Chapter 29 - becoming a vigilante

As I walk away from the chaos, I spot Mr. Rahman approaching me in the hallway, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. The awkwardness between us is palpable.

"Looks like you're well-acquainted with trouble, eh?" Mr. Rahman's words are laced with a hint of amusement, and I can tell he's referring to the commotion that just erupted. I nod sheepishly, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Yeah... my bad..." I mutter, trying to brush it off.

Mr. Rahman's expression turns serious. "Why do you want to destroy your image?" he asks, his voice low and probing. I hesitate, unsure of how to respond.

"I don't know... because... I'm not sure about myself right now..." I trail off, feeling a sense of uncertainty wash over me. Mr. Rahman's words linger in the air, and I can sense his concern.

"You are not alone, son," he says softly, his voice filled with conviction. "You are not alone, that is for sure..." I nod, feeling a glimmer of hope, but I'm too preoccupied to dwell on it. I walk away, deciding to skip class and investigate further.

I'm not blaming Shinji; he's just like me – a product of his environment. I glance at my hand, the same hand that's been involved in countless altercations. A sense of familiarity washes over me, and I know exactly where to find the answers I'm looking for.

I head out to the usual hangout spot, and sure enough, they're there, lounging around like they own the place. As I approach, they're quick to greet me with their typical swagger.

"Hey!!! Kid!!!!" one of them calls out, but another one quickly intervenes, pulling him away.

"Hey!!! Stop it!!! That is Alex...!!" They know the drill, and they're aware of the consequences.

I spot one of the goons, but it's not Halim. I ask him, "Where is Halim?" The goon looks up at me, squinting through the smoke of his cigarette.

"He's not one of us anymore... why the hell are you asking me?" he growls. I sit next to him, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Well... I just curious about the boys that a little kid called before..." The goon nods, calling out to someone.

"Oi!!! Randel!!!!!" A burly guy approaches us, his expression neutral.

"What's up?" Randel asks, eyeing me warily. The goon fills him in on the conversation, and Randel sits next to me, seeming more willing to talk.

"Well... that gang actually wanted to come here because of Halim... they said that Halim is not a part of that gang and wanted to take over... plus his dad owes some money..."

Randel explains, providing valuable insight into Halim's situation.

I listen intently, piecing together the events. Randel continues, "When Halim walked away because he wanted to focus on his studies... even towards his dad... his big brother wanted to take over, but he's still in the hospital... yesterday..." This new information raises more questions.

I press on, trying to get more information. "I think there's a name for that guy... something about being 'Malay...'" Randel's expression turns thoughtful.

Suddenly, he grins, recalling something. "But I remember there's one hot girl next to him... black hair with a ponytail... damn, man, she's hot... but she looks like not even human to begin with..." My mind starts racing – could it be the clone?

Randel's expression turns frustrated as he explains the situation. "You know what... I'm getting tired of this," he says, his voice laced with resentment. "They think they can lord over us, like we're beneath them.”

One of the guys chimes in, his voice filled with anger. "Yeah!! They all think we can be bought for money!! Like we're nothing but pawns to them." I listen intently, my eyes locked on theirs.

I ask them, "I heard they got caught, but is that all of it?" Randel leans in, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Well, they hang around in a condo not far from here," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seems like one of them is the leader... plus the girl is around as well. Nice to have a girl to have fun with..." My eyes narrow, my mind racing with possibilities.

I stand up, a plan forming in my head. "Well, if you don't want to be lorded over... get a job then." I smile at them, trying to gauge their reaction.

The others seem to take offense, standing up and challenging me. "Well, we're just loitering around here... why do you care?" they ask, their voices laced with hostility.

I glance around, spotting a gardeners' equipment nearby. "Well, it's kinda a bit of a mess... then..." I walk towards the equipment and order them to clean up the park.

The goons look at each other, seemingly offended, but some of them nod in agreement. "Then help us get a job then," one of them says, their voices filled with desperation.

I notice an old lady sitting nearby, likely a park staff member. I approach her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Do you need help?" I ask, trying to sound friendly. She smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Yep... it's not that clean, plus I'm old already..." I nod sympathetically, an idea forming in my head.

