya…”

  Raka meraih kerah seragamnya dan menariknya mendekat.

  “Besok. Kau bawa ke sekolah. Kalau tidak…” Raka berhenti sejenak, mempertajam pandangannya, “…kau akan menyesalinya.”

  Dimas menyeringai. “Mulai hari ini, kau adalah budak kami. Apa pun yang kami suruh, kau harus patuh.”

  Laigt terpaksa mengangguk sedikit. Tenggorokannya tercekat, jantungnya berdebar kencang, tetapi tubuhnya tak mampu melawan. Ia hanya bisa menundukkan kepala, menekan getaran dan rasa malu yang perlahan merayap.

  “Bagus,” kata Raka sambil melepaskan cengkeramannya. “Kita tunggu sampai besok.”

  Keempat lansia itu kemudian berbalik dan pergi, langkah mereka santai, seolah-olah tidak terjadi apa-apa. Tawa mereka menghilang, meninggalkan Laigt sendirian di bawah pohon itu.

  Ia duduk lemah, punggungnya bersandar pada batang pohon yang kasar. Angin sore bertiup lembut, membawa hawa dingin yang menusuk. Perlahan, air mata jatuh dari sudut matanya.

  Bukan karena rasa sakit di tubuhnya, tetapi karena memikirkan hari esok—hari ketika dia harus memilih antara harga dirinya… atau Sambo, satu-satunya makhluk yang selalu setia kepadanya.

  Di balik air mata, tekad mulai tumbuh.

  Dia tidak bisa terus lemah.

  Meanwhile, Arman, Laigt’s head of bodyguards, began to feel an unusual premonition. The watch on his wrist indicated it was time to go home, but the young master, who usually jogged to greet the car, had yet to appear. Arman’s brow furrowed. The instincts of an elite bodyguard—one who had protected the Van family for years—suddenly activated. Without another word, he walked quickly through the school's backyard, his eyes carefully scanning every corner, like a detective piecing together clues.

  In a narrow alley near the park, Arman passed Raka, Dimas, Beni, and Karel. All four looked hurried, still out of breath, their clothes disheveled, and their eyes less calm than usual. Arman only glanced briefly, but it was enough for him to read the situation. Something had just happened, he thought. He continued walking, his steps calm, but all his senses alert. A few meters later, his gaze fell on a small, familiar figure. Laigt sat listlessly beneath a large tree, his back leaning against the rough trunk, his knees bent. His face looked tired, but beneath it was a strange, thin smile—as if he were trying to appear okay.

  Arman's heart beat faster. This isn't the work of the master's enemies, he thought quickly. This is the work of those children. Without hesitation, he pressed the communication device to his ear.

  “Fikri, Reza, standby. Targets identified. Four children: Raka, Dimas, Beni, Karel. Block all exits. Don't be violent, but make sure they don't leave,” he said in a low, firm, and controlled voice.

  “Ready, Bro,” Fikri replied briefly.

  “The gate is secure. I'm monitoring their movements,” Reza replied.

  Arman jogged slowly toward Laigt and crouched in front of him. “Young master, are you okay?” he asked softly, holding back his concern.

  Laigt nodded slowly, looking at Arman with a small smile. “I'm fine, Uncle Arman.”

  But Arman knew that smile hid a heavy burden. He stood back up, turning to the four children, who were now beginning to move away. His eyes sharpened. Not a political enemy, not an external threat. But the young master's first life lesson… begins here. With measured steps, Arman followed them, his mind organizing every detail, ready to make sure that the truth would be revealed without causing a commotion—the way a detective keeps a secret until the time comes.

  Arman immediately knelt before Laigt, then without hesitation lifted the small body into his arms. His movements were quick, yet cautious, as if afraid of causing even the slightest harm. Laigt was startled, and instinctively grabbed Arman's neck.

  "Uncle Arman, I can walk by myself..." he said softly.

  "Hold still, Young Master," Arman replied softly, but firmly. "Tell me, what happened?"

  Laigt was silent for a moment. His gaze shifted to the ground, his fingers squeezing together. In his heart, the image of his father's face appeared. He knew very well that Van wouldn't stay silent if he found out he was involved in a fight. He didn't want to anger his father, let alone disappoint him.

  "I just... fell, Uncle," Laigt finally replied, his voice as normal as possible. "The ground is slippery."

