THE BLUE BOTTLE CONTRACT

5: A Different Morning

The morning sun pierced through the gaps in the broken roof tiles, washing Arga's face with light that felt far too bright for his sleep-deprived eyes. His head throbbed. The events of last night—the crooked lawyer, the chilling scent of