The following day, the School Infirmary (UKS) of Rajawali High School felt several degrees colder than usual. It wasn't a malfunction of the central air conditioning, but rather the thick, suffocating atmosphere of hostility that hung between the President's desk and the Vice President's station—a metaphorical Berlin Wall of resentment.
Ridha sat in her 'throne'—an ergonomic chair upholstered in premium synthetic leather, ordered specifically through the "secretariat operational" budget. In her hand, the latest iPhone displayed an Instagram feed. Her thumb scrolled aggressively, tapping 'like' on influencer photos with a mechanical rhythm, but her eyes flickered with the green fire of jealousy.
Across the room, Alya was kneeling on the floor. Scattered around her were bright orange First Aid kits. She was performing the final stock audit for the upcoming Study Tour.
"Sterile gauze, check. Rivanol, check. Triangular bandages, check. Bandage scissors, check," Alya murmured softly, ticking off items on her clipboard. She worked in silence—efficient, methodical, and entirely devoid of drama.
Ridha glanced at Alya over the top of her phone. A sharp, cynical snort escaped her nose.
"Do you really have to check every single thing on the floor like that?" Ridha sneered, breaking the silence. "It looks so... unrefined. Why don't you just make Abdul or one of the tenth-graders do it? You're the Vice President, Alya, not a warehouse laborer."
Alya didn't stop working. She placed a bottle of antiseptic into a slot with surgical precision.
"The tenth-graders don't know the difference between antiseptic and eye drops yet, Kak," Alya replied flatly without looking up. "If someone's eyes get irritated on the bus and they get treated with Betadine, who takes the responsibility? The President or the Vice President?"
Ridha's jaw tightened. Alya's answers were always logical, and that was exactly what Ridha hated most. Alya never shouted, never lost her cool, but every sentence she spoke seemed to strip away Ridha's pretense of leadership.
Ridha stood up, her high-heeled loafers clicking sharply against the vinyl—a blatant violation of uniform code that the teachers ignored because her father was a close associate of the Principal. She walked to the large mirror near the sink and began to admire herself. She pulled out a vibrant red vest with a Red Cross logo on the chest and large, bold letters on the back: MEDICAL TEAM LEADER.
She slipped it on, turning left and right, then held up her phone. Snap. Snap. She took several selfies in various poses.
"Look at this, Alya," Ridha said, her tone dripping with vanity. "New vest for the study tour. Cool, right? I ordered the material from a famous boutique vendor in Bandung. I chose maroon because it matches my lip tint perfectly."
Alya finally looked up. She studied the vest for a brief second.
"What's the material, Kak?" Alya asked.
"Premium Japanese cotton. It's incredibly breathable," Ridha replied proudly.
"Cotton absorbs fluids, Kak," Alya commented coldly, returning to her kits. "If a patient has a severe hemorrhage and blood hits that vest, it will be impossible to decontaminate. It'll become a breeding ground for bacteria. Field medical standards require waterproof or nylon materials for easy sanitation."
The smile on Ridha's face vanished instantly. She stared at her reflection with mounting irritation. Once again, Alya had ruined a "perfect" moment with boring medical facts.
"You!" Ridha barked, turning to face Alya. "Can you just go one day without acting like a know-it-all? I ordered these so our team looks stylish in the documentation! This Study Tour is a once-in-a-lifetime moment, Alya! We have to look good!"
Alya closed the final first-aid box with a decisive click. She stood up, brushing the dust from her skirt.
"Our priority is safety, Kak. Not a fashion show," Alya replied.
"Safety, safety! Always the same old song!" Ridha scoffed. "What could possibly happen? At most, someone gets motion sickness or a slight fever. You're being melodramatic. Just because you're a surgeon's daughter, you act like we're heading into a war zone in Gaza."
Just as Ridha finished her sentence, the infirmary doors burst open.
A tenth-grade student ran in, his face pale with panic. He was gasping for air.
"Kak! Help, please!" the boy screamed.
Ridha jumped, nearly dropping her phone. "What is it?! Stop shouting!"
"My friend, Budi! He collapsed on the basketball court during PE! He's... he's foaming at the mouth!"