  Arman's steps stopped for a moment. He looked closely at Laigt's face. The small eyes were honest, but there was something off—a subtle anxiety he was trying to hide. Arman took another step, but his mind was working quickly.

  Fell?

  His knees were clean. His hands weren't scraped. His breathing was heavy, not from pain, but from emotion.

  An instinct honed by decades of dangerous terrain whispered loudly in his chest. This wasn't an accident. This was conflict. And the young master was protecting someone… or perhaps protecting himself.

  "If you fell, why are you breathing like you've been running a long way?" Arman asked lightly, trying to provoke.

  Laigt fell silent again, then looked away. "I… was playing tag," he answered briefly.

  Arman didn't force it. He knew that the more pressure he put on, the tighter the boy's defenses would become. But deep inside, his suspicions grew stronger.

  This child is just like his father, he thought. Too kind, too willing to shoulder his own burdens. But the world isn't that beautiful, Young Master…

  He tightened his hold on his arm and stepped out of the garden. Out of the corner of his eye, Arman saw Fikri and Reza already standing guard in the distance, ready to block the four children's movements.

  Calm down, Van… Arman thought to himself. I will protect your son, even from wounds he doesn't yet understand.

  And in his arms, Laigt closed his eyes for a moment. Beneath his innocent lie, his heart trembled—not from pain, but from something he was beginning to learn: sometimes, protecting the ones we love means carrying the pain alone.

  When they arrived at the school gates, Fikri and Reza had already secured Raka, Dimas, Beni, and Karel inside a black car with tinted windows. Not with violence, but with authority and firmness that made the four children dare not resist. Their faces were pale, their eyes no longer as bold as they had been in the backyard.

  Arman stepped closer, still carrying Laigt. He stopped right in front of the car door, looked at the four children intently, then lowered Laigt gently into the front seat.

  "Young sir, sit here first. Don't be afraid," he said softly.

  Laigt nodded slowly, still silent, his head lowered.

  Arman made a small gesture. Fikri and Reza immediately understood. They opened the back door of the car and stood before the four children.

  Fikri crossed his arms over his chest, his voice low but heavy. “Now listen carefully. We won’t hurt you. But we want the truth.”

  Dimas swallowed. Karel looked away. Beni looked down. Raka, as the oldest, tried to remain steadfast, though his hands were shaking.

  Reza took a step forward, his gaze sharp but warm. “You’re all still children. Ten years old. We understand the world can sometimes feel unfair. But whatever happened just now, we need to know. Who started it?”

  There was no answer. Only heavy breathing and a barely audible heartbeat.

  Fikri lowered his voice. “Raka… you’re their leader. Speak.”

  Raka gritted his teeth, then finally spoke, softly. “We… just wanted to test him.”

  “Test?” Reza repeated quietly.

  “If he really wants to be our friend… not because he’s the son of an official,” Beni continued quietly, his voice barely audible.

  Dimas snorted softly. “Those officials’ children are disgusting. They look down on us. We thought… if Laigt was like them, then he was the same.”

  Karel clenched his fists. “We just wanted to know if he was different or not.”

  Fikri was silent for a moment, then said firmly, “And your way of testing us was by having a four-on-one fight?”

  The four children bowed their heads.

  Raka took a deep breath. “We were wrong…”

  Reza leaned forward slightly. “What did you promise if he lost?”

  Raka was silent for a long moment before finally answering, “We… asked for his cat tomorrow. And… he had to obey us.”

  Fikri exhaled heavily. “Do you realize your actions could traumatize him?”

  Beni shook his head slowly. “We didn’t want to hurt him… really. We just… wanted a friend.”

  The words hung in the air, plunging the atmosphere into silence. Even Arman, standing nearby, sighed softly.

  Reza stared at them. One by one. “Listen carefully. Young Master is not a weak child. But his heart is too good for this harsh world. If you hurt his heart, you are not only going against him… but against his beliefs.”

  Fikri continued, his voice softer. “We won’t report this to his father. Not today. But you must be honest. What do you really want?”

  Raka raised his head, his eyes red. “We just want… him to be our friend. Not the son of an official. Not the son of a rich man. Just Laigt.”

  Those words made Reza pause for a moment. He turned to Laigt, who was sitting in the front seat, clutching her small bag tightly.

  “Okay,” Fikri said finally. “If that’s your goal, your approach is wrong. And you know it.”

