Chapter 43 – This Is the Day… Uh…

Alex POV

The hospital ward feels strangely calm today.

Too calm.

This is the day I’m discharged.

Director Habeeb stands near the window, hands behind his back, posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as ever.

“Well then, son… about that matter,” he begins.

I already know what he’s talking about.

“The red-haired ones,” I say quietly. “They just want to be free. To live.”

Habeeb studies me for a moment, then nods slowly.

“Sentimental type,” Faruk mutters, arms crossed. “Still, we’ve decided only a handful of people will know about their existence.”

“Soro’s handling it,” Faruk continues. “We’ll make sure no one follows them. Roadblocks, misdirection—the usual.”

“Leave it at that,” I reply. “They won’t come looking.”

Faruk exhales. “I doubt it. Because—”

“Well,” Habeeb cuts in, “this is getting complicated by the minute.”

I don’t respond.

My thoughts are somewhere else.

That other me.

The one in the fog.

The one that scared the hell out of me.

I can admit I’m dangerous.

But that thing?

That wasn’t just anger.

That was something already living inside me.

I don’t want to admit it.

I really don’t.

“Alex,” Uncle Habeeb says gently. “Walk with me.”

Sylvia nods, letting me go while she waits for Mariam—who’s probably dragging Amin somewhere again.

We take the elevator up.

The rooftop garden is quiet.

Wind brushes past us as Kota Kinabalu stretches below—water villages, port cranes, the ocean shimmering in the distance. Behind us, Mount Kinabalu rises like a silent guardian.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Habeeb says.

“It is,” I admit.

He looks at me. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I reply quickly. Too quickly.

He smiles knowingly.

“Soro’s training seems to have shaped you well.”

Why does everyone keep saying that?

“…Sort of,” I mumble.

“Faruk and I will handle the rest,” he continues. “You need a break. A real one.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m tired of crazy things happening.”

He nods, then asks quietly, “And your father?”

“He’s back,” I say. “Like an angel slapped him awake.”

Habeeb chuckles. “That’s good.”

I hesitate.

“Uncle,” I say. “Am I… a monster to you?”

He turns fully toward me, eyes searching my face.

“I don’t see one,” he answers. “Unless Soro says you’re getting too good.”

I blink. “That’s… a compliment?”

He laughs. “Rare, but yes.”

Then his tone softens.

“Don’t poison your heart with that word. Allah gave us emotions, reason, and a soul. That’s what makes us human.”

He quotes calmly:

‘Fighting has been prescribed for you, though you dislike it… Allah knows, and you do not.’
— Surah Al-Baqarah (2:216)

I listen.

“Faith,” he continues. “Balance. That’s what keeps us from losing ourselves.”

He taps my chest lightly.

“You’re Muslim. Zeal without balance becomes destruction.”

I nod.

“You’re a man,” he says firmly. “Even with your father back, you carry responsibility. Trials are part of the journey. Shaytan preys on doubt—because humans think, feel, and choose.”

I swallow.

“Suppress that power,” he adds quietly. “Not erase it. Control it. Power that isn’t mastered consumes its owner.”

His gaze drifts to the horizon.

“I’ve seen it happen.”

I look at him.

“I was like that once,” he says. “Before I became a policeman. At twenty, I was a black-ops soldier for the British during the Cold War.”

That surprises me.

“That’s how I know Maruk,” he continues. “Viet Cong. Soviets. CIA. Tausug fighters. Even your father’s family.”

“…What?” I mutter.

“Have you met your grandfather?” he asks.

“No. He passed away before I was born.”

“He’s the reason I became a policeman.”

Habeeb’s voice grows distant.

“During the Indonesian Confrontation, I was part of VAT69—second batch. SAS-trained. Out of twenty men… only I survived.”

I stare at him.

“It was black-ops,” he says. “Wars in the shadows.”

He takes a breath.

“I drifted in the water after escaping. That’s when your grandfather found me. A police boat captain.”

He smiles faintly.

“We were ambushed again. Ten men on a boat. But he wasn’t ordinary.”

I lean forward.

“He fought like you,” Habeeb says. “Bare hands. Jumping between boats. No weapons. No fear.”

“What?!” I blurt out.