I point at the goons and call them over. "Here, all of them volunteer to work." The old lady's eyes light up, and she nods enthusiastically.

However, she quickly adds, "Well, I could pay them, but not that much..." I smile, trying to reassure her.

"At least they have money and pride to work," I say, glancing at the goons. They seem taken aback, their expressions changing from hostility to curiosity.

"Why to such lengths?" one of them asks, their voice filled with confusion. I look at them, trying to convey my intentions.

"Well... at least I want a clean park for everyone to hang around," I say, trying to sound sincere. The goons exchange glances, seemingly considering my words.

One of the goons nods in appreciation, a hint of gratitude in his voice. "Thanks... that was quick in my opinion... a good start." Randel hands me a business card, his expression serious.

"Here, take this," he says, his voice low. "That's the guy who offered us... and look at it then." I examine the card, my eyes scanning the details.

The name "Kamaluddin Bin Ibrahim" stands out, along with the title "Senior Member of the Malay Associate". I nod, tucking the card into my pocket. “Thanks."

I head to my bike, parked nearby, and sneakily make my way towards it. As I ride off, the wind rushes past me, and I feel a sense of freedom. My destination is the condo, a famous one that I've heard of before.

I arrive at the condo and climb up towards an entrance, my movements swift and silent. Suddenly, one of them spots me, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey!! What the hell are you doing here?" he exclaims, but before he can react, I knock him down, laying him on the side of the wall. I feel a strange sensation, like someone is testing me, ever since the last meeting with the clone.

But now, I have to find out what's going on. Just as I'm about to proceed, my phone rings, shrill and loud. I curse under my breath, realizing that people inside the condo are starting to notice.

"Hey!! Someone is outside!! Check it out!!" someone shouts in Malay. I quickly hide somewhere to avoid detection, my heart racing. Luckily, it's just one guy, and I manage to knock him out.

I slowly make my way inside, my senses on high alert. The house looks normal, but the smell of cigarettes and drugs hits me like a punch to the gut. I spot one of them, already high from the drugs, and my eyes narrow.

What the hell are they doing here? Don't they know that the building manager could find out about this? This is a big condo, and the penthouse is likely to be heavily secured. I move cautiously, my eyes scanning the area, ready for anything.

As I creep towards the living room, I'm met with a scene of utter debauchery. A bunch of them are already high on drugs, their eyes glassy and unfocused. I can hear the sound of laughter and music, but it's the conversation coming from upstairs that catches my attention.

I sneak towards the stairs, my footsteps light and deliberate. The sound of moaning grows louder, and I can tell that it's coming from the master bedroom. My heart starts pounding in my chest as I slowly make my way up.

"Ah!! Ah!! Ah!!!" The sounds of pleasure are unmistakable, and I feel a surge of adrenaline as I reach the top of the stairs. I peer into the master bedroom, and what I see makes my blood run cold.

There, on the bed, is a girl who looks eerily similar to the one Randel mentioned. They're... well, I don't want to describe it in detail.

I peer into the master bedroom, but my view is obstructed by the massive size of the room. The girl seems to be enjoying herself, but I'm not entirely sure - it's hard to tell. I've changed since my days as a hothead, thanks to Soro's training. I opt for stealth over brute force, slipping into another room that's more like a storage space filled with boxes.

I'm searching for clues, and what I find is disturbing. There's a stash of drugs, but what's more alarming is the arsenal of weapons they possess. These guys are clearly not playing around. I manage to silence my phone, and to my surprise, it's Sylvia calling. Shit. This isn't the time for them to find out I've skipped school, but priorities shift when you're dealing with scum like this.

Among the documents I find, one catches my eye - it's about the girl. The picture reveals she's not a clone, but a former student of Borneo College, four years ago. That would make her around 20-plus now. But why does she bear an uncanny resemblance to Frederica? I'm reading through the documents, and another one reveals something even more sinister.

The names Mariam, Amin, Sylvia, and mine are all listed. I'm reading through it again, and something doesn't add up. Rage and anger are coursing through my veins as I stand up, documents in hand.