  The four children nodded simultaneously.

  Arman stepped closer, his voice calm but authoritative. “Remember one thing. Friendship is never born from coercion. It grows from honesty and the courage to change.”

  Raka’s eyes welled with tears.

  The car fell silent again. But beneath the silence, something had shifted: a small conflict had opened the door to a major change that would determine the course of all their lives.

  While Fikri and Reza conducted the interrogation, Arman sat in the front seat, cleaning the small cuts on Laigt's knees and elbows with wet wipes and antiseptic. His movements were gentle, careful, as if he were touching the most fragile objects in the world. Every now and then, he would stop and stare at that small face—sweet, innocent, and naive—but beneath that innocence, Arman sensed something hidden: a determination that a child his age couldn't yet fully understand.

  "Does it hurt?" Arman asked softly.

  Laigt shook his head quickly. "No, Uncle. Just a little."

  Arman smiled faintly, then glanced toward the back seat, where Fikri and Reza's voices were starting to rise. He tapped the car's partition with two fingers.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Fikri, Reza," he said softly but firmly, "don't shout at them. They're still kids. Soften your voices."

  Fikri took a deep breath. “Okay, Bro.”

  Reza nodded, lowering his voice.

  Before long, the confession came out in full. That Laigt was the one who challenged them to a duel, that they were simply responding, and that it all started with a simple desire: to be friends.

  Arman closed the first aid kit and stood up. His gaze swept over the four children calmly but authoritatively.

  “Do you know what you’re doing could get you into trouble with the law?” he said quietly.

  The four children bowed their heads.

  “If I want, I can take you to the police right now,” Arman continued.

  The air in the car felt tense.

  But before those words could instill further fear, a small voice came from the front seat.

  “No, Uncle…”

  Arman turned.

  Laigt stared at him with round, honest eyes. “Don’t take them to the police.”

  Arman fell silent. “Why, Young Master?”

  Laigt took a deep breath, then said innocently, “They’re my friends…”

  “Friends?” Arman repeated softly.

  “Yes,” Laigt nodded quickly. “I was the one who started the fight. I wanted to be friends, but I didn’t know how. I thought… if we dueled, we’d be friends like in the movies.”

  Reza held back a bitter smile. Fikri looked away, swallowing hard.

  Laigt continued, his voice soft but honest, “I don’t want them to be afraid of my father. I don’t want them to be friends with me because of whose son I am. I just want them to be my friends… for real.”

  The car was silent.

  Arman closed his eyes for a moment, holding back something that was shaking in his chest. He knelt in front of Laigt, gazing warmly at the small face.

  “You know, Laigt,” he said softly, “sometimes the world is more complicated than you imagine. But your heart… is very pure.”

  Laigt scratched his head, embarrassed. “Was I wrong, Uncle?”

  “You’re not wrong about wanting to be friends,” Arman replied softly. “You just went about it the wrong way.”

  Laigt smiled slightly.

  Inside, Arman was trembling.

  Oh God… you are truly like your father, son…

  A heart too kind for a world this harsh.

  Van… your son will one day take your place. Not because of strength, not because of power… but because of his kindness.

  Your blood flows strongly in him. You are truly one and the same.

  Arman stood, looking at the four children behind him.

  “You heard it yourself. This young master doesn’t want you punished. But one thing you must remember,” he said calmly but deeply, “friendship is never born from violence. If you want to be his friend, prove it with your actions, not with blows.”

  Raka nodded, his eyes glistening with tears. Dimas clenched his fists against his chest. Beni smiled slightly. Karel bowed deeply.

  And in that car, unbeknownst to anyone, a new bond began to grow—not from victory, not from strength, but from the honesty of a child who simply wants a friend.

  Arman stood tall before Raka, Dimas, Beni, and Karel. His gaze was sharp, his voice calm but authoritative.

  "Even though the Young Master has forgiven you... you still have to be punished."

  The four children were shocked.

  "P-punishment...?" Dimas's voice trembled.

  "We... "Are we going to jail, Uncle...?" Beni asked softly, his eyes starting to well up with tears.

  Karel immediately lowered his head, his shoulders trembling. Raka tried to hold on, but his voice cracked. "Please, Uncle... we promise we won't do it again... don't report us..."

  Cries broke out. One by one, the tears fell. The children's innocent fear filled the car cabin.