“He arrested Soviet and communist commandos and handed them over to the British.”

My jaw drops.

“He was offered the military,” Habeeb continues. “He refused.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because power, rank, and wealth are just clothes,” he said. “What matters is what you hold in your heart.”

I swallow hard.

“He received the George Cross. Knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II herself.”

I laugh weakly. “Sounds unreal.”

“He died quietly at sixty,” Habeeb says. “Head Commissioner of Sabah Police.”

He places a hand on my shoulder.

“Your grandfather wasn’t just strong,” he says. “He was a beacon.”

His grip tightens.

“And when I look at you… I see him.”

My vision blurs.

“You’re not fighting yourself because you’re weak,” he finishes softly.
“You’re fighting because you’re deciding what kind of man you’ll become.”

Tears slip down before I can stop them.

And for the first time—

I don’t feel alone.

“Funny, right, Uncle?” I say, scratching the back of my head.
“Uncle Usman always told me Grandpa was a pious man. A man of faith.”

I grin weakly.

“But he never once mentioned he was a policeman… or, uh—some kind of superhero.”

Uncle Habeeb bursts out laughing.

“Hahaha! That sounds like him,” he says, wiping his eyes. “Oh, he was pious. Five daily prayers—never missed.”

He leans in, lowering his voice dramatically.

“You know what scared our whole batch more than bullets?”

“…What?” I ask.

“Missing prayer time.”

I blink.

“That man,” Habeeb continues, laughing harder, “terrified even his own men. If he were still alive and saw you like this—”

He chops the air.

“Your dad and mom would be the first ones dragged out to scold you.”

“Hahaha—okay, that’s terrifying,” I say, raising my hands.

We both laugh.

And somehow… the weight inside me lifts.

I realize then—this is his way of telling me something.

All that darkness, all that noise in my head—

It doesn’t define me.

I stretch, rolling my shoulders, feeling energy return to my limbs for the first time in days.

“Thanks, Uncle,” I say softly.

I step forward, give him a proper salam, and kiss his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, patting my shoulder.
“Now go reclaim what you missed, son.”

He pauses.

“Oh—and one more thing.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t forget your roots.”

I nod.

We head back down together.

And as the elevator doors open—

I see Mom waiting.

Sylvia, Mariam—and even Amin—are already here.

All of them.

“Hey, you know you’re gonna miss school again, right?” Amin says, pointing at me like a prosecutor.

“Yeah,” Mariam adds with a grin. “You owe us big time.”

Sylvia casually slips her arm around mine.

“Nah,” she says sweetly. “At least we were here waiting for our darling.”

I swear I feel my soul leave my body for half a second.

Mom just smiles.

“Looks like you’re back,” she says gently. “All good?”

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding. “Thanks… for getting me back on my feet.”

She hums in approval, then turns to Uncle Habeeb.

“Anyway, thank you, Mr. Habeeb.”

“Nah, it’s nothing,” he replies with a wave. “Tell Imran I send my regards.”

“Sure,” Mom says. “He’s multitasking now—working with Usman and looking after Sam.”

“At least he’s finally doing what he’s supposed to,” Habeeb mutters.

Before I can react—

SMACK.

Uncle Habeeb slams a hard pat right into my back.

“Well then—go on to school already!”

“HEY—THAT HURTS!” I protest.

He grins. I laugh despite myself.

The others stare at us, completely confused.

Mom just smiles knowingly.

We part ways soon after.

Mom drives us back to school while Mr. Rahman has already returned for some meeting.

The car is quiet for a moment.

Then—

“So,” Mom says casually, eyes on the road, “what did you and Uncle Habeeb talk about?”

“Umm…” I hesitate. “Nothing much… but I was wondering about Atok.”

She glances at me.

“Huh. So he told you, huh?” she says softly. “Your dad would never admit it. He’s… like you.”

Mariam suddenly leans forward.

“Kukuku… now I know where the reckless gene comes from.”

“Nope,” I reply flatly. “Just my late grandpa.”

Mom chuckles. “Anyway, what about him?”

“Well…” I scratch my cheek. “Uncle said something straight out of a comic book.”

She giggles.

“Yeah. Your grandpa was like that. The first time I met him, I thought—wow. Straight as an arrow. No filter.”

