Badai began to think about how society needed to abandon the old ways—where people borrowed money from banks with strangling interest rates. If they couldn't pay, they were forced to pay the interest first before they could even touch the principal of the loan.
The taxi they were riding in finally stopped in front of a modest yet well-maintained house, which Badai believed was his old residence. The quiet afternoon atmosphere of the village felt like a stark contrast to the surge of anger that had just ignited in Badai's chest.
"This is your house, Dai. Hasn't changed much, has it?" Muchtar asked while gazing at the fading wooden walls.
Badai nodded, his eyes tracing every corner. "I'll get out here, Tar. Thanks for accompanying me."
After paying the taxi, Badai grabbed his backpack. As Muchtar was about to say goodbye, Badai stopped him.
"Wait a second, Tar. About what you told me... about Guntur and Mr. Jabrik."
Muchtar sighed deeply. "I know you're angry, Dai. Everyone in this village is angry. But Jabrik is the Village Head, and his son, Rajo, is... he's like a mad dog just let off his chain. Their power is real, Dai. It's not just threats. They have the authorities, they have 'thugs' on their payroll, and most terrifyingly, they have a sense of security because they know no one dares to fight back."
"That sense of security is exactly what I have to destroy," Badai said softly, but his tone was as cold as steel. "I need more detailed information, Tar. Who is involved in Jabrik's circle? What are their main businesses besides making the people miserable with fictitious projects?"
Muchtar stared intently at his best friend. In Badai's eyes, he didn't see the successful CEO who had just stepped off a high-speed train, but the little Badai who always jumped headfirst into trouble to defend his friends. Only now, this Badai was far more calculated, and that made him far more terrifying.
"Are you serious, Dai? This isn't about fighting in the market anymore. This involves lives," whispered Muchtar.
"That's why I have to be careful, just as I promised you. But I won't run. Give me that information. Tomorrow, I will meet you at Mak Ijah's coffee stall. Don't let anyone know we spoke about this. No one, Tar," Badai emphasized.
"Alright, I'll find what I can. But promise me, Dai, don't be reckless. Plan it. You're not a little kid relying on fists anymore," said Muchtar, then he turned and walked away, leaving Badai standing in front of the house that held so many sweet memories and was now shrouded in the bitter shadow of reality.
After entering the house and cleaning up, Badai took out a small satellite phone from a secret pocket in his backpack. This phone was never used in Jakarta, only when he truly needed a secure and encrypted communication channel.
He typed a short message to the only contact on the device: SILVI.
Badai: Monitor all fund movements from my hidden personal accounts. Specifically funds designated for social projects and infrastructure development in the regions. Prepare the best cyber investigation team to find loopholes in the local government funding systems listed in the civil registry. Don't let anyone know, not even Father. I am 'vacationing' in my hometown.
Within seconds, a reply came in. Silvi was always efficient and understood Badai's secret codes perfectly.
Silvi: Received, Sir. We will move in 'silent operation' mode. Enjoy your vacation. I will ensure everything runs smoothly here.
Badai smiled faintly. Silvi was his eyes and ears, a tough woman who never underestimated her instincts. Her loyalty was not just to the company, but to Badai as a person whom she had known long before Badai became a somebody.
He turned off the satellite phone and put it back. Badai knew that to fight a devil, he had to be more than just an ordinary human. He had to use everything he possessed: his mind, his wealth, and his network. He arrived as Badai the simple adopted son, but he moved as the CEO of a giant, untouchable corporation.
That night, Badai sat alone on the terrace of his house. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wet earth and tuberoses, reminding him of his innocent childhood. However, now, that scent was mixed with the stench of injustice and Guntur's blood.
"Jabrik, Rajo, and all your cronies," Badai murmured into the darkness of the night. "I'm back. And this time, you will regret letting this little Badai get away."
A plan began to form in his mind, complex and layered, like an invisible trap. He would exploit the corruptors' main weaknesses: greed and a false sense of security.
The next morning, Badai walked casually toward Mak Ijah's stall. There, he saw Muchtar already sitting in the corner, looking tense. Muchtar placed a worn notebook on the table.
"I've got some names, Dai. And... there's something worse than we knew," whispered Muchtar.
Badai opened the notebook. Inside, Muchtar had written the names of officials, the amounts of fictitious projects, and what made Badai tense up instantly a name linked to the thug network: Bima, the manager of the black market who turned out to be a distant cousin of Silvi, Badai's Deputy Director.
This was no longer just a village corruption case. This was a much deeper intrigue, connecting village poverty with city power. Badai looked up. The intrigue had begun.