  "We don't want to go to jail, Uncle..." Dimas sobbed.

  "My mother will be sad..." Beni muttered.

  "My father will be furious..." Karel whispered.

  Laigt looked at them with a worried face. His hands were fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

  Arman raised his hand slowly. "Calm down."

  The crying slowly subsided, though the sobs lingered.

  "Your punishment isn't jail," Arman continued.

  The four of them raised their heads in unison.

  "You... have to be Young Master's friends."

  They fell silent, confused.

  "And as punishment, you will stay at Young Master's house for a whole week."

  The four children looked at each other.

  "For a week?" Raka repeated hesitantly.

  “Yes,” Arman replied briefly. “You will play, study, eat, and live with Young Master. You will learn the true meaning of friendship.”

  Laigt spontaneously beamed. “Really, Uncle? They live in our house?”

  Arman turned and smiled slightly. “Yes, Young Master.”

  But that joy was quickly replaced by anxiety on the four children’s faces.

  “B-but, Uncle…” Beni ventured, “what about our parents? If we don’t come home for a week, they’ll definitely panic…”

  “Yes…” Dimas continued. “My father can look for me everywhere.”

  “We don’t have a cell phone, Uncle…” Karel added softly.

  Arman looked at them each in turn, then said firmly but reassuringly, “That’s Uncle’s business. You don’t need to worry.”

  His tone was so firm that it silenced the four children.

  “I will speak to your parents directly,” Arman continued. “I will explain. I will take responsibility.”

  Raka swallowed. “Really, Uncle?”

  Arman nodded. "Uncle never lies."

  The four children were silent for a long time, then slowly their expressions changed. Fear shifted to confusion, and the confusion slowly turned to a small hope.

  Laigt smiled broadly. "So... we really are friends?"

  Raka looked at Laigt, then smiled slightly. "Yeah..."

  Dimas nodded. "It sounds... fun."

  Beni wiped away the remaining tears. "I've never been in a rich person's house..."

  Karel chuckled softly. "Let alone the house of an official's child."

  Laigt laughed lightly. "There are lots of toys in my house."

  Arman stared at the scene with a warm feeling in his chest.

  Van… Hana…

  Your children are learning to build their own little world.

  A world that will one day change everything.

  The car sped away from the school, carrying five children from different backgrounds, heading for a place that would be the beginning of friendship, the beginning of pain, and the beginning of a great destiny.

  As he headed home, Arman deliberately turned the car toward the largest mall owned by Laigt's father. He glanced in the rearview mirror, staring at the four small children in the back seat: Dimas, Raka, Karel, and Beni.

  Their clothes were shabby, faded, some torn, and their shoes looked very worn. Their small faces were tired, but their eyes still held innocence.

  Arman took a deep breath.

  "Children your age shouldn't have to live this hard..." he muttered.

  The car stopped in front of the mall's grand main entrance. The big lights flashed brightly, the glass doors opened automatically, and soft music drifted from inside.

  As soon as they got out of the car, Dimas, Raka, Karel, and Beni They were instantly stunned.

  Their eyes widened.

  Their mouths gaped.

  Their steps faltered.

  The tall, gleaming building felt like a palace.

  “Woaaah…” Beni whispered softly.

  “This… what is this place?” Karel asked, uncertain.

  “The mall,” Arman replied briefly, smiling slightly.

  They stepped inside. The cool air from the air conditioner brushed against their faces, the polished marble floor reflected their reflections, and the aroma of bread and coffee wafted through the air.

  The four children walked slowly, afraid to touch anything.

  Their faces radiated a happiness they had never felt before.

  Mid-step, Laigt stopped Arman with a gentle tug on his hand.

  “Uncle…” he said hesitantly. “Is this okay? Dad won’t be mad if we come here? This is Dad’s mall…”

  Arman stopped, staring at Laigt’s innocent face. He stroked his young master’s head lovingly.

  “Don’t worry, Young Master. This is Uncle’s business, okay?”

  Laigt stared at them for a moment, then smiled slightly and nodded.

  Arman led them to a children's clothing store. The employees greeted them warmly, making Dimas, Raka, Karel, and Beni even more awkward.

  "Come on, pick out the clothes you like," Arman said softly.

  They looked at each other.

  "Really, Uncle?" Raka asked doubtfully.

  "Really."

  With trembling hands, they chose clothes. In the dressing room, they changed. When they emerged, it was as if four children had been reborn.