She glances at me through the rear-view mirror.

“Just like you.”

“HEY, you never told us about your dad’s side of the family,” Amin says.

“Huh? Like I even care,” I mutter.

“Well,” Mom continues, “his memento is actually with me. Your late nenek never wanted it inside the house.”

I freeze.

“…You’re saying—?”

“That medal?” Mom nods.

“You’re kidding, right?” My heart skips. “So that means… it’s true?”

“Yes,” she says calmly. “Your Atok wasn’t an ordinary man.”

“I wonder what his grandpa’s name is,” Sylvia says quietly.

Mom answers without hesitation.

“Deputy Commissioner of Police—Commander Datu Midzfar bin Muhajid ibn Ahmad.”

She pauses.

“…Yeah, it does sound redundant.”

Amin suddenly looks thoughtful.

“I need to ask my dad about this.”

“Kukuku…” Mariam giggles.

“That’s… something,” Sylvia murmurs.

One thing becomes clear to me.

At least I’m not something made.

I come from somewhere.

“Well,” Mom adds, “I still have his picture.”

“…Really?” I ask.

“It’s been a long time,” she says softly.

Mariam claps her hands.

“Well then, after school—we’re staying at your house!”

“HEY!” I protest.

“The more the merrier,” Mom says cheerfully.

“…Huh. Fine,” I groan. “Ugh.”

But somehow—

I don’t mind at all.

Alex POV – Buccaneers Are Doomed by Default

We arrive at school.

And because we’re all Buccaneers—

It’s rainbows and sunshine.

Which, in Buccaneer language, means:

We’re dead.

The moment we step into the corridor, two figures block our path.

Mr. Rahim.
Ms. Genevie.

They don’t even need to say anything.

The way they’re staring at us…

Yeah.

Capital punishment.

“Alright,” Mr. Rahim says calmly, folding his arms. “Thirty squats.”

My soul leaves my body.

“With ears pinched,” he adds.

It gets worse.

“Cross-hand.”

My soul doesn’t just leave—it ascends.

We drop into position, fingers pinching our own ears, arms crossed like idiots, knees bending in slow, humiliating agony.

Ms. Genevie circles us like a shark.

Then she stops in front of the girls.

“Well,” she says sweetly, far too sweetly, “two boys and two girls. I do wonder what exactly happened to you all…”

She tilts her head.

“…especially overnight.”

Mariam’s eye twitches.

Sylvia freezes completely, lips pressed tight, face glowing red.

Me and Amin?

We stare straight ahead like condemned prisoners.

Mr. Rahim squats down in front of us, inspecting us like—

…livestock.

Or meat.

Probably meat.

“Don’t worry,” he says kindly. Too kindly. “This will make your mind fresh.”

“AS IF!” me and Amin shout in perfect sync.

Our thighs scream.

Our dignity dies.

And somewhere in the distance, I swear I hear the Buccaneers’ theme song playing—

Right before everything fades to black—

Everyone is laughing.

Not giggling.

Laughing.

The corridor turns into a live audience, students pointing, whispering, filming with their eyes like this is premium entertainment.

And then—

Priscilla jumps on me.

“OI—!!” I almost collapse forward.

She clings to my back like a koala on caffeine, laughing way too hard.

“This makes it worse!” I hiss.

Way worse.

I look up.

Mr. Rahim’s hair—

It is rising.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

Like some kind of final-boss aura is leaking out of his skull.

Amin, the absolute idiot, opens his mouth.

“Hey, hey!! Captain!!!!! Aim him, not me!!!”

Silence.

Pure.

Deadly.

I turn slowly.

You don’t say that.

You never say that.

Mr. Rahim moves.

In one smooth motion, he locks Amin in—

The Camel Clutch.

The hallway gasps.

“IT’S MR. RAHIM, AMIN!!!” he roars.
“GLUE THAT INTO YOUR DUMB BRAIN!!!!”

Amin taps out immediately.

“Tap—tap—TAP—!”

Ms. Genevie doesn’t even blink.

She points at Priscilla.

“You. Join the girls.”

Priscilla freezes.

“…Eh?”

Too late.

She’s dragged into formation.

The sun is blazing now—
Like it personally hates us.

Sweat drips.