I've got what I need. Now it's time to take action. I'm making a phone call to Mr. Habeeb, and he answers with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Well, you will love this," I say, my voice low and even.

"Son, where are you?" Mr. Habeeb asks, his tone serious.

I'm giving him the address, and he responds, "Son, wait there, I'll call for backup." But I'm not one for waiting. These mobsters are responsible for what almost happened to Sylvia, and they're going down.

One of them spots me, and before he can react, I'm punching him, sending him crashing to the floor. I'm sprinting towards the room where the girl is, and what I see makes my blood boil. They look like they've finished their "fun." My breathing is heavy, and with each punch and kick, I'm unleashing my fury on these scum.

One of them gets punched so hard that his head sticks to the wall, a grim testament to my rage.

I charge into the room, my fury unleashed like a storm. I'm a force of nature, unstoppable and unrelenting. My fists fly, connecting with jawlines and stomachs, sending men crashing to the floor. I'm a whirlwind of punches and kicks, my movements lightning-fast and deadly.

My rage is palpable, a living thing that fuels my every blow. I'm not thinking, I'm not reasoning – I'm just reacting, driven by a primal urge to destroy. The men around me are no match for my berserker fury, and they fall like dominoes as I plow through them.

The room is a blur of chaos and destruction, the sound of punches connecting with flesh and bone echoing off the walls. I'm a one-man army, tearing through the mobsters with ease. My breathing is heavy, my muscles pumped with adrenaline as I unleash my wrath upon them.

The girl stands frozen, her eyes fixed on me as I wreak havoc around her. She doesn't flinch, doesn't even seem to care that I'm beating down an entire room full of men. Her expression is a mask, unreadable and unyielding.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the last of the mobsters falls to the ground. Only two people remain standing: the leader, who's cowering in fear, and the girl, who's still watching me with that same unreadable expression.

The leader trembles, his eyes wide with terror as I approach him. "P-please, don't hurt me," he begs, his voice shaking.

But I'm beyond reason. My rage still simmers, waiting to boil over into violence. I tower over the leader, my fists clenched, my eyes blazing with fury.

The girl, however, doesn't seem to share the leader's fear. She watches me with a curious expression, as if she's studying a wild animal. Her eyes are locked on mine, and for a moment, I feel like she's seeing right through me.

"You're quite the fighter," she says, her voice calm and detached. "But do you have what it takes to take on the real enemy?”

Her words are a spark that ignites a fire within me. I feel my rage surge, my muscles tensing as I prepare to unleash my fury once more. But I'm not sure who I'm angrier at – the leader, or the girl herself.

I examine the leader, and something doesn't add up. He seems out of place, like a mere pawn in a much larger game. My gaze shifts to the girl, who's standing with her arms crossed, her clothes barely clinging to her body. She's a vision of barely-contained power, her eyes flashing with a fierce intensity.

"So, you must be the infamous Alex, the orge," she says, her voice dripping with amusement. I wonder who came up with that title – it sounds like a joke. "So, I wonder what's your catch here... and you look familiar," I ask her, trying to keep my eyes on hers despite the distracting view.

But she doesn't answer my question. Instead, she launches herself at me with a ferocity that's impossible to ignore. Her movements are lightning-fast, her strikes aimed at my most vulnerable spots. I'm caught off guard, but I quickly recover and launch a counterattack.

A flurry of punches and kicks ensues, with both of us exchanging blows. I'm determined to take her down, but she's not going down without a fight. Her clothes are torn and disheveled, and eventually, she's left bare, but she doesn't seem to care. She's still fighting, still attacking me with every ounce of strength she has.

The guy, on the other hand, is frozen in place, watching us with a mixture of fear and fascination. He's clearly out of his depth, and I'm starting to wonder if he's even relevant to this situation.

As I fight the girl, I'm struck by her skill and determination. She's not just a pretty face – she's a force to be reckoned with. And when she says, "Well, you got guts just like that girl," I'm intrigued. Who is she talking about? And what's her connection to this mysterious person?