At the mention of "foaming at the mouth," Ridha's face went ghostly white. Panic clouded her eyes. She was the President of the Red Cross Club, but she had never handled a serious medical crisis. Usually, her 'emergencies' involved handing out smelling salts during morning assemblies. But this? This sounded like a seizure or poisoning.
"Oh god... what do we do..." Ridha stammered, her hands trembling as she gripped her expensive vest. "Call a teacher! Call an ambulance! Uh, give him some water!"
"Don't give him water!" Alya barked. Her voice cut through Ridha's panic like a blade.
Alya immediately grabbed the Emergency Kit she had just packed. She sprinted past Ridha, locking eyes with the panicked student.
"What's his position? Flat on his back or on his side?" Alya asked as she ran out the door.
"Flat in the middle of the court, Kak!"
"Idiot! His tongue could block his airway!" Alya accelerated, leaving Ridha frozen in place.
On the basketball court, a crowd of students had formed around Budi, who lay on the ground, his body twitching with tremors. The PE teacher was frantically patting Budi's cheeks, looking utterly lost.
"Move! Give him space! He needs oxygen!" Alya shouted, carving a path through the crowd.
She dropped to her knees beside Budi. She checked his carotid pulse. Rapid and weak. She looked at his mouth. There was a thin layer of white foam.
"Does Budi have a history of epilepsy?" Alya shouted to his friends.
"I don't know, Kak! But he skipped breakfast and the teacher made him run ten laps!" one of them shouted back.
"It's not epilepsy. This is severe hypoglycemia leading to shock," Alya diagnosed instantly. Budi's cold, clammy sweat and deathly pale skin confirmed her suspicion.
Alya immediately rolled Budi onto his side into the Recovery Position to ensure the fluids in his mouth drained out rather than entering his lungs.
"Sir, get a warm glass of tea from the canteen. Heavy on the sugar. Now!" she commanded the PE teacher. The teacher, mesmerized by Alya's authority, took off immediately.
Alya pulled a small sachet of honey from her kit—a simple item she always carried for exactly this scenario. She began to rub the honey slowly against Budi's inner gums. The glucose would be absorbed rapidly through the oral mucosa without the need for swallowing, avoiding any choking risk.
A minute passed. Budi's tremors ceased. His breathing began to regulate.
Five minutes later, Budi's eyes flickered open. His skin tone began to shift back to a healthy pink.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the crowd.
"Whoa... Kak Alya is incredible!"
"Seriously, I thought Budi was a goner."
"Did you hear Ridha? She wanted to give him water. He could have choked to death."
Alya exhaled, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She helped Budi sit up slowly as the sweet tea arrived.
On the sidelines, Ridha stood like a statue. She had only just arrived, panting from running in her high heels. Her "MEDICAL TEAM LEADER" vest glowed brightly in the sun, but not a single person looked her way. Every eye was on Alya.
The whispers of the students pierced Ridha's ears like hot needles.
"Why is the President panicking while the Vice President does all the work? Alya should be the President."
"Yeah, Ridha is all style, no substance. When things get real, she just freezes."
Ridha's hands clenched so hard her freshly filed nails dug into her palms. A searing shame burned her face, but that shame rapidly mutated into pure, unadulterated hatred. She hated Alya. She hated how Alya always looked perfect without even trying. She hated how Alya stole her stage—the stage that belonged to Ridha.
Alya helped Budi stand, supported by Abdul. They walked back toward the UKS. As they passed Ridha, Alya stopped for a moment.
"Kak Ridha," Alya said softly, her tone professional and devoid of mockery. "Please contact Budi's parents. Tell them he needs to be picked up; he needs total rest today."
Ridha stared at Alya with a toxic gaze. "Don't order me around," she hissed, so softly that only Alya could hear. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You ran ahead just so you could look like the hero in front of everyone."
Alya frowned, confused by the irrational accusation. "I ran because a life was at risk, Kak. Time is life."
"Excuses!" Ridha turned on her heel, storming back to the UKS ahead of them.
Once back in the infirmary, and after Budi had been safely collected by his parents, the tension returned. Alya was silently reorganizing her Emergency Kit.
