"Hey! Get off your bike!" The yell pierced through the city's chaos like a bullet. Kaivan instinctively pulled over, the hum of his engine fading into an uneasy silence. Curious gazes flickered his way, as if the crowd could sense something about to unfold, something dangerous, yet irresistible to watch.
His chest tightened. He drew a deep breath, trying to steady the storm that had suddenly surged within. Not out of fear, but because he knew this wasn't the kind of fight he wanted. But fate had already drawn its circle. He turned his head, meeting the glare of a man standing tall, shoulders broad, fists clenched. His face was flushed, not from exhaustion, but from the heat of his anger.
"Is there something I can help you with?" Kaivan's voice was calm, almost gentle. Yet beneath its softness lay a firmness that guarded his dignity.
The man stepped closer, heavy boots pounding against the asphalt, dragging an aura of hostility with him. His eyes were sharp, searching for any excuse to ignite. The world seemed to hold its breath, leaving only two centers of gravity staring each other down.
"You almost made me crash! Take responsibility!" His words boomed louder than the growl of engines nearby. There was no room for reason, only accusation.
Kaivan clenched his resolve. He knew how easily the world could burn from a single spark. So he stayed still, composed, eyes unwavering. "Then, how do you want me to take responsibility?" His voice fell like a stone into still water, calm, but carrying ripples.
The man tilted his chin up, arrogance flickering in his eyes. "A hundred thousand rupiah. Right now." His hand lifted like a hammer poised to strike down the last of Kaivan's patience.
Kaivan stayed silent, weighing a demand that wasn't heavy in money, but heavy in meaning. He knew this wasn't about the cash, it was about pride, bruised and tested. Still, time allowed no space for pride. He reached into his bag, searching through an envelope he had prepared earlier, fingers brushing against the notes. Beneath his quiet composure, a trace of disappointment lingered.
The moment the bill slipped into the rider's hand, something changed. His hardened expression softened, the anger in his eyes fading into quiet confusion. He stared at Kaivan, as if seeing something unexpected in the young man before him.
"Here you go, sir. I'm sorry if I almost caused an accident," Kaivan said calmly. His voice carried a quiet firmness that refused to crumble. His hand lingered in the air for a moment longer, steady despite the turmoil within.
The man took the money without a word. His gaze lingered, filled with questions he didn't voice. He turned the bill over once, then tucked it into his pocket. A brief nod ended the brief tension between them before he started his engine and disappeared into the indifferent flow of traffic.
Kaivan stood still, watching the man's back fade into the crowd. The city around him roared with noise and movement, yet within him stretched a silence that refused to dissolve.
Elsewhere, under the glare of streetlights and the growl of engines, a group of young men gathered. Among them stood Ethan, his leather jacket glinting faintly in the city's pale glow. A crooked grin played on his lips.
"Man, you wouldn't believe what just happened," he bragged. "Some kid bumped into me, so I called him out, and he just paid up. Didn't even argue. Easy money."
A long-haired friend in a torn jacket laughed hoarsely, slapping Ethan's shoulder. "You serious? Damn, that's easy cash."
Ethan nodded, his confidence swelling. "Yeah, totally. Dude looked our age, maybe still in high school, but he was loaded. I caught a glimpse inside his envelope. Looked like over three million." His tone rose with the thrill of the memory.
Their laughter echoed through the night. A tattooed man smirked. "If you see him again, bring him here. We could use a guy like that, hah!" The sound of their cackles blended with the revving engines that lined the curb.
Meanwhile, Kaivan had stopped in a quiet town called Cikalong. He gazed up at the night sky, clear and vast, like a blank page waiting to be written upon. The town was unfamiliar, yet it called to him. He reached into his bag and pulled out the Tome Omnicent, a weathered book bound in aged wood, whispering secrets of another age.
Gently, he flipped through its pages. Faint letters began to surface, like ink seeping from the paper's hidden veins. They formed a line that struck like lightning:
"Raphael can be found through the motorcyclist you met today."
Kaivan froze. His breath hitched as he stared at the page that now felt heavier than fate itself. "That rider… Ethan?" he murmured. What once seemed like coincidence now revealed its design. Fate and chance intertwined too neatly to ignore.
He closed the book slowly, exhaling. "You could've just told me from the start," he muttered under his breath, half in frustration, half in surrender. The book, alive in its silence, offered no voice in return. Instead, another line appeared, faint and deliberate:
"I only provide the most efficient path."
Kaivan sighed. The Tome's words, both cryptic and cruel, never missed their mark. Accepting the inevitable, he slipped the book back into his bag and started his engine. The night air vibrated as his motor roared back to life. He turned around, heading back to Cimahi, the city where he had first crossed paths with Ethan. This was never the plan, but his journey rarely followed intention. Every turn, every breath, seemed already written within the living pages of the Tome.
As the road stretched ahead, his thoughts churned restlessly. Who was Ethan, really? Why was he the key to Raphael? The questions spun through his mind like the wheels beneath him, relentless and unending.
By the time the sun leaned westward, Kaivan had traced the winding roads once more. His heart stayed sharp, though his mind buzzed with unease. Still, he trusted the Tome's guidance, its whispers had never lied.
When he finally reached Cimahi, the evening sky bled orange over the skyline. He pulled over, reopened the Tome Omnicent, and let his fingers brush the timeworn pages. And there it was again, faint lines reshaping themselves into a map, etched with inhuman precision. It pointed him toward a small roadside hangout.
Motorcycles lined the curb, laughter spilling into the smoky air. Kaivan's gaze locked onto Ethan among the group, the same boy from earlier, smiling wide, lost in jokes and noise. Time circled back, drawing him into the center of this unfolding thread.
Kaivan parked a few meters away. As his eyes met Ethan's, the laughter died out. Silence fell heavy over the group as Kaivan walked closer, his steps measured but magnetic.
Ethan straightened, his brow furrowed. "Hey… that's the guy who gave me a hundred thousand earlier," he whispered, loud enough for Kaivan to hear.
The easy mood shattered. The group's stares grew wary, sharp. Kaivan stopped before Ethan, his gaze unwavering.
"You're Ethan, right? The one from this afternoon."
Ethan blinked, uncertain. "Yeah… what about it?"