I charge at her with a ferocity that shakes the very foundations of the room. My fist flies towards her, but she's too quick, dodging the blow with ease. The force of my punch is so great that it pierces the wall behind her, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. The sound of shattering drywall and splintering wood echoes through the air as I stand there, my chest heaving with exertion.

"My... my... that is really something," she says, her voice laced with a mixture of fascination and fear. Her eyes are fixed on the hole in the wall, and for a moment, I think she's going to comment on my strength. But instead, she looks up at me, her gaze piercing. "Aren't you the strange one... because you had the same look like that boy before... geez, that terrified me.”

Her words are like a puzzle piece that refuses to fit. Who is she talking about? And what look are we talking about? I'm intrigued, and my anger momentarily subsides as I try to piece together the mystery. But before I can ask her any questions, she's already moving, her eyes locked on mine with an unnerving intensity.

The air is charged with tension as we stand there, the only sound the creaking of the damaged wall and the heavy breathing of the would-be leader, who's still frozen in place. I can feel the weight of the girl's gaze, like she's trying to see right through me. And I'm not sure if I'm ready for what she might find.

The battle rages on, with both of us exchanging blows and neither gaining the upper hand. But I'm determined to end this fight, to protect Sylvia and uncover the truth behind this sinister plot.

The rooftop explodes with motion.

The girl lunges at me—fast, relentless, eyes like sharpened blades. Every strike she throws is razor-precise, her technique honed like someone who’s fought through fire and never flinched. Her ponytail whips like a banner of war as she spins, twists, and lashes out with a devastating combo of kicks that force me back, scraping my soles across the concrete.

But I’m no pushover.

I duck under her sweeping kick, feel the wind graze my cheek. I retaliate with a low jab, then pivot sideways as her fist rockets past my face. The rooftop trembles under our footsteps, like even the sky’s holding its breath.

This isn’t just a fight.

It’s a conversation—one punch at a time.

We trade blows in a blur. Fists crack like gunshots. Sparks fly as her foot skid against steel. The tension is so thick it could snap steel wire.

She grins between attacks. “Getting tired, ….Alex?”

I smirk, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “Not even warmed up.”

The intensity builds. We’re dancing now—her attacks fluid like water, mine wild and unpredictable like fire. A storm with no end in sight.

Then—

It happens.

She feints left, slips in close, eyes gleaming with mischief. For a moment, we’re face to face. And instead of landing a hit, she whispers—

“You know… maybe I could pay a visit to your family one day…”

BOOM.

That does it.

Something snaps inside me—not anger. Something deeper.

I explode into motion, my fist cracking through her guard and slamming into her stomach. The air leaves her lungs in a sharp gasp as she's launched backwards, crashing into the rooftop tiles with a heavy thud.

She groans, trying to get up.

Too late.

I’m already there.

With a clean, controlled kick, I pin her down, heel pressed gently—but firmly—against her shoulder.

The fight’s over.

Silence reigns. My chest heaves, blood pumping in my ears like war drums. But the victory tastes bitter.

She lies beneath me—beaten, but not broken. Her breath is ragged. Her eyes burn—not with pain, but with defiance. Her lips curl into a wry smirk even now.

“You’re stronger than I thought,” she mutters, her voice rough. “Not bad… for someone who fights like he’s got something to protect.”

I look down at her, trying to read the truth behind her taunt. Was that just a mind game? Or… is she trying to say something else?

There's a flash of something in her gaze—longing, maybe? Or regret? Before I can make sense of it, a cough interrupts the moment.

I turn.

Behind me, the so-called “leader”—the one who sent her after me—is still frozen like a statue. His face is pale, his mouth slightly open.

I narrow my eyes and take a step toward him, my voice dropping to a low growl.

“Sit still….”

The words are simple, but they hit like a loaded gun.

“Start talking. Tell me what’s really going on… and maybe—just maybe—you walk out of here with your kneecaps still intact.”

He gulps audibly.

The girl chuckles weakly, sprawled on the cold rooftop floor, one hand gripping her bruised side. Her breath trembles, but that mischievous spark in her eye refuses to die.

“Hah… damn. Now I kinda want to meet your family even more.”

