The night at the Cibubur KM 10 Rest Area brought a bone-chilling cold. There was no electricity, no sound of crickets, only the sound of the wind whistling through the gaps of the empty shopfronts. In the middle of the vast parking lot, a small campfire was lit. It was fueled by plastic convenience store chairs and old cardboard boxes. That fire was the only source of light and warmth amidst the total darkness of the dead highway. On one side of the fire sat Darius and his four pathetic men. Their feet were wrapped in plastic bags, their lips were chapped, and their eyes were sunken like hungry ghosts. They sat huddled together, shivering, staring blankly at the flames. On the other side, about ten meters away (a safety distance established by Elian), stood the Cosmo Express School Bus. Its engine was off, but its steel-plated body and iron bars made it look like an impenetrable fortress. Inside, there were mattresses (e

2:00 AM. The time when human sanity is at its weakest, and shadows look more alive than reality. The sky above the Cibubur KM 10 Rest Area was clear of purple clouds, displaying a pale and cold crescent moon. However, the tranquility of this night was a deception. Behind the silence of the dead highway, there were racing heartbeats and murderous intent sharpened as keen as a knife. Inside the cabin of the Cosmo Express School Bus, the atmosphere felt like being inside a warm but fragile iron womb. The sound of soft snoring from the exhausted survivors was the only background music, occasionally punctuated by a dry cough or the friction of coarse blankets. Elian sat cross-legged at the very back of the bus, on top of a pile of logistics bags containing the remains of their treasures. His eyes were tightly shut. His breathing was steady, slow, and deep. He wasn't sleeping. He was trying to stitch back together the shattere

Time seemed to freeze inside the cabin of the Cosmo Express Bus. The cold iron pipe pressed against Elian’s forehead, digging into his sweat-drenched skin. Darius stood over him, a triumphant smirk plastered across his filthy face, illuminated by the dim moonlight. In Darius’s eyes, Elian already saw the death sentence. There was no doubt, no mercy. Only the pure satisfaction of a loser who finally felt like a winner. "A shame, El," Darius whispered, savoring every second. "I actually liked your style. Cold. Ruthless. But you have one fatal weakness: you keep a monster, but you forgot to feed your own guard dog." Darius raised the iron pipe high. "Goodbye, Manager." Elian didn't close his eyes. He stared at the pipe. His Mana was at zero. His left shoulder was destroyed. He couldn't move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vara screaming silently, held back by Iwan.

"Boss, stay still, don't move," Pak Hendra’s voice trembled. He tried to clean the clotted blood around Elian's left shoulder with a piece of gauze dipped in alcohol. "The iron... the iron is in deep. It has to be pulled out, but there's a risk of heavy bleeding." Elian didn't wince. He just sat quietly on the bus floor, his back leaning against the cold metal wall. His eyes stared blankly ahead, past the terrified faces of the survivors who now looked at him as if seeing a god and a demon at the same time. The physical pain in his shoulder was indeed extraordinary—like a burning coal planted inside his flesh. But strangely, his mind was clear. Very clear. Perhaps because his empty Mana had drained away all excess emotion, leaving behind pure, cold logic. "Rico, Vara, how are you guys?" Elian asked, his voice flat. "Just a few bruises, Boss," Rico answered from across the aisle. His cheek

The roar of the Cosmo Express's diesel engine became their new national anthem. The yellow bus once again swallowed the gray asphalt of the Jagorawi Toll Road, moving forward at a constant speed of 70 kilometers per hour. The view outside the window was a monotonous repetition of destruction: wrecked cars, bent toll fences, and the occasional torn property advertisement banner offering "Serene Living Near Jakarta," which ironically had now become a mass grave. The atmosphere inside the bus was very different from previous trips. Before, their journey was colored by panicked screams, Rico's stupid jokes, and Elian's orders interspersed with curses. Now? Silence. An orderly and efficient silence. Every survivor sat in their seat, staring straight ahead. No one chatted. No one complained. They had been assigned guard duty at every window, holding iron pipes or wooden sticks with tight grips. Their eyes