Chapter 30 : The Weight of Forgiveness and the silence between us (Part 5)

After that talk, a strange quiet settles between us.

None of us say it aloud, but we all know what’s circling in our minds.

Alex is changing.

And we know exactly when it started — when he got close to Soro.

Mariam crosses her arms and exhales through her nose, trying to lighten the mood but failing to hide the concern in her voice.

“Well… let’s park that for now,” she says with a forced smirk. “If we keep going in circles like this, we’ll just wear ourselves out. We’re getting nowhere.”

I nod slowly, but I can’t shake the unease clawing at my chest. So I shift topics—just slightly.

“What about Shinji?” I ask, eyes narrowing. “What exactly did you do to him?”

Amin cracks a half-smile. “Oh, just the usual.”

I raise a brow.

“Y’know… full-blown hell week military-style boot camp,” he says, twirling his finger dramatically. “Push-ups at dawn, discipline drills, detox from his inflated ego. And Mariam here gave him one of her famous lectures on redemption arc theory.”

Mariam rolls her eyes. “Oh please. I just told him if he wanted to stop being everyone's punching bag and start rebuilding trust, he had to earn it. Through action. Not words.”

Amin continues, his expression shifting slightly. “The weird thing? He didn’t complain. At all. No sarcasm, no whining. It’s like…”

“…like something dark inside him just… disappeared,” I finish, slowly. “Or maybe… got absorbed by something else.”

Mariam clicks her tongue. “No. Someone.”

I turn to her.

She looks at me with that knowing glint in her eyes — the one she uses when she’s figured out a puzzle no one else can see.

“It was Alex,” she says. “Something happened during that night. Shinji saw him — and it broke whatever pride or poison he was clinging to.”

I feel my skin prickle.

Amin adds softly, “Soro was there too… right after you fainted. He didn’t say much. But he stood right over Shinji. Just… watching.”

Again, that name.

Soro.

The ghost that never leaves the room.

Mariam speaks again, quieter this time. “That man… Soro… He’s like a ghost in broad daylight. A phantom actor. The way he blends in… it’s unnatural.”

She shivers slightly. “It’s like he’s not even there until he wants to be. But when he is… it’s like time slows down around him.”

I bite my lip.

That same eerie presence I felt the night I saw him by the fence. His voice—so casual—like the world meant nothing, yet his eyes saw everything.

“Soro’s influence on Alex… it’s growing,” I murmur.

Mariam nods. “Yeah. And I don’t know if that’s a blessing… or the start of something worse.”

Amin scratches his head, tension crawling across his features. “The question isn’t if Alex is changing. It’s how far he’s willing to go.”

We all go silent again.

Three friends… caught in a spiral we didn’t choose.

But if Alex is truly walking toward something dangerous, maybe we’re the only ones who can still pull him back.

Before it’s too late.

Lunch ends like any other day. The school bell echoes faintly across the corridors, and we head back in the usual shuffle of footsteps and chatter. But my mind? It’s far from settled.

Alex... please wake up soon...

As I round the corner toward my class, I notice something odd.

A lone figure stands just outside the 3-Buccaneer classroom, fidgeting, eyes darting between his shoes and the hallway.

Shinji.

He straightens up the moment he sees me and bows so quickly, it almost looks like he’s about to snap in half.

“Sempai!!”

I blink. “Umm… shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Yes, sempai!” he says, voice slightly shaky. “But I—I wanted to say this first!”

I tilt my head, wary. There’s a flicker of memory — of fists, of that night, of shadows and trauma I haven’t fully processed yet. My hands tense slightly by my sides.

Then he drops to his knees, head lowered.

“Please… hit me. I deserve it… for what I did. I was out of line... and I need to prove myself worthy of forgiveness!”

My breath catches.

I stare at him, this boy who once strutted with arrogance, now trembling like a scared first-year student. I clench my fist—not to strike, but to stop myself from tearing up.

I walk closer, slowly, and gently place a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches.