  Clean clothes.

  New shoes.

  Bright faces.

  Dimas stared at the mirror for a long time, then touched his own cheek.

  "I... I'm handsome," he whispered in disbelief.

  Raka chuckled, while Karel and Beni jumped for joy.

  After that, Arman led them to the Children playing. As soon as they saw the colorful rides, they immediately ran.

  Laughter erupted.

  Screams of joy echoed.

  They slid down the slides, chased each other, and played with colorful balls.

  For the first time…

  they played without fear.

  Without hunger.

  Without anxiety.

  Their little faces shone with pure joy that perhaps only comes once in a lifetime.

  Laigt stood beside Arman, gazing at the scene with teary eyes.

  "Uncle…" he said softly. "They look so happy…"

  Arman nodded slowly.

  "Because they've never experienced life like this, Young Master."

  Laigt fell silent.

  In his heart, he promised to keep that smile as long as possible.

  After playing to their heart's content at the mall, the small group continued their journey home to the Van Arzello Anim family mansion.

  The car drove slowly along the increasingly busy city streets. At an intersection, Arman suddenly signaled the driver to pull over.

  An old blue minibus stopped at the side of the road.

  Behind the wheel, a middle-aged man looked surprised to see the luxury car stop in front of him.

  Arman got out of the car and approached the driver.

  “Excuse me, sir…” Arman greeted politely.

  The man looked at him doubtfully. “Y-yes, Uncle?”

  “Is your name Widodo? Karel’s father?”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Y-yes… I’m Widodo. What’s wrong, Uncle?”

  Arman turned toward the car. From inside, Karel peeked out slowly, his eyes widening at the sight of his father.

  “Karel will be staying at the Van Arzello Anim family’s house for a week,” Arman said calmly. “I ask for your permission and blessing.”

  Widodo fell silent.

  His body stiffened.

  It was as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

  “At… at the Van Arzello Anim family’s house?” his voice trembled. “Mr. Van’s… house?”

  Arman nodded politely.

  “Yes, sir. Your son is friends with Young Master Laigt. They will study, play, and live together for a while.”

  Widodo's eyes welled with tears.

  His hands trembled as he gripped the steering wheel.

  “Oh God…” he whispered.

  Tears slowly trickled down his cheeks.

  “In my entire life… I never dreamed… that my son would be friends with the family I admire so much… with the greatest officials and philanthropists in this city…”

  He wiped his face, trying to hold back tears.

  “Even if it's only for a week… this is more than enough for me. I'm sure… the Van family's kindness will never end here…”

  Arman smiled slightly.

  “You don't need to worry, sir. While you're at our house, we will take care of Karel like our own son.”

  Widodo bowed respectfully.

  “Thank you… thank you so much, Uncle… I don't know how to repay such great kindness…”

  Arman nodded.

  “One more thing, Mr. Widodo. Please also convey this news to Raka, Dimas, and Beni’s parents. Tell them that their children are safe and well with us.”

  Widodo nodded quickly.

  “Yes, Uncle. God willing, I will convey it tonight.”

  Arman glanced back at the car.

  “Karel…” he called softly.

  The little boy slowly got out. He hugged his father tightly.

  “Sir… Karel promises to be a good boy… Sir, don’t worry…”

  Widodo stroked his son’s hair with trembling hands.

  “Be a good boy, son… Don’t embarrass Daddy…”

  “Yes, Sir…”

  Arman gave him a moment, then returned to the car.

  As the vehicle drove away, Widodo stood for a long time on the side of the road, watching until the car disappeared.

  Tears welled up in his eyes again.

  He whispered to himself:

  Thank you, Mr. Van… thank you for accepting my son…

  Before reaching home, the luxury car turned into the downtown area. The clock on the dashboard showed eight o’clock. The lights of tall buildings reflected off the wet street left by the afternoon rain.

  Arman glanced at Laigt.

  "Young Master, let's have dinner first. It's time."

  Laigt nodded slightly.

  The car stopped in front of a magnificent restaurant, a multi-story glass building with sparkling golden lights. At the front, a long red carpet was stretched out, and waiters lined up neatly to greet the guests.

  Above the main door, the name was emblazoned:

  VAN ARZELLO ROYAL DINING

  Van Arzello Anim's most luxurious restaurant, a place usually only frequented by high-ranking officials, elite businessmen, and state guests.