Ridha sat at her desk, gripping her pen tightly. She was looking at the medical team roster for the study tour.
"Alya," Ridha called out coldly.
"Yes, Kak?"
"I've finalized the medical team assignments for the VIP coaches (Buses 1-4)," Ridha said, a sinister smirk playing on her lips. "Sisi, Nita, and I will handle Buses 1 and 2. You... you will be assigned to Bus 5."
Alya went still. Buses 1 through 4 were the primary coaches carrying the teachers and elite students. Bus 5? That was the tail-end bus, usually filled with logistics, overflow equipment, and the "leftover" students who didn't secure seats in the front.
But that wasn't the issue.
"Kak, Sisi and Nita failed their CPR certification last month," Alya protested. "They're literally afraid of needles. If an emergency happens in the front coaches, who handles it?"
"I will!" Ridha snapped.
"You panicked when Budi fainted today," Alya countered flatly.
"That's because I was caught off guard!" Ridha defended herself, her voice rising. "The President's decision is final! You're on Bus 5. And one more thing..."
Ridha opened her desk drawer and pulled out a procurement list.
"I am canceling the additional order for high-dose painkillers and broad-spectrum antibiotics you requested yesterday," Ridha said casually.
Alya's eyes widened. This was sabotage. "Why? Those are vital supplies! We're taking two hundred people to a remote area. The risk of physical injury is high."
"Too expensive, Alya!" Ridha waved a dismissive hand. "The budget is tight. I've reallocated those funds to buy SPF 50 sunblock and Vitamin C injections for skin whitening. The students will care more about their complexion than painkillers they might never use."
Alya stood frozen. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Redirecting emergency medicine funds for cosmetics? This was insane. This was administrative malpractice.
"Kak Ridha, this is a severe violation," Alya's voice trembled with suppressed rage. "In the event of an accident, sunblock won't stop a hemorrhage."
"Don't jinx us! Your mouth is so negative!" Ridha stood up, challenging Alya. "Listen to me. I am the President. I sign the funding requests. You are just the Vice. Your job is to obey. If you don't like it, the door is wide open. Leave the PMR."
Ridha smiled triumphantly. She felt she had finally stepped on Alya. She held the power. Alya couldn't bypass the organizational hierarchy.
Alya stared at Ridha for a long time. It was a look that was hard to decipher. In Alya's eyes, Ridha was no longer just an annoying senior. Ridha was a genuine threat to the safety of their entire grade.
But Alya knew that arguing with a fool in power was a futile endeavor. Logic would never win against an ego of that magnitude.
"Understood, Kak," Alya said finally, her voice ice-cold and flat. "Decision noted."
Alya sat back down, pretending to continue her work. But inside her mind, the gears were turning at high speed.
Low supplies. Incompetent personnel at the front. This was a disaster waiting to happen.
Alya quietly pulled her phone from her pocket. She couldn't let this stand. She had to act outside the official channels. She needed someone who could manipulate logistics or data without Ridha ever knowing.
Her eyes landed on a specific contact: Rehan (XI Science 3). The computer genius whose laceration she had treated last month.
Alya remembered that day clearly. Rehan had come in with a bleeding hand but asked Alya not to record his name in the visitor log. "I've already wiped the last ten minutes of the corridor CCTV, so there's no proof I was here," he had said. At that moment, Alya realized Rehan wasn't just a computer club kid. He was a ghost.
If anyone could manipulate the logistics data without leaving a digital footprint, it was him.
Alya typed a quick message:
To: Rehan. Rehan, I need help sabotaging the PMR logistics system. Urgent. We need to forge a medicine order to the school's partner pharmacy before this evening. The lives of our entire grade are at stake.
Alya sent the message and immediately deleted the chat history.
She stared at Ridha's back, who was back to taking selfies with her maroon vest.
Enjoy your little victory, Kak, Alya thought coldly. But I won't let my friends die just because of your ego.
Ridha might have the title, but from this moment on, Alya was in control of the shadow operations. The cold war had turned into a silent rescue mission. And Alya was ready to break every rule to save lives—even if it meant working with the school's resident hacker.