Despite everything—the bruises, the tension, the chaos of the fight—my lips twitch into the faintest smirk.

"I hope it doesn’t turn out like that..." I reply, glancing back over my shoulder at her.

For a second, there’s something almost peaceful in the air. Strange how the battlefield can feel so calm when both sides finally stop fighting. Her lips curl into a crooked smile, like she knows she got under my skin just enough.

But then—

BANG!

The rooftop door slams open with brutal force, its hinges screeching against the frame.

“POLICE! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!!”

The shout echoes across the rooftop like thunder.

Mr Habeeb suddenly approaches me

“What is happening here? Did you do this?”

I could not say anything because I’m still enrage with that girl statement.

Mr. Habeeb’s hands settle firmly on my shoulders.

His grip isn’t harsh—it's steady, reassuring. The kind of touch you don’t expect from someone standing in the middle of a raid. But in that moment, even with chaos unfolding around us, he’s trying to ground me.

To stop me from crossing a line I can’t uncross.

“Uncle… sorry about it…” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes lock with mine, calm but heavy. “I know you want to end this, son... but this isn’t the way.”

His voice isn’t scolding—it’s pleading. Like he’s seen where this road leads and wants me to turn back before it’s too late.

Behind us, the officers move in. The girl, still cuffed and guarded, doesn’t resist. She lifts her chin proudly as though she’s walking into a gala, not a holding cell.

“You’re under arrest,” Mr. Habeeb declares.

But the girl just smiles—cold, composed.

“Under what?”

Before Mr. Habeeb can respond, one of the younger officers runs up, panting.

“Sir! We searched the back room. There are traces of narcotics—powdered, pills, some half-used. Most of the guys in there are totally out of it!”

I flinch. That explains the blank stares. The shaky limbs.

Mr. Habeeb raises a brow. “Looks like we’ve found something... very interesting.”

The girl doesn’t even blink.

“Must’ve been the previous owner,” she says, cool as ice. “We’re just staying here temporarily. Feel free to check the lease records. And... I’d like my lawyer now, if that’s alright.”

“Fine,” Mr. Habeeb replies, unfazed. “For now, you have the right to remain silent. We’ll continue this once the investigation is complete.”

The girl doesn’t fight back as the officers escort her. But just as she’s about to be led down the stairs, she turns her head slightly—just enough that only I can hear her.

And in a smooth, almost playful whisper, she says—

“Peut-être que tu pourrais regarder ton passé alors…”

French?

What the hell...?

I know what that means.
“Maybe you should look into your past, then.”

My pulse skips.

How does she know?

Before I can say anything, Mr. Habeeb glances back at me, that familiar fatherly smile returning to his face.

“Son, it’s time to go back to school. Let us handle the rest of this… or your friend might come yelling at me again.”

I chuckle under my breath. The tension in my chest eases just a little.

“Yeah… sorry to drag you into this.”

Without thinking, I bow slightly and press a respectful kiss to the back of his hand—something my mother taught me when words weren’t enough.

Mr. Habeeb just pats my head like I’m still ten.

“Go on. And stay out of trouble for once, alright?”

As I descend the stairs, the sirens fade, but her words still echo in my mind.

Look into your past...?

What the hell does she know about my past?

And why does it feel like this isn’t over?

I return to school just in time to miss the first class after lunch.

Figures.

The air’s warm, sun hanging lazily in the blue afternoon sky like it’s got nothing better to do. I step through the gate, only to feel the weight of someone’s stare immediately.

Standing right at the entrance—like he’s been waiting all day—is Mr. Rahman.

Arms folded. One eyebrow slightly raised. That same unreadable half-smile on his face.

Damn it.

He knows something.

“So,” he begins, voice smooth as ever, “picking up another job on the side now?”

I try to play it cool. “Not much… just running a few errands.”

I keep walking, but he steps forward slightly, like he’s not buying it.

“Not what Mr. Habeeb told me.”

I freeze mid-step.

Just for a second. But long enough for him to notice.

He doesn't push further right away. Instead, he glances up toward the sky—tranquil, cloudless. The kind of blue you’d normally find in a peaceful moment... not in one hiding confrontation.

