That morning, a gentle breeze offered a faint sense of calm, though it was far from peaceful. In the distance, a school building stood amidst the towering cityscape. The old structure resembled a relic of a bygone era, untouched by time, with peeling walls, large windows caked in dust, and a roof riddled with evidence of leaks. There was no joy to be found here—only a place for those strong enough to endure.
At the heart of this building hung a nameplate, its inscriptions barely legible. Once bold and proud, the letters had faded to obscurity, the paint nearly entirely eroded, leaving behind fragments of words that were hard to decipher. The plaque read "Garuda High School," a name that once symbolized pride but now stood as a relic of decay, much like the school itself—a place uninterested in academic excellence, marred by the passage of time.
This institution, though still labeled a high school, more closely resembled a battleground—a gathering ground for delinquent youths who relied on physical strength to assert their dominance. Here, grades or intelligence held little value. Everything was determined by brute force and fighting prowess. Honor and power came from victory, not final exam scores.
Approaching the school's gates, what first drew the eye was not the faded nameplate but a massive gate defaced with graffiti and careless scrawls. From every corner, the noise of scuffles or heated arguments echoed, even though the sun had only just risen. This was a harsh world where the weak were destined to fall.
On the school's rooftop, a student in a black blazer—a fresh uniform—lay sprawled on a long bench, as if indifferent to the chaotic noise below. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and barely audible. Lying here was a necessity to avoid the endless uproar below. This morning, as usual, this was the only place that felt safe. From up here, the tumult of the world below seemed distant, and exhaustion could momentarily be forgotten.
However, the calm didn't last long. Suddenly, the bench beneath him began to shake. A loud voice followed, jolting him from his peaceful rest. Three other students, wearing identical uniforms, stood nearby, their expressions challenging. One of them aggressively rocked the bench.
"Hey, wake up!" one of them shouted. The reclining student lazily opened his eyes, glanced at them without much interest, then closed them again as if nothing mattered, as if nothing could disturb him.
"Wake up!" the voice rang out again, louder this time. A burly student stepped forward and yanked the reclining student's collar, attempting to forcibly pull him up.
With a slow movement, the boy finally rose from the bench. He sat up and gazed at them one by one with drowsy eyes. There was no sign of fear or retreat.
"What do you want? Is there a problem?" His voice was calm, though a palpable tension hung in the air.
The burly student smirked cynically. "A problem? Yeah, the problem is you're sleeping here! Get lost!" he barked in a challenging tone. "Do you think this is your bed?"
The boy glanced at them briefly, his face expressionless, as if the world around him was less important than the whisper of the wind. Then, with a swift kick, he sent the burly student sprawling to the floor. The two others froze for a moment, stunned, before attempting to attack. However, the boy moved like a shadow, evading their blows effortlessly and retaliating with precision. Within seconds, both were left reeling and sprawled, groaning in pain.
A few moments of silence passed, and calm returned to the rooftop. The boy stood, casting a brief glance at the defeated trio, his face unchanged. "Settle your business somewhere else," he said flatly, as if the statement was no more than a casual reminder. Without waiting for a response, he lay back down on the bench, closing his eyes again, as though nothing had happened, as though the incident was a mere triviality meant to be forgotten.
After the scuffle, the rooftop returned to its stillness. No one dared approach. The three students slowly picked themselves up and retreated, defeated before the fight had even begun. The boy remained lying on the bench, his body weary but his expression impassive, as if nothing could truly capture his attention.
Yet the chaos below never ceased. In the hallways and classrooms, the sound of shouting and fists flying continued. These noises came from students fighting to prove who was most dominant, who was the strongest. In every corner of the school, the commotion was unending. It was so routine, so unavoidable, that it became a rhythm accompanying every step they took.
The boy stirred from his long rest on the rooftop. The gentle breeze that had once offered solace was now replaced by the blaring noise pulling him back to reality. He slowly opened his eyes, surveying the chaotic surroundings. Taking a deep breath, he absorbed the lingering tension in the air despite his distance from the clamor. With an empty expression, he rose from the bench, adjusted his slightly crumpled blazer, and began descending from the rooftop.
His steps were deliberate and unhurried, his demeanor calm as he slid his hands into his pockets, as though every movement was dictated by an unchangeable destiny. As he passed through the hallways, the raucous sounds of fights around the classrooms did little to disturb his tranquility. The students fighting in the corridors seemed unaware of boundaries, consumed by their need to establish dominance. For the boy, however, it was all just meaningless noise, disturbances unworthy of attention.