  But directly across the street stood another restaurant, much simpler, with a modest building and a small sign:

  VAN'S PEOPLE'S RESTAURANT

  The food was affordable, affordable, and always busy with the locals.

  The two restaurants stood facing each other, as if symbolizing balance.

  Arman got out of the car first. His demeanor was firm, but his face calm.

  He opened the door and said loudly but warmly,

  “Please come down, Young Master… and all of you. Let's have dinner first. Everything is prepared.”

  Laigt got down, followed by Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni.

  As soon as their feet touched the marble floor, the four children froze.

  Their eyes widened.

  Their mouths gaped open.

  The crystal chandelier hung high, reflecting light in all directions. Aro The aroma of sumptuous cuisine lingered in the air. The sound of piano music drifted softly.

  “W-wow…” Beni whispered.

  “This is… a restaurant?” Dimas muttered, almost in disbelief.

  Raka swallowed. “I thought I only saw it on TV…”

  Karel clutched the hem of his shabby shirt, feeling small in such a large place.

  Seeing this, Arman patted their shoulders lightly.

  “Don’t worry. Tonight, you are the guests of honor.”

  Fikri and Reza stood to the side, gazing at the building with respect.

  Fikri said quietly,

  “This is how Great Master Van is…”

  Reza nodded.

  “If there’s a place for the rich, he always builds a place for the poor too.”

  Arman glanced at the modest restaurant across the street.

  “The Great Master always said…” Arman said quietly but firmly,

  “If the rich have to eat well, then the poor also have the right to be satisfied.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “That's why these two restaurants stand side by side. One for the elite, one for the common people. No one should feel superior.”

  The four children fell silent.

  Their hearts trembled.

  Raka whispered softly,

  “Someone so rich… still thinks about the poor…”

  Dimas lowered his head.

  “Even other officials… rarely care…”

  Laigt looked at the restaurant across the street, then smiled slightly.

  In his heart, he grew even prouder of his father.

  The waiter opened the large door.

  “Please come in, Young Master.”

  They stepped inside.

  The long table was neatly set. Warm dishes steamed: cream soup, roast chicken, tender steak, buttered rice, and sweet desserts.

  Raka swallowed.

  “I… have never seen so much food…”

  Arman smiled faintly.

  “Eat until you're full. There's no need to be embarrassed.”

  They sat down.

  At first, he was awkward.

  But slowly, hunger overcame everything.

  Beni smiled broadly after the first bite.

  “It’s so delicious…”

  Dimas nodded quickly.

  “This is heaven…”

  Karel stared at his food with tears in his eyes.

  “If you saw this… you wouldn’t believe it…”

  Laigt watched them with a small smile.

  That night, for the first time, the four street children experienced a sumptuous dinner, without fear, without feelings of inferiority.

  And it was there, at that dining table, that a true friendship began to grow.

  After entering the VIP room, Laigt and the four children sat neatly around a large round table. Luxurious dishes were served one by one. The aroma of world-class cuisine filled the room, making stomachs that had been empty since midday immediately rumble.

  Arman stood by the door, while Fikri and Reza guarded the hallway. His gaze swept every corner of the restaurant, ensuring that no threat was missed.

  But suddenly, Arman’s gaze stopped.

  In the main VIP room, directly across the glass hallway, a large table was visible, occupied by people he knew very well… and was very wary of.

  Darian Karsen sat in the center, his face cold, his eyes calculating. To his right sat his wife, Selena Karsen, a graceful woman with a thin, false smile. To his left sat Helena Mortis, a dignified woman with a strong aura of dominance. Beside Helena, her husband, Victor Mortis, straightened his posture with a knife-sharp gaze.

  Between them sat two children:

  Rezan Karsen, Darian's son, and Ares Mortis, Helena's son.

  Both children stared unblinkingly at Laigt.

  Their gazes weren't of curiosity.

  But rather… a challenge.

  Darian slowly raised his wine glass, then tilted it slightly toward Laigt, as if in greeting… but with a hidden meaning.

  Helena grinned faintly.

  Victor Mortis crossed his arms over his chest.

  The clear signal:

  This is our territory. And the war has just begun.

  Arman felt a chill run down his spine.

  It couldn't be a coincidence…

  He knew full well that Darian Karsen and Helena Mortis were the main axis of the political forces that hated Van Arzello Anim the most.

  They were a team.

  A team built on ambition, greed, and a thirst for power.

  Arman slowly moved to close the thick curtains of their VIP room.

  The sound of heavy fabric shifting cut off visual contact.

  In his heart, Arman muttered:

  You can plan whatever you want…

  But as long as I'm still standing in this world…

  You will never touch the Van Arzello Anim family.

  He turned to Laigt.

  The little boy chuckled along with Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni, completely oblivious to the storm brewing around him.

  Arman clenched his fists.

  The shadow war had begun.

  And the main target…

  was the most precious child in the world to Van Arzello Anim.

  On the other side of the restaurant, in the main VIP room, Rezan Karsen slammed his small spoon onto his plate.

  “Father, Mother… I don't accept this.”

  His tone was cold, yet full of suppressed emotion.

  Darian turned his head slowly. “What made you so angry, Rezan?”

  Rezan glanced toward the glass hallway, where Laigt's VIP room was located, although it was now covered by curtains.

  "Those... those four naughty kids. Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni. They're the school's ringleaders. Little thugs who always cause trouble."

  Ares Mortis interjected, his eyes narrowing.

  "They don't deserve to be here." near spoiled brats like Laigt. They're dirty, wild, and dangerous.”

  Helena Mortis slowly put down her glass. Ting… The small sound felt loud in the silence.

  “Continue,” she said softly.

  Rezan clenched his fists.

  “The school has always been afraid of them. But now they seem to be getting along with Laigt. As if they're already on his side.”

  Ares lowered his head slightly, then said in a hateful tone:

  “If those four kids become his shield, then Laigt will be even more difficult to touch.”

  Those words brought a sudden silence to the table.

  Victor Mortis narrowed his eyes.

  Darian slowly intertwined his fingers, then leaned back in his chair.

  Meanwhile, Helena and Darian looked at each other.

  It was only for a split second.

  But within that gaze, a thousand plans were born.

  The gazes of two predators finding an opening.

  Helena smiled faintly.

  “Children…” she said softly, “you don't need to worry.”

  Darian continued in a flat yet piercing voice,

  “In fact, their presence… opens up a much more interesting path.”

  Rezan and Ares looked at each other, confused.

  “What path, Father?” Rezan asked.

  Darian didn’t answer immediately.

  He turned to the curtain that closed off Laigt’s VIP room and grinned faintly.

  “Sometimes, to destroy a lion… we don’t need big weapons.”

  He paused.

  “Just release a small mouse into its den.”

  Helena chuckled softly.

  “And those four children… are the most perfect mice.”

  Victor Mortis straightened up.

  “If we play this right… it won’t just be Laigt who will be hurt.”

  He smiled coldly.

  “But also Van Arzello Anim.”

  Rezan and Ares fell silent.

  Their hearts beat faster.

  Untuk pertama kalinya, mereka merasa…

  bahwa perang sesungguhnya akan segera dimulai.

  Di luar, Laigt masih tertawa polos.

  Tanpa menyadari bahwa di balik dinding kaca dan tirai tebal…

  Nasibnya sedang diatur oleh tangan-tangan gelap.

  Suasana di meja VIP masih dipenuhi ketegangan ketika sesosok muncul dari pintu utama restoran, membuat seluruh ruangan terdiam kaku.

  Arvando Reiss.

  Pemimpin sejati poros gelap.

  Di sampingnya berjalan istrinya, Valeria Reiss, seorang wanita anggun dengan mata dingin dan penuh perhitungan. Di belakang mereka, si kembar identik, Kael Reiss dan Kian Reiss, berjalan bersama, tatapan mereka sama tajamnya, seolah mencerminkan ambisi ayah mereka

  Arvando berhenti sejenak sebelum duduk.

  Tatapannya menyapu seluruh ruangan.

  Lalu dia berkata datar,

  "Mobil keluarga Van... ada di luar. Jadi... dia ada di sini."

  Helena dan Darian saling bertukar pandang selama sepersekian detik.

  Kemudian, ketiganya saling bertatap muka.

  Tak ada kata-kata yang bisa terucap.

  Tidak ada senyuman.

  Namun di tengah tatapan tajam itu, tanda-tanda perang berubah secara diam-diam.

  Satu rencana.

  Satu tujuan.

  Satu musuh.

  Dan malam itu...

  Sumbu gelap telah selesai.