Silverstone High School stood majestically in the heart of Riverton, an elite institution coveted by the brightest students from all over Trivana. The towering skyscrapers around it seemed to bow in reverence, their glass and steel exteriors reflecting the opulence and modernity of the school.
Renowned not only for its cutting-edge facilities—like state-of-the-art laboratories, art studios, and an international-standard concert hall—Silverstone was also infamous for its rigorous admission process. Mediocrity had no place here. Every student accepted was considered a future leader, or so their parents hoped.
That morning, the grand hall buzzed with quiet anticipation. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm glow over rows of plush navy-blue chairs. On the stage stood a man in a sharp gray suit, exuding authority. Dr. Adrian Solace, the principal of Silverstone High, was known for his motivational speeches.
"Welcome to Silverstone High," Dr. Adrian's voice resonated through the hall, silencing the murmurs instantly. "Today marks the beginning of your journey as part of the Silverstone family. In this school, there is one golden rule: strive to be the best, for that is the only way to thrive here."
Among the rows of neatly seated new students, Raka Adiputra observed the scene with a slight frown. The Silverstone uniform fit him well—his white, long-sleeved shirt under the school blazer was perfectly ironed, though his loosened tie hinted at his impatience with formalities. His messy black hair did little to complement his sharp, serious face, framed by thick eyebrows and deep brown eyes, making him appear unapproachable.
Beside him, a more relaxed teenager sat, swinging his legs. Bima Wiranata, with his light brown hair slicked neatly and a bright smile, was the complete opposite of Raka. His smaller, leaner frame carried an air of confidence that naturally drew attention. Unlike Raka's half-hearted attempt at neatness, Bima's tie was knotted perfectly, a sign of his effort to appear as polished as possible.
Not far from them, in the corner of the row, another teenager sat quietly. Renaldi Mahendra, the smallest among them, had a serene demeanor. His smooth, pale skin and delicate oval face gave him an almost androgynous look, complemented by large almond-shaped eyes and sleek, shoulder-length black hair tied neatly at the back. Despite his unassuming appearance, his immaculate uniform and composed posture hinted at the discipline of a martial artist.
Dr. Adrian's speech continued, outlining the school's vision, key rules, and, of course, announcing the top-ranked students who had secured their place this year.
"This year," Dr. Adrian's voice rang out again, "we welcome three students who achieved the highest scores in the admission process: Raka Adiputra, Bima Wiranata, and Renaldi Mahendra."
The hall stirred with murmurs—some admiring, others tinged with envy. As their names were announced, the three reacted differently.
Raka let out a quiet sigh, disliking the sudden attention. To him, getting into Silverstone was merely the result of years of hard work, not something worth celebrating.
Bima, on the other hand, grinned widely. He waved casually at a few students nearby, enjoying the brief spotlight. Pride swelled within him at being among the best in this elite school.
Renaldi simply nodded. His expression remained unreadable, though his calm eyes suggested he was accustomed to such recognition.
Once the welcoming ceremony ended, the new students were directed to an adjacent hall to check their class assignments. Raka, Bima, and Renaldi joined the throng of students heading out, each parting ways to meet their families for one last goodbye before the school day officially began.
In the school parking lot, a luxury car bearing the Silverstone High logo waited with a driver assigned by the school. It was one of the facilities provided to scholarship students like Raka, who had been dropped off earlier by his mother.
Standing beside his mother, a simple yet warm-hearted woman, Raka looked slightly out of place among the array of luxury vehicles. Her proud gaze never wavered as she adjusted his already neat uniform.
"Raka, you have everything I packed for you, right?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and affection.
"Yes, Mom," Raka replied tersely, trying to mask any emotion.
"Do you know which class you're in yet?"
"Not yet, Mom. I'll check the board after this."
Their conversation was interrupted by the driver, who stood upright beside the car, speaking politely yet firmly. "Excuse me, ma'am. We need to leave soon."