He exhales and smiles softly. “Remember the first time you came to this school?”

I furrow my brow. “Yeah. What about it?”

He gives me a knowing look, the kind teachers use when they’re walking you into a life lesson.

“There was a boy,” he says. “Quiet. Angry. Wounded. You reminded me of someone—just like Shinji.”

That stings.

Like Borneo College all over again.

I feel a flicker of heat in my chest, but I swallow it down, keeping my tone even.

“I doubt that. At least… I’m not causing that much trouble.”

Mr. Rahman chuckles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

“Well... not most of it.”

I want to smirk, but I don’t.

He steps beside me now, his voice lower—calmer.

“I know you’re looking for something. Answers. About… what’s been happening lately.”

I glance at him, eyes narrowing.

He’s not just talking about the rooftop incident.

He’s talking about everything—the past, the girl, the whispers, the part of me I keep buried so deep I forget it's even there.

I answer honestly.

“More questions than answers.”

He nods, like that’s exactly what he expected me to say.

“That’s life, son. Sometimes we chase truth and all we find are mirrors.”

He starts to walk off, hands in his pockets.

“Just don’t break every mirror trying to find yourself.”

I stare after him, the breeze tugging gently at my collar.

Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Rahman’s just a guidance counselor with perfect timing…
Or something else entirely.

The hallway is strangely quiet as I push open the door to the English class.

I’m late.
Not dramatically late… just late enough for the room to go silent the moment I enter.

As I step in, two familiar faces turn toward me like they’ve seen a ghost.

“BROOOOO!!!”

Before I can react, Mariam suddenly jumps from her seat, full tackle mode, and wraps me in a crushing hug.

“What the—?! Mariam?!”

Not a second later, Amin follows suit with the energy of a long-lost sibling reunion.

“Dude! I thought you moved to another planet!”

They cling to me like I’ve been gone for ten years when it’s only been… what, a few days?

I let out a dry sigh. They’re doing this on purpose. I swear.

“You guys are ridiculous…”

Mariam tightens her grip. “No, you’re ridiculous! Disappearing like some mysterious anime protagonist and then walking in like nothing happened!”

Before I can come up with a comeback—

“Ahem.”

A cold chill shoots down my spine. That voice.

Ms. Genevie.

She’s standing there at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, glasses shimmering with reflected sunlight — like a final boss in a JRPG who’s about to cast “Disciplinary Strike Lv.99.”

“You three done treating my classroom like a drama reunion scene?”

That menacing aura... I can practically see it—black and red lines spiraling behind her like in every high school anime when the scary teacher gets serious.

Mariam and Amin instantly scuttle back to their seats.

I bow slightly with a nervous smile. “Sorry, ma’am… long day.”

She sighs, then gives a half-smile. “If you put half the effort into English as you do into hugging each other, maybe you’d all be fluent by now.”

I take my seat. Crisis temporarily averted.

Ms. Genevie begins the lesson with a fire in her voice. “Today, we’re going back to basics—grammar.”

Cue internal groans.

Even the word sounds like a punishment.

One by one, she starts throwing sentences on the board. Prepositions. Subject-verb agreement. Tense shifts. Gerunds. Stuff that makes most of the class’s brains leak out of their ears.

Amin is clearly dying. His face twists in confusion like he's being asked to solve alien code.

“What the hell is a past participle?” he whispers, eyes wide.

I nudge him with my pencil. “The thing we all forgot existed until five seconds ago.”

Mariam, on the other hand, is nodding sagely like some grammar goddess descending from Olympus.

“Guys… it’s literally just ‘have + verb in past form.’ Come on.”

I chuckle. Despite the headache-inducing lesson, there’s something comforting about being back here.

Familiar chaos. Familiar faces.

Even if the English grammar is enough to make anyone question their sanity.

By the end of class, my brain feels like mashed potatoes.

But strangely…

I missed this.

Even the noise. The weird arguments over sentence structure. The way Ms. Genevie threatens us with surprise tests like a ticking time bomb.

It’s good to be back.