Legs shake.

My soul has officially clocked out.

But the worst part?

Our numbers are increasing.

Students stop.

Teachers slow down.

They gather around us like we’re contagious.

Like this is a warning exhibit:

“This is what happens when you become a Buccaneer.”

Then—

Mr. Rahman arrives.

He looks at us.

Nods.

Smiles.

“Nothing like a bit of exercise,” he says casually.

Then he walks away.

Like this is a shampoo commercial.

Me and Amin?

Speechless.

Broken.

Emotionally deceased.

This isn’t school anymore.

This is survival training.

After that whole disaster, we drag ourselves to class with muscles screaming in protest.

Every step hurts.

Even Mariam—who is usually unkillable—moves like an ancient relic.

She hunches over her desk, groaning.

“Dumbass… Ms. Genevie… ugh…” 😖

She looks like an old lady who just fought a demon lord and lost.

Classes continue.

Somehow.

I don’t remember half of it. My body is present, but my soul is still stuck doing squats under the sun.

Lunch Time – The Podium

Lunch hits like a checkpoint save.

We gather at our usual spot.

The podium.

Same place as always.

Same hierarchy as always.

The seniors:
Me, Amin, Mariam, Priscilla, Hazlan.

The juniors:
Sylvia, Siti, and Shinji—the newest recruit, still running on enthusiasm.

The elementary squad:
Hana, Steward, and Maya, orbiting us like satellites.

Sylvia does what she always does.

She opens her bag.

Lunch packs appear.

Neatly arranged.

Perfectly portioned.

Suspiciously professional.

I squint at them.

Mariam leans in, eyes sparkling.

“Hey, Syl… I gotta ask—how the heck do you make these?”

Sylvia smiles like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“It’s Steward and Hana,” she says. “I asked them to help.”

I look over.

Hana waves proudly.

Steward gives a thumbs-up.

…I see.

Child labor.

Effective.

“Senpai!!”

Shinji suddenly appears in front of me, holding out food with both hands like an offering.

My eyebrow twitches.

“Ugh… just eat it, bro,” I sigh.

“Right!!!” Shinji beams, like he just received a knight’s blessing.

Mariam leans closer to me, lowering her voice.

“You know the harvest festival?” she says.
“I heard from Melissa… we’re hosting it this year. Not KDCA.”

I pause.

“…Sounds big.”

Amin nearly chokes.

“BIG!? Dude!!! We’re going live!!”

I blink.

“Uh huh… so what does that have to do with me?”

Too quiet.

Mariam turns slowly.

She’s smiling.

That smile.

The you’re-already-dead smile.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she says sweetly.

“…Uh. Nope.”

“We need you, bro!!” Amin blurts out.

Like hell you do.

I lean back, crossing my arms.

“Uh… since you’ve got a lot of new manpower, I’m not needed anymore, you know.”

Mariam tilts her head.

“You remember who supplied the instrument last time?”

I freeze.

“…Not sure about that, babe,” Amin says casually.
“But we could manage.”

They keep talking.

Planning.

Deciding.

Right in front of me.

As if my opinion doesn’t exist.

My fingers tighten around my lunch pack.

For some reason—

That annoys me more than it should.

Like usual—

Priscilla suddenly drops down beside me. Way too close.

Before I can react—

Sylvia sits on my other side.

…Why.

Why does this keep happening.

Priscilla leans back casually, one arm draped over the bench, totally relaxed.

“Blud, you’re makin’ the babe heaps uncomfortable, mate… chill out, yeah?”

She winks at Sylvia.

Oh no.

Not this again.

Sylvia narrows her eyes.

Then suddenly—

She leans in and starts sniffing the air dramatically.

“…Hm.”

She waves her hand in front of her face like a detective who just found a crime scene.

“Aiya… ah—wait—here’s my cologne,” she mutters.
“That smell… darn it…”

She leans closer.

Too close.

She sniffs my shoulder.

😑

“Nope. Not here.”

She slides slightly—

Now she’s closer to Priscilla.

She sniffs again.

“Ai… ew.”

She looks Priscilla dead in the eyes.

“Did you even shower since last night?”

💥 CRITICAL HIT.

Mariam immediately covers her mouth.

