Date: July 1993
Location: SMA Negeri 1 Padang
Age: 11
The school gates towered like a fortress — freshly painted blue steel with gold lettering across the top:
"SMA NEGERI 1 PADANG"Unggul, Berprestasi, Bermartabat.
To most students, those words were just part of the wall. To Rakha, they were a mission statement — a challenge carved in metal.
He stood still for a moment, taking it in.
"Excellence. Achievement. Dignity."Let's see if they live up to it.
His backpack — a modest canvas one his mother had stitched his name into — was snug on his shoulders. Inside: notebooks, pens, and a thick binder labeled Urban Entry Plan: Stage 1. His uniform, crisp white and slightly oversized, smelled faintly of starch and home.
Around him, the city kids moved like they owned the place. Loud laughter. Polished shoes. Conversations about diskotik, pop stars, and weekend malls. Confidence didn't just drip from them — it exploded.
Some were 16. Some nearly 18.
He was 11.
And no one could tell just by looking — not at first. Not until they saw his face. His frame. His age.
Their heads turned like ripples across water.
"That must be someone's little brother…""Eh? No… he's wearing the school badge…""Seriously? That kid's in high school?"
Rakha didn't flinch. He kept his head forward, gaze scanning like a chess player on the first move.
Three steps into the gate. Two to the left. Past the honor board. Into the administrative hallway.
His eyes caught the schedule board — a scratched-up whiteboard by the main office. Classes were handwritten in bold ink.
X-A. Top class.
Rakha's breath slowed.
Top class…Either they believe in me — or they want to see me crack in front of the best.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and straightened his posture.
If they're going to test me, they should've made it harder.
He turned toward the classroom corridor — the sound of dozens of feet, bouncing chatter, a basketball thudding against concrete outside.
But Rakha didn't hear noise.
He heard pressure. Opportunity. A battlefield of minds and reputation.
And he was already calculating his opening move.
Inside Class X-A
It was a clean room — white walls, wooden desks, old blackboard. The ceiling fan buzzed like a tired bee trying to escape. Sunlight filtered through open slats, casting striped shadows across the floor. The room smelled of chalk, hand sanitizer, and quiet competition.
Rakha stepped in without hesitation. Heads turned almost immediately. A few students blinked. One leaned back in his chair to get a better look. Another whispered something behind a raised textbook.
But Rakha didn't flinch. He scanned the seats, noted the teacher's desk, the class motto above the blackboard ("Pikir Cepat, Bertindak Tepat"), and walked calmly to the back row. He placed his bag down, sat, and opened his notebook with the composure of someone entering a courtroom, not a classroom.
He ignored the stares. He ignored the whispers.
Until one voice — cocky, half-mocking — pierced the hum of curiosity.
"Eh, bocah… kamu nyasar, ya? This is high school, bukan taman kanak-kanak."
Laughter sparked nearby. It wasn't cruel, just the usual pack behavior. One older boy grinned and added, "Maybe he's here to sweep the chalk dust."
Rakha turned slowly toward the speaker — a lanky, overconfident boy with gelled hair and a prefect badge that seemed more like decoration than duty. Their eyes met.
Rakha didn't smile. Didn't frown. Just studied the boy for two seconds longer than comfortable.
Then he replied, tone level and clear:
"Then you'd better hurry and study harder… before I catch up."
The room froze.
A few students looked away, pretending not to listen. One boy coughed to hide a laugh. A girl near the window looked up from her notes, eyebrows raised. Even the prefect's smirk faltered — just for a second.
"Sassy bocah…" he muttered, turning away — but not before glancing back once more, just to check.
Rakha turned back to his notebook. Calmly flipped to the next page. Jotted something down with a pencil, deliberately ignoring them all.
Never start loud. Let them come to you.Win in silence first.
And they did come.
Not with questions yet — but with attention. The kind that lingered.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Urban Adaptation in Progress…
– Social Analysis: Passive Scanning…
– Peer Ranking Challenge:
Optional– First Impression Bonus: +3 Influence
Observation: First-wave social resistance detected. Countermeasure? Stay composed. Let proof speak louder than presence.
Just as the tension in the room began to settle, the classroom door creaked open.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of leather shoes on tile brought immediate silence. Chairs straightened. Conversations stopped mid-word. The scent of clove cigarettes and menthol soap drifted in — a uniquely teacher-like combination.
A man in his mid-forties entered, dressed in neatly pressed slacks and a long-sleeved batik shirt rolled up at the elbows. His face was lean, his eyes sharp behind rimless glasses. He walked like someone used to authority but uninterested in theatrics.
"Selamat pagi," he said, placing a thin folder on the teacher's desk without looking up.
"Pagi, Pak Ardi…" the class replied in automatic unison.