But I don’t hit him.

Instead, I crouch to his level, lift his head with one hand, and meet his eyes with a soft but firm smile.

“Just like Mariam told you before… trust isn’t something that’s given. It’s earned. And earning it… is the hardest part.”

His eyes widen.

I ruffle his hair gently, like a big sister would.

“But I believe in you, Shinji. You’re already walking the path. Don’t stop now.”

His face crumples, tears slipping past the edges of his eyes.

“Sempai… I… I’m so sorry…!!” he cries, suddenly lunging into a hug around my waist like a little brother needing comfort.

“Waaaahhh!!!”

“Okay, okay!” I chuckle, patting his back. “That’s enough waterworks or you’ll drown the hallway.”

And then—

“Oi!!!”

Mariam’s voice cuts across the hall like a whip.

We both flinch.

She stomps toward us, arms crossed and eyebrow raised like an angry homeroom mom.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class, Shinji?! You’re gonna be late!”

“Hai, sempai!!”

He jumps up, salutes, and begins to bolt—but I grab his arm one last time and nod.

“Keep going, Shinji. You’re doing great. And… thanks.”

He bows again, deeper this time, and takes off toward his classroom like a sprinter at nationals.

Mariam exhales beside me and mutters under her breath with a small smile, “Tch. Kid’s acting like he got reborn or something. Guess I do have that proud mom vibe now, huh?”

Then—

“Ladies.”

We both turn to see Mr. Akira, Shinji’s father, standing nearby. He gives a deep, respectful bow.

“Thank you. My wife… she called last night. She’s so relieved to hear Shinji’s changed. She said—” his voice wavers slightly “—she wants to fly to Malaysia. She wants to meet the people who brought her son back.”

Mariam waves it off, playfully cocky. “It’s cool, sir. Honestly, nothing we can’t handle.”

Mr. Akira chuckles, visibly moved. “Well, I must return to class. And so must you two.”

“Yes, sir,” we say in unison, bowing back.

As we walk together toward our own classroom, a comfortable silence stretches between Mariam and me.

Behind us, the day goes on.

But something feels lighter.

Like a burden — even if only a sliver of it — has been lifted.

The school day ends like a fading dream — not because it was slow, but because my thoughts are already elsewhere.

Alex…

We all gather outside the school gates: Hana and Steward chatting happily, Maya skipping alongside them with that sly grin of hers. Tama and Siti join us like usual, forming our chaotic little caravan.

We head for the bus.

Maya is still going on and on — mostly about snacks, mostly to herself.

I lean over, casually.

“Maya, um… can I meet your big brother today?”

She gives me a cheeky smirk.

“That idiot? Sure, go ahead. I need to talk to him too. He’s an idiot. A dumb idiot. A big dumb idiot. Like… ultimate dumb.”

She repeats ‘idiot’ over and over like a chant, puffing her cheeks.

Even Mariam and Amin, who had already ridden ahead on their bike and beat us home, look amused when we arrive.

Once we’re at the house, I tug Mariam’s sleeve.

“Hey… I want to talk to someone. But… I want you with me.”

Mariam raises an eyebrow, already guessing. “Uh huh. Don’t tell me it’s…”

“Yep,” I sigh. “Him.”

Mariam crosses her arms. “You sure about that? He’s not exactly a welcome mat.”

Still, she nods and turns to Amin. “Babe, stay here with Alex. We’ll be back.”

Amin, already sitting by Alex’s side in the living room, nods. “Got it. Be careful, okay?”

We head outside and wait by the parking corridor, where the air is still and the sun is slowly slipping behind the hills.

Maya’s already there with us, holding a bag of snack wrappers and yelling at the open air.

“Dumbass!! Where’s the snack you promised me?! If you don’t show up, I’m calling Grandpa!!”

Mariam winces. “Is she… always like this?”

“You don’t want to know,” I mutter.

A beat of silence.

Then—

A shadow steps out from behind a tree at the edge of the house.

A calm, heavy voice follows like smoke.