“Kukuku… ouch… even I wouldn’t dare say that…”

Priscilla’s eyebrow twitches.

“Blud,” she says slowly, glaring down at Sylvia,
“what’s the vibe with you sniffin’ people out, mate?
Got a nose for trouble or somethin’?”

The air between them crackles.

I’m frozen.

Completely.

For context—

Their presence presses in from both sides.

Not touching—
but close enough to make my brain short-circuit.

I grit my teeth.

💢💢💢
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SITUATION!?

Why am I the battlefield!?

Why am I the neutral zone!?

I slam my lunch pack shut.

“Oi,” I snap.
“Can you two stop treating me like a prop in whatever weird drama this is!?”

They both turn to look at me.

Silence.

Then—

Mariam laughs even harder.

“Kukuku… wow… he finally snapped.”

Great.

Just great.

For a brief moment—

Just a brief one—

The glaring eases.

But then I notice something worse.

Hana isn’t here.

And yet—

I feel her.

I turn my head slightly.

There she is, standing a short distance away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

She’s glaring at me.

Not angry.

Not jealous.

Just—

Pure disgust.

…When did she grow up so fast?

This is bad.

Very bad.

To survive this, I do the only thing I can—

I signal Mariam for backup.

She notices immediately.

And smiles.

Oh no.

Before I can stop her—

Mariam steps forward and physically wedges herself between Priscilla and Sylvia, pushing them apart with surprising strength.

“Now, now, you two,” she says sweetly, clapping her hands.
“This is not a proper place to have a go at each other.”

The two girls don’t move.

They just glare.

Like boxers staring each other down before the bell rings.

But—

For now—

I’m safe.

I exhale.

Big mistake.

Mariam suddenly turns around, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well,” she says loudly,
“since Nguduk Ngadau is approaching…”

My stomach drops.

“…might as well make things interesting.”

No.

No no no no—

“Do I look like a prize to you!?” I shout internally.

Mariam raises her hand dramatically.

The atmosphere shifts.

It’s like one of those ridiculous Japanese game shows—

Bright smiles.

Fake suspense.

And Mariam is clearly the host.

“The challenge is—”

Please stop.

“—whoever goes on the most dates with Alex before the Harvest Festival—”

NO.

“—will gain an advantage in the next challenge!! 😄”

💀💀💀

“MARIAM!!!!!!!!”

My soul leaves my body.

People turn to look.

My brain freezes.

My fight-or-flight response activates—

But there is nowhere to run.

Mariam leans closer and whispers with a grin,

“Good luck surviving.”

She winks.

I’m going to die.

Sylvia turns to me slowly.

Her eyes soften.

Her smile becomes dangerously gentle.

“Darling…” she says sweetly.
“You did promise me a date.”

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Priscilla laughs and slings an arm over the bench casually.

“Hey babe,” she says with a grin,
“reckon we’re gonna have a crackin’ good time before the festival, mate. Cheers, love!”

My life flashes before my eyes.

And then—

The universe decides I haven’t suffered enough.

A shadow falls in front of me.

I look up.

Siti.

She’s standing right there.

Way too close.

Hands on her hips.

Eyes burning with determination.

“Big sis Mar!” she announces proudly.
“I’m joining too! And I’m not taking no for an answer!”

She leans forward slightly.

“Right, darling?”

…
…
…

What.

The.

Hell.

I look left.

I look right.

I look forward.

Every escape route is blocked.

I am completely—

Utterly—

Speechless.

Someone save me.

Or at least knock me out.

At least—

Since last night, while I was trapped in that slump between sleep and nightmares…

Something changes.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just… subtly.

In the shadows,
I am something else.

A monster—
one shaped by rage, memory, blood, and things I don’t fully understand yet.

But when the sun rises—

I’m just a student.

A fifteen-year-old idiot sitting on a bench, getting dragged into chaos by friends, teachers, and girls who clearly want me dead in the most embarrassing way possible.

Two versions of me.

One walking through fog and blood.

One laughing under the blue sky, pretending everything is normal.

And somehow—

I’m expected to live as both.

I exhale slowly.

What a day.

No—

What a damn day.

The bell rings.

Life moves on.

And I step forward again—

half monster,
half student,
pretending I’m still whole.

End of Chapter.