In front of one classroom, two students were facing off, shouting threats at each other. One of them was larger, exuding raw strength, while the other appeared quick and agile. Their heated exchange of insults escalated until the larger student shoved his opponent.
"Think you can run away?" the larger boy taunted.
"Run? You wish! You'll have to beat me first!" retorted his opponent, launching a punch aimed at the larger boy's face.
A loud crack resounded as their fists collided mid-air, followed by a swift movement that sent the smaller student crashing to the ground. The fight grew more intense as bystanders began to cheer. "Come on! Don't let up!" shouted one of the spectators, fueling the chaos.
The boy, Ray, walked past the commotion without flinching. He seemed indifferent to the uproar, as if such sights were commonplace to him.
Further down the hall, a larger brawl was breaking out in a classroom. The door was flung open as two rival gangs clashed violently, fists flying and bodies colliding in a storm of rage. Shouts and threats filled the air as punches and kicks were exchanged indiscriminately. Ray passed by the scene without so much as a glance. Some students paused to watch him, a mixture of awe and fear evident in their eyes, but Ray paid them no attention.
In one corner of the classroom, a bloodied student clutched his body as he struggled to rise, his voice strained as he pointed at a rival gang member. "This isn't over!" he yelled defiantly.
Ray reached the end of the hallway, exhaling deeply. The relentless chaos of the school, more akin to a den of teenage gangs than a place of learning, prompted a simple thought in his mind: This is just the beginning. In this world, only the strong survive. Only those with courage and resilience could carve out a place for themselves. There was no room for the weak.
Leaving the tumultuous corridors behind, Ray stepped through the school's rusting gates. A gentle coastal breeze swept through the air, carrying a refreshing coolness that contrasted with the harshness of the school's environment. With an unhurried stride, Ray meandered through the narrow streets surrounding the school. Instead of heading straight home to escape the noise, he wandered aimlessly, as if searching for a quiet corner where he could shed his weariness. His gaze occasionally lifted to the distance, scanning for a peaceful spot far removed from the chaos he had just left behind.
Eventually, he arrived at a small, shabby convenience store tucked behind the school. The store was modest, almost rundown, with weathered wooden tables and chairs that wobbled under their age. The corrugated metal roof creaked in the breeze, but the spacious yard surrounding it provided an unassuming haven. The place was deserted, save for one figure sitting in the corner. The boy was wearing the same distinctive black blazer of Garuda High School. His frame was lean, his posture relaxed, as if he was perfectly at home in the dilapidated setting. Something about the boy's face stopped Ray in his tracks. There was a piercing familiarity that tugged at Ray's memory, bringing confusion to his furrowed brow. It can't be… he thought. Is that really him?
The longer Ray stared, the more certain he became that this wasn't just a figment of his imagination.
"Ray?" The boy sitting in the corner spoke, his eyes widening in disbelief as recognition dawned upon him.
Ray's brows arched slightly, his voice tinged with surprise. "Rony?"
For a moment, the two boys were frozen, their mutual shock palpable. Then, faint smiles broke across their faces, replacing their initial surprise.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Rony exclaimed, his voice carrying a mix of laughter and astonishment as he slapped the table in front of him. "I'm not seeing things, am I? You actually transferred here?"
Ray gave a small nod, pulling out a chair to sit across from him. "Pure coincidence," he replied, his tone dry but tinged with a trace of amusement.
Rony studied Ray with a scrutinizing gaze. "Coincidence?"
Ray's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Yeah, something like that. The last place was too… normal. Didn't suit me.
Rony chuckled, shaking his head. "You haven't changed a bit. Even back in middle school, I could tell you wouldn't last in a typical place. I was just hoping you'd stick it out a little longer. Ha!"
Ray leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the worn wooden table. His eyes stared straight ahead, as though searching for answers in the emptiness beyond. "I tried, Rony. But you know I'm no good at academics. It just… wasn't my world."
"I figured as much." Rony's expression turned serious. "But Ray… Garuda High isn't like any other school we've been to. Here, you won't find forgiveness unless you take it for yourself. There are no teachers, only street rules. Everyone here… they're more than just troublemakers. Some have had run-ins with the police. For them, life is about violence. Are you ready for that?"
Despite Rony's words of caution, Ray's face remained calm, his gaze betraying no fear. "I've met a few of them already. They're not scary."