“Uh huh. What is it, squirt?”

It’s him.

Soro. His tone is relaxed, but it carries an eerie chill — like someone who’s stared down death one too many times and laughed in its face.

Maya sticks her tongue out. “Dumbass! They want to talk to you!”

He exhales a plume of smoke and takes a seat on the edge of the corridor, legs lazily stretched, leaning back like this was all just an inconvenience.

His eerie yellow eyes flick toward me.

“So?” he asks, cool and unbothered. “What do you want?”

I gather my breath.

“It’s about Alex. I need you to—”

Before I can finish, he casually lifts his hand and gives me the middle finger without even looking.

“Do I look like a babysitter to you?” he grunts. “I already told you — he decided this.”

Mariam frowns, stepping forward.

“Then what about the clones? Why are they trying to contact him again?”

Soro flicks his cigarette toward a nearby drain. His eyes narrow.

“It’s… connected to a girl from his past.”

I feel a knot twist in my chest.

Frederica.

“Go on,” I press. “Tell us.”

He looks away, scowling like the topic itself tastes bitter.

Before he can reply, Maya walks up and kicks his shin.

“Oi! Dumb big brother!”

Soro winces. “That actually hurt.”

“Good!” Maya pouts, arms crossed.

He sighs again. “Fine…”

Soro leans forward now, the casual mask slipping just a little.

“Remember that old research centre in Kudat? The one you girls visited?”

We both nod. That eerie, abandoned facility still gives me nightmares.

“It wasn’t dead,” Soro continues. “We went back. It was active again. Quiet. Hidden. But working.”

Mariam tenses.

He continues.

“Alex saw it. All of it. He watched a playback file — security archive. From years ago. From the day Frederica almost died.”

“What?” I whisper.

“He saw how he saved her. How he threw himself in front of a charging bull in the field near their home — when he was just a kid. He was supposed to die that day.”

I stare at him, stunned.

“But he didn’t. Because someone brought him back. Reconstructed him.”

Soro’s voice goes quiet.

“His mother.”

My throat goes dry. Even Mariam goes silent.

“His own mother used that moment… that accident… as her first human trial,” Soro says, eyes distant. “She rebuilt him. Layer by layer. Nervous system. Muscle fiber. Bioengineered cell replication. Not clone… not cyborg. Something in between.”

And she never told him…

“And that’s why,” Soro finishes, standing up, “he can’t just let this go. Because now he knows. He’s not just a survivor anymore. He’s a product.”

The silence weighs heavy.

Even Maya doesn’t say anything. She just looks down, clutching her snack bag tighter.

Mariam bites her lip.

“Soro… he needs help.”

Soro glances back.

“He doesn’t need help. He needs the truth. And once he has it… he’ll choose his path. No one else.”

We all know the history.

How he was saved.

How he shouldn’t have survived.

How he died once… and somehow came back.

But none of us ever knew the details.

Not really.

Not even when Alex stood in front of Frederica’s grave that misty morning in Long Pasia… hands trembling, voice silent.

That was supposed to be his closure. The end of that chapter.

But it never felt like the end.

Not to me.

Not to any of us.

I step forward and look at Soro, still leaning against the pillar like he has all the time in the world.

“But… I thought he already made peace with that,” I say. “Didn’t he let her go back then?”

Soro’s eyes flicker.

“That’s what it looked like,” he mutters. “But by the looks of what’s coming… it doesn’t seem so, does it?”

Mariam crosses her arms, her voice sharp.

“Then what about LA?” she snaps. “What happened there, Soro?”

Soro exhales, cigarette smoke curling like ghostly whispers.

“That… is something even I haven’t figured out yet.”

He glances at us both, eyes shadowed. “More questions than answers. And believe me, I’ve been trying.”

The air feels colder now.

Even Soro — Soro — sounds uncertain.

Then he steps closer, lowering his voice.

“Tell you the truth…”

He stares directly at me.

“At one point… I thought Alex being dead would’ve been safer for all of us.”