She glanced at the driver, then back at her son, her tone turning more resolute. "Raka, listen to me carefully. You have to make friends at this school, understand? I don't care how you do it. You've never had friends at your previous schools, but here, you need to try. Don't wait for them to come to you. Got it?"
Raka exhaled softly before nodding. "Got it, Mom."
"Alright, go on now. The driver's waiting," she urged, ending the conversation before it became too emotional. With a gentle nudge, Raka guided his mother toward the car.
The driver, ever courteous, opened the door. His mother looked at him one last time, her small smile full of pride. "I'm so proud of you, Raka."
After a brief hug, she got into the car, and the door closed with a soft thud. The car is moving, leaving Raka standing in the lot, fists clenched lightly at his sides.
He took a deep breath, watched the car disappear into the distance, and turned back toward the hall.
---
Elsewhere, near the school's main gate, a sleek black sedan with a private chauffeur had just pulled up. Bima leaned casually against the car, chatting with his personal attendant, Mr. Gunawan.
"Sir Bima, should I take the extra bags now or leave them here for later?" Mr. Gunawan asked politely.
"Just leave them for now,.. I don't want to carry too much. Besides, this school probably has everything I need," Bima replied with a small smile, his tone relaxed.
Mr. Gunawan nodded. "In that case, I'll head back home. If you need anything sir, just call me."
Bima looked at the older man briefly. Though their relationship was professional, Mr. Gunawan had always treated him like family.
"Thanks, Mr. Gun. For everything. Take care on your way back," Bima said, patting his shoulder lightly.
"You're welcome, sir. I'm sure you'll make your family proud," Mr. Gunawan replied warmly before departing.
As the black sedan drove away, Bima tucked his hands into his blazer pockets and walked back to the hall, his usual carefree smile in place.
---
On the other side of the school grounds, Renaldi stood beside a tall, imposing man in his late thirties with a stern expression—his uncle, the only family he had left since losing his parents years ago.
"So, this is the school you chose," his uncle remarked, scanning Silverstone High with a critical eye.
Renaldi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Wasn't it your idea for me to come here?"
The man chuckled, patting his nephew's shoulder. "Right. Let's call it a joint decision."
Renaldi smirked faintly. "Sure, if that makes you feel better."
His uncle handed him a small envelope from his jacket pocket. "Here. If you need anything, call me. Don't hesitate."
Renaldi glanced at the envelope before slipping it into his bag without opening it. "I'll be fine, Uncle. Don't worry."
His uncle's stern face softened. "I know you can handle yourself. But remember, Ren, you don't have to face everything alone."
Renaldi nodded slightly, not one for expressing emotions.
With one last pat on his shoulder, his uncle walked toward a nearby car. He waved briefly before getting in, and the car drove off.
Renaldi stood still, watching until the vehicle disappeared around the corner. His face remained stoic, but a subtle warmth lingered from the farewell.
Taking a deep breath, he turned and headed toward the hall, blending into the crowd of new students.
In the grand hall where the class assignment board was displayed, a crowd of new students gathered tightly around a large board filled with names and class numbers. The sound of footsteps and excited whispers filled the air. Among the throng, three teenagers stood, scanning the list in front of them.
Raka Adiputra stared at the board with a serious gaze. He quickly found his name. "Class 1-A, huh," he muttered under his breath, his voice nearly drowned out by the surrounding noise.
On the other side, Bima Wiranata glanced at the board with a relaxed smile, his finger tracing the rows of names until it stopped on his own. "A again? Well, I guess elite classes never change," he said with a light chuckle.
Not far from them, Renaldi Mahendra stood calmly, his eyes landing on his name effortlessly. "Yep, same as before," he murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone around him.
At that moment, they were strangers. Just three new students with minds busy preparing for the long journey ahead at this prestigious school. Yet, they had no idea that behind the coincidence of being placed in the same class, fate was slowly weaving their paths together.
Their goals and challenges would intertwine, leading them to a friendship that would become unbreakable—a journey filled with laughter, tears, and resilience.