San was awakened earlier than usual. He was summoned to carry out the second trial—this faster than expected.

"I think it will take time for the second call to come," commented his cellmate.

San didn't answer because he didn't know himself, but what was clear was that he was nervous and afraid.

He was sent to the prosecutor's justice office, where many news hunters had gathered. Faintly as he passed a group of journalists, they heard them talking about something.

"The trial was carried out sooner than it should have been. Isn't this quite odd?" asked one of them.

"No, if the judge has decided based on concrete evidence. If the verdict has been decided, the public will feel satisfied, and the prosecutor's office will receive a positive score. Know for yourself that his victims carry the names of big people. Mr. Anthony and his staff will not let this case drag on, bearing in mind that the gubernatorial election will be held soon." The answer came from one of the camera operators.

The crowd became lively shortly after, with various questions hurled at today's leading public figure. Do not miss the camera shots that clash with each other.

San just looked down, trying to hide his face, even though he knew it was useless. For some reason, his stomach suddenly felt sick, and his head throbbed. These humans pissed him off.

Before entering the courtroom, San and the two officers guarding him were approached by someone.

The man wore a neat suit, glasses, and a sleek hairdo. San was familiar with that face, but somewhere he had seen it before.

"We need to talk a minute," said the man.

The two officers on either side of San looked at each other, then they nodded and left the two of them.

"What is-"

"Follow me," the order was accompanied by the footsteps of the man who took the lead first.

San, who was confused, just kept quiet and followed.

Not long, San arrived in an empty room. It's like a warehouse, but the interior is a bit tidier. This place is at the end of the building.

"Straight to. I'm just saying that it would be better to admit what you did and apologize in front of the judge and the media." When that person said that, there was no meaningful expression.

Meanwhile, San snorted. A sinister smile rose on his lips. "I remember who you are." The figure facing him was the person who had come to the interrogation room when he was talking to Anthony.

Ignoring San's words, he said, "Do as I said earlier. At least, you can get a little leniency."

"Is this also an order from his father, Gio?" San already understands the pattern and drama that Anthony has written.

"If you already know, it's better to obey. Remember, there is a possibility that you will get the death penalty—"

"What if I admit and apologize for a mistake I never made? Will I survive the death threat?"

The person didn't answer.

"Unlucky!" cursed San with a sad laugh. His hand was cuffed up, and he rubbed his head in frustration. "What is the difference? What is the difference between the punishment I will receive if I apologize?!" He shouted, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "In the end, I'm going to die with that damn accusation, right?!"

"Your anger is useless here."

"I know! I know! Humans like you are all savages! Bastard!"

The man who served as Anthony's secretary sighed softly. However, her face didn't show any emotion.

For a moment, the atmosphere became silent. Only San's wheezing breathed and occasionally cursed the family name Wibisono.

"I'll wait outside until you decide." The man left and waited outside the room, leaving San alone.

In that suffocating silence, San sat down while leaning against the wall. His head lifted, looked up, and stared at the ceiling. Tears dripped from her eyes, accompanied by tightness in her chest and pain.

"Unlucky," he muttered.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then tried to catch a deep breath. He knew there was no longer any chance for him to be free. Alone with a miserable life and a bit of bad luck that has continued since the death of his parents.

Surviving in a world that often humiliates, manipulates, and corners the fate of poor humans like him it's very, very difficult. San many times thought about giving up on life.

However, one sentence came out of his mother shortly before he died: "Whatever the condition, whatever the moment, don't ever think about dying. Child, hold on."

That sentence was like a mantra that became why he got up when he fell when he wanted to end his sad life.

"Mom, I'm tired." She said as if she was facing her mother figure. "Outside, I must keep fighting for a bite of rice. Is not it?" Then he laughed sadly. "When I was in prison, I could regularly eat three meals a day. Take a shower and sleep on time. No need to wait for Uncle to open the door when I come home at night after work."

San chuckled. "I don't need to sleep on the porch when it's raining or at the patrol post. I can sleep in the cell pretty well. Is not it?"

He stared blankly at the empty air. After all, his mother only told him to survive and not die. The punishment he might receive, if not a death sentence, then he will be in prison for the rest of his life.

San later turned towards the door where the person was waiting. The glint in his eyes, which were once sad and full of despair, turned dark and cold.

Moving from his position, he stepped towards the exit. Directly facing the man, she said, "As long as you don't die tomorrow." A momentary pause for him to move his gaze from the floor to the face of his interlocutor. "Is that still possible?"

Only the unreadable glance that person gave him.

***

Outside the District Court building, there was a crowd when the figure of a young man in a prison uniform came out. The trial was over, and the verdict was handed down.

"Is it true that you confessed your crime?"

"How can you admit after defending yourself before?"

"How do you feel after the life sentence?"

"Please say something—"

The reporter's questions were evaded by the officers who tightened the guard. San himself didn't show any expression.

Elsewhere, Vera, having lunch with her friend, stared at the TV screen at the food stall with unreadable eyes.

"Wow, just crazy!" Nila exclaimed after sipping her iced tea. "That quickly the judge decided?" The rhetorical question was ejected along with a cynical snort. He then turned to the left. "What do you think?"

Vera turned her eyes to her food and ate it quietly. "What's up?"

"Yeah, it's weird. The trial is too close, and the verdict is immediate in that decision—yes, indeed, the suspect also doesn't have a qualified attorney." Nila winced. "Ah, what public attorney would be willing to sacrifice his career to defend an ordinary civilian like that kid?"

"There's still a chance, right?"

Nila frowned in surprise. "What?"

"There's still a chance to appeal, right?"