The words hit like ice water.

My heart stops. Mariam’s eyes flare.

Before I can react, Mariam moves.

Fast.

Her heel spins and launches toward Soro’s side.

But—!

Suddenly, the world shifts—!

It’s like a ripple in time, a distortion.

And in an instant, Mariam is back where she started, standing completely still.

Eyes wide.

What… just happened?

She blinks, her breath sharp, fists still clenched.

Did we just rewind…?

Soro stands calmly, not a hair out of place.

“You think I’d let you hit me without consequences?” he says, his tone completely level. “Nice try.”

I clench my fists.

“You bastard—!”

But then… he says something that stops us cold.

“…That’s why I didn’t.”

He looks toward the ground, then at the sky — like a man haunted by a decision no one else could possibly understand.

“I had orders. From the top.”

He pauses. The silence is deafening.

“Kill him,” he says flatly. “Eliminate Alex.”

“What…?” I whisper.

Mariam looks like she’s about to explode.

“But he didn’t,” Soro continues. “And you know why?”

He looks straight at us.

“Because he made his choice. Because he was already carrying a burden heavier than death itself.”

The air grows still. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

“I watched him,” Soro says quietly. “Watched him protect people who hated him. Watched him face bullets with nothing but rage and regret in his eyes.”

He exhales, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot.

“And I realized… this kid isn’t a tool. He isn’t a weapon.”

He glances toward the room where Alex still sleeps.

“He’s a storm. A tragedy. A miracle.”

His voice softens, almost wistful.

“That’s why I let him live.”

Mariam lowers her head, shoulders trembling. “And now he’s like this… barely hanging on…”

Soro finally steps back, his eyes hidden under the shade of his fringe.

“Just be ready. Because when he wakes up… you won’t get the same Alex you knew.”

And with that, he walks off into the shadows.

No goodbye.

No farewell.

Only silence.

The kind of silence before a storm.

I glance at Mariam, both of us frozen.

And in that moment, we both realize something we’ve tried to deny until now.

Alex isn’t coming back the same.

If he comes back at all.

Mariam's words still echo in my ears.

"Like we all agreed—make sure Alex isn’t doing his side job again…"

Yeah. As if it were that easy.

I nod, back then.

But now—present time.

The school bus rumbles quietly down the familiar road, early morning light spilling through the windows like liquid gold. Students chatter, laugh, toss snacks across seats—but their voices feel like background noise.

Because right now, my world is narrowed into one moment.

Alex is beside me.

Still a little pale.

Still quiet.

Still Alex.

He sits like he always does—one arm lazily resting on the window, head tilted slightly, eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting the world to explode at any moment.

I watch him in silence for a few seconds, heart caught between guilt and longing. Then, wordlessly, I lean my head against his shoulder.

He stiffens slightly at first—probably not used to this after what happened—but he doesn’t pull away.

So I whisper, softly.

“Don’t run away… please…”

He turns, blinking in surprise. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

I smile—gentle, fragile, hiding everything behind it.

“Nothing,” I lie.

He stares for another beat. “Oi… what’s with the dramatic mystery talk? You’ve been acting all weird lately.”

I laugh, almost bitterly, but I keep it light. “Don’t worry. I’m just being a girl right now.”

He sighs, muttering under his breath. “You’re always a girl.”

I nudge his arm. “I heard that.”

But his smirk fades, just a little. And then he leans back, silent again. I feel the weight of his breath—steady, warm, alive. And for a moment, that's enough.

Outside the window, the sky is soft and blue. Birds skim across the clouds like they don’t know how cruel the world can be.

In this moment, I pray.

Not to change the past. Not to undo the scars or the blood or the weight Alex still carries in his soul.

I just pray for peace.

For a single day where I don’t have to wonder if he’ll come home with more wounds than when he left.

For a school day that doesn’t end in chaos, sirens, or masked men with hidden agendas.

For a future where Alex can smile without guilt in his eyes.