Pak Ardi scanned the room — his gaze sweeping left to right like radar. When it landed on Rakha, it paused. Subtle, but sharp. His eyebrows lifted just slightly.
He didn't say anything. Not yet.
Instead, he opened the folder and pulled out a clipboard. Names, columns, academic data. He cleared his throat.
"We have a new student in X-A," he said plainly. "You may have noticed."
A few chuckles.
"Rakha Yudhistira Halim.""Age: eleven.""Origin: Nagari Lawang, Kecamatan Matur, Agam.""Placement: Direct entry, based on national acceleration recommendation and Ministry testing standards."
He closed the folder.
"That means he didn't skip here. He earned here."
The class quieted again.
Pak Ardi stepped in front of the desk and crossed his arms. His voice didn't rise — but it hardened.
"If anyone has a problem with his age, his height, or the fact that he's already ahead of most of you… you're welcome to prove otherwise."
He turned slightly, eyes flicking to Rakha.
"Rakha. Anything you want to say?"
Rakha stood without hesitation. Straight spine. Hands behind his back, like his father taught him.
"I'm not here to show off," he said calmly. "I'm here to learn. And maybe… improve a few things, if allowed."
There was no arrogance in his voice. Just intention.
Pak Ardi nodded. "Good. Sit."
Rakha sat. So did everyone else — straighter than before.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
First Academic Authority Acknowledgement Achieved
Teacher Recognition Bonus: +8Classroom Hostility: DecreasedSocial Neutrality Secured
Pak Ardi began the lesson — mathematics first. But for Rakha, the real math was happening beneath the surface.
He wasn't just calculating numbers.
He was calculating momentum.
Afternoon Break – Library Courtyard
Rakha sat alone by a tree, chewing on a homemade rice ball his mother packed in banana leaf. A few students still eyed him from a distance. Some curious. Some indifferent. One or two… cautious.
He scribbled notes in his book — not academic ones.
SMA 1 Padang – Initial Impressions
Teachers: Qualified, but old-school
Classmates: Mixed motivations
Facilities: Good lab, poor sanitation in boys' wing
Opportunities: Speech club, science society, junior entrepreneur team?
He circled one.
"Junior Entrepreneur Club" — monthly pitches, real market tests. That… could be a foothold.
He heard footsteps. Someone sat beside him.
"You don't talk much, do you?" said a girl with a neat ponytail and sharp eyes.
Rakha shrugged. "I talk when I have something to say."
She smiled. "Smart answer. I'm Tari. Class X-A."
Rakha nodded. "Rakha. Same class."
"I know."She gestured at his notes. "What are you drawing?"
"Maps," he said. "Of people. Of how schools work."
Tari raised an eyebrow. "You're… not normal, are you?"
Rakha smiled faintly. "That's the point."
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
New Connection Potential: Tari Alifah – Analytical, Trust Level: Neutral
Relationship trait: Watcher
Potential flags: Collaboration Path – "Urban Allies"
After School – Padang Bus Terminal
The bell rang just before the rain did.
By the time Rakha stepped through the school gates again, the sky had gone from bright to bruised. Grey clouds rolled above the rooftops, and the warm afternoon air smelled of wet concrete and kretek smoke.
He walked alone to the terminal — no umbrella, no complaints. His sandals kicked up thin puddles. Around him, older students peeled off in pairs and groups, joking, grabbing snacks, calling ojeks. No one called out to him. That was fine. He wasn't here to be noticed.
He was here to take notes.
His notebook was already half-full — not with formulas, but with names. Habits. Layouts of the school compound. First impressions. Weaknesses in the system.
"The top class uses old textbooks. The chemistry lab is locked most of the time. There's a 'smart student' clique — three boys, two girls. Arrogant, but predictable."
Rakha boarded the rusty city bus that would take him back to his kos — a small rented room near the outskirts of town, paid for by the seed money and the donations from Lawang villagers.
He chose a seat by the window and rested his head against the glass.
The city wasn't loud.The city was noisy.Different.
In Lawang, you could hear your own breath. In Padang, even silence had a rhythm — footsteps, vendors yelling, engines growling, radios blaring dangdut through broken speakers.
The bus jerked forward.
Rakha exhaled, finally allowing himself to feel something close to tired. But not defeated.
"I didn't stumble. That's enough for Day One."
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Urban Entry Protocol Complete
First Day Performance: Above StandardPeer Dynamics: Under ObservationAuthority Trust: Early PositiveMental Fortitude: Stable
New Path Detected: "City Ascension Protocol – Stage 1 Unlocked"Track clubs. Scan rivals. Identify first academic foothold.
By the time the bus dropped him off, dusk had settled. He walked the last 200 meters past warungs and drying laundry, clutching his notebook like it was a compass.
He didn't look lost.
He looked like someone building a map no one else could see.