Rony sighed deeply, fixing Ray with a grave look. "You might be strong, Ray. I've known that since middle school. But this place isn't about who's the strongest. It's about who can survive the longest."
Ray's faint smirk returned, but this time, it carried a gleam of conviction. "Then I'll survive, Rony. I'll conquer this place. The Sky Predators, right?"
Rony froze at the mention of the name, a moniker known only to those who truly understood the brutal hierarchy of Garuda High. "You've heard about that name?"
"Enough to pique my interest," Ray replied. "This school is a challenge. I can't wait to take it on."
Rony fell silent for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. "You're insane, Ray. But, honestly, I'm glad you're here."
The two boys continued their conversation, reminiscing about their middle school days and sharing thoughts on life at Garuda High. Despite the harshness of their surroundings, the encounter held a warm sense of nostalgia. For Rony, meeting Ray was a comforting reminder that, even in the brutal world of Garuda High, he wasn't entirely alone.
For Ray, this meeting only reinforced his determination to leave a mark on this place. The Sky Predators. He would ensure his name was remembered here—whether it was with respect or fear.
When their conversation ended, Ray stood, turning to look at the school building that wasn't far away. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of the old structure with its peeling paint and cracked windows. Under the orange hues of the setting sun, Garuda High resembled a fortress—unforgiving, looming, and shrouded in shadows of violence and ambition. The walls were adorned with graffiti and vulgar phrases, asserting the identity of the place as a haven for chaos. Even in the quiet of the evening, the atmosphere of the school remained grim and foreboding, like an arena ready to devour anyone who entered unprepared.
Before he walked away, Ray glanced back at Rony, who was still sitting at the table in the corner of the shop, holding his drink. "Rony," Ray called out casually, a sly grin on his face. "Don't be surprised if you hear that I've already become a legend here."
Rony shook his head, half-laughing and half-resigned. "A legend? Don't get ahead of yourself, Ray. You're more likely to become a joke around here. That's far more realistic."
Ray laughed at Rony's quip, then started walking away. But before he disappeared from sight, he turned back, waving dramatically as if performing on stage. "I'm going to conquer this world, Rony! Don't forget, you're the first one who knew!"
Rony snorted, suppressing his laughter. "Sure, Sky Predator. Just don't trip while you're climbing."
Ray continued walking, chuckling softly at Rony's sarcastic remark. His lighthearted demeanor turned serious as his gaze returned to Garuda High. In his mind, he understood that this school wasn't merely an institution. It was an arena—a place where strength and courage were truly tested, not just in physical combat but in the resilience to endure its storms.
He took a deep breath, as if drawing in the fiery challenges that filled the air. Deep down, he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't going to merely survive this place. He was going to make sure his name was etched into its history.
With resolute steps, he left the shop, his mind brimming with strategies and budding dreams. Above all, one determination fueled him: this world might be harsh, but he was tougher. This world might be cruel, but he wouldn't lose. Not everyone knew who he was. But one thing was certain—in Garuda High, only the strong survived, and those who endured were remembered.
After leaving the narrow alleys, Ray walked through the rusting gates of Garuda High. The coastal breeze grew cooler, carrying a sense of freshness that sharply contrasted with the unforgiving chaos of the school. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he pondered the challenges ahead. Each corner of the school, every interaction, seemed to test the willpower and resilience of those who entered. This wasn't a place for the faint-hearted.
Ray found himself back at the rooftop by the time the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the schoolyard below. From his vantage point, the entire building seemed to radiate a sense of history—once proud and filled with promise, now reduced to an arena where only strength mattered. He leaned against the railing, his hands tucked into his pockets, staring out at the horizon.
This school isn't just another stop, he thought to himself. It's a proving ground.
The sound of faint scuffles and laughter echoed from below, but Ray paid it no mind. The serenity of the rooftop was his alone, a small bubble of calm in a sea of unrest. Here, he could think clearly, untangling the threads of ambition and purpose that bound him to this place.
His meeting with Rony replayed in his mind. The mention of the Sky Predators had ignited something deep within him—a drive to understand what made this school's unspoken hierarchy tick. More importantly, he was determined to rise through its ranks.
Strength isn't enough, he reflected. To survive here, I need more. Strategy. Precision. The ability to adapt.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Ray turned his back to the fading light and descended from the rooftop. His steps echoed softly against the worn stairwell as the night began to cloak the school in its embrace.
His journey at Garuda High was only just beginning.