Please, God…

Let me have this moment.

Just once—let this peace be real.

I grip the edge of my skirt and close my eyes, still leaning on him.

And in the background, the bus hums forward—toward school, toward normalcy, toward a fragile dream we’re all still chasing.

The bus disappears behind the hills, tires kicking up a thin trail of dust. High above, a lone hornbill cuts across the tropical sky — wings spread wide, soaring toward the jungle canopy that blankets the heart of Sabah.

Below, in the dense green wilderness, hell is unfolding.

A soldier scrambles through the vines and ferns, his breath ragged, uniform soaked in blood and sweat. The name stitched onto his armor reads: Lockbolt 

His boots crash against the earth as gunfire explodes behind him.

“Shit!!” he hisses, slamming his back against a mossy tree trunk, rifle trembling in his grip.

His comms buzz frantically in his ear.
“Echo-1, this is Lockbolt! Heavy resistance at Blue-Nine! We need support — repeat, we need—!”

The transmission is cut short by a shriek.

A figure bolts from the undergrowth — fast, female, inhuman.

A clone.

Its face is emotionless, movements graceful and terrifying. Lockbolt pulls the trigger, the muzzle flash illuminating his fear. Bullets tear through leaves and limbs, but the clone doesn’t stop.

She slices forward.

A blur of silver arcs through the air — and blood sprays from Lockbolt’s leg. He falls hard, screaming, his gun skidding from his grasp.

“No… no—!”

The clone looms over him, blade-like fingers raised.

Then suddenly — her head snaps sideways.

CRACK.

A black-gloved hand twists her neck violently, then draws a blade and slits her throat in one motion. The body collapses beside Lockbolt, limp.

Standing over her, calm as a shadow, is a man clad in dark combat gear.

Gas mask. British accent.

Specter.

"Bit of a situation, old chap," he mutters dryly, hoisting Lockbolt like dead weight. “You always pick the scenic routes, huh?”

Lockbolt tries to respond — but freezes.

Eyes wide.

Because out of the trees, they’re coming.

A dozen more clones. Silent. Pale. Predatory.

Specter swears under his breath.

“Oh bollocks…”

But then—

A sound slices through the jungle.

BOOM.

One shot.

Five heads burst in sequence like synchronized detonation. Bodies fall like puppets cut from strings.

Specter doesn’t even flinch. He just grins behind his mask.

“About time…”

The remaining two clones glance around, confused. A second later, they crumple. Headshots. Clean. Instant. No time to scream.

Lockbolt looks toward the tree line, dazed.

There — high above, balancing on a branch with sniper rifle in hand, is a man dressed in black. His silhouette barely stirs with the breeze.

Golden eyes shine beneath his hood.

The monstrous recoil of his AWP .50 caliber doesn’t shake him. He moves like a ghost. Calm. Surgical.

Soro.

The man without a past.

The blade in the dark.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t signal. Just lowers the barrel and fades back into the leaves like a phantom.

Specter snorts. “Show-off…”

Lockbolt manages a faint: “T-thanks…”

Soro’s voice comes through the comms, deep and mechanical.
“Get out of there. You’re not cleared for what comes next.”

—

Cut to another part of the jungle.

A facility burns.

Flames crackle and twist into the clouds as the last vestiges of a hidden lab melt into rubble. The jungle has already begun reclaiming the site — vines curling over shattered towers and walls.

Standing at the edge of the carnage is a tall man in a long coat. Tactical gloves. Sunglasses. The insignia on his chest reads:

Maruk — Commander of SSX.

His boots crush a charred research folder as he surveys the wreckage.

Dead clones. Burnt documents. Ruined tech.

Another lead—gone.

“Another question,” he mutters to no one. “And still no answer.”

Overhead, the smoke coils upward into the grey morning sky like a funeral pyre.

Somewhere in the canopy, unseen, Soro watches.

His golden eyes flicker.

No emotion. No hesitation.

Only the mission.

And the next target.

End chapter 30