The black car stopped in front of the school gate.
Its engine didn't turn off.
A low hum lingered in the air—subtle, but wrong. Out of place.
Students nearby began to glance over.
"Uh… who are they?" Bimo whispered.
"I don't know," Arga replied.
But his body already knew.
Something wasn't right.
Two men stepped out.
Gray jackets. Caps pulled low. Faces half-hidden in shadow.
The trunk opened.
Inside—
large boxes.
All labeled:
MBG
Arga's chest tightened instantly.
Wrong.
MBG meals never came like this.
"Isn't lunch already over?" Sinta murmured.
"Yeah…"
One of the men lifted a box.
Too smooth. Too careful.
As if he didn't want attention—
but wasn't afraid of being seen.
Arga took a step forward.
The energy inside him shifted.
Not warmth.
Heat.
Sharp.
A warning.
Then—
he smelled it.
Not rice.
Not vegetables.
Something bitter.
Something… dead.
"Arga…" Sinta whispered.
"You feel that too?"
He nodded.
"Don't get closer," he said quietly.
But it was already too late.
The box was placed near the canteen.
The lid opened—
just slightly.
That was enough.
Students began to gather.
"Hey! More food!"
"Wait, really?"
"Wait—" one of the men said quickly.
Too quickly.
Arga's eyes locked onto the box.
Don't.
Every instinct screamed it.
"Don't eat that," he said.
"Why?" Bimo asked.
Before Arga could answer—
Sinta grabbed his arm.
"Look."
The sticker.
MBG.
But off.
The rice logo—tilted.
The color—faded.
The print—imperfect.
Fake.
Arga's voice dropped.
"That's not from our school."
Bimo swallowed.
"…so it's fake?"
Too late.
A younger student reached into the box.
Grabbed a pack.
Arga moved—
fast.
"DON'T EAT THAT!"
The boy flinched—
but not enough.
He took a bite.
Silence.
"…it tastes bitter…"
The boy froze.
Then—
his body jerked.
"Hey…?"
His hand trembled.
The food slipped from his fingers.
"Hey! HEY!"
His knees buckled.
THUD.
He collapsed.
Gasps erupted.
Someone screamed.
The world snapped into focus.
Arga's vision sharpened—too sharp.
His heartbeat exploded.
"What's happening?!" Bimo shouted.
Sinta rushed forward, dropping beside the boy.
"Hey! Stay with me!"
The boy's body trembled.
Not violently—
but wrong.
As if something inside him was fighting itself.
Arga stepped closer to the box.
For a split second—
he saw it.
Not food.
Dark packages.
Dry.
Oily.
Lifeless.
His body reacted instantly.
The heat surged—
then twisted.
Rejecting it.
"Stop! Don't eat it!" one of the men shouted suddenly.
"Maybe it's spoiled!"
Lies.
No one moved.
Fear spread.
Fast.
Bimo's voice dropped to a whisper.
"…that's not food…"
Sinta clenched her fists.
"…they did this on purpose."
Arga's gaze shifted.
The men—
were watching.
Not the crowd.
Not the teachers.
Them.
One of them stepped forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each step heavy with intent.
Arga didn't move.
The energy inside him surged again—
stronger than ever.
His heartbeat thundered.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
Every instinct screamed one word—
fight.
Sinta stepped beside him.
"Arga…"
"Yeah."
"…this is bad."
Bimo swallowed hard.
"…what do we do?"
Arga's eyes never left the man.
"…we stop them."
The man stopped a few steps away.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"So."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"You reacted."
Arga's chest tightened.
The man's gaze flicked to the lunch box in Arga's hand.
"Good."
"…that means it's working."
Sinta froze.
"…what?"
The man tilted his head slightly.
"Contamination test."
Silence fell like a weight.
Bimo's voice cracked.
"…you did this on purpose?!"
The man smiled wider.
"We needed to observe the difference."
He raised a finger—
not toward the fallen boy.
But toward Arga.
"Between them…"
"…and you."
Something snapped.
Arga moved.
Faster than before.
He crossed the distance in an instant—
his hand grabbing the man's collar.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Sinta's eyes widened.
"Arga—!"
But he didn't hear her.
The heat inside him—
erupted.
The man didn't resist.
He simply smiled.
"Unstable."
Then—
he moved.
Too fast.
His wrist twisted—
Arga's grip broke instantly.
Arga staggered back.
Pain shot through his arm.
Sharp.
Real.
For the first time—
he felt it.
The man stepped closer.
"You're not ready."
Arga tried to move again—
but his body hesitated.
Not fear.
Instinct.
Danger.
Sinta grabbed him, pulling him back.
"STOP!"
The man glanced at her—
then at the fallen boy.
"…sufficient data."
He tapped his earpiece.
"Phase one complete."
The second man closed the box.
Quick. Efficient.
They turned.
Walked back to the car.
No panic.
No urgency.
As if this—
was routine.
The engine roared.
The car drove away.
Leaving behind—
silence.
And one boy—
still lying on the ground.
Sinta dropped beside him again.
"He's breathing… but weak…"
Bimo's face had gone pale.
"…they just… poisoned him…"
Arga stood still.
His fists trembling.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Anger.
Pure.
Burning.
He stared at the road where the car had disappeared.
His voice dropped—
low.
Cold.
"…this isn't over."
And for the first time—
this wasn't about confusion.
Not about power.
Not about change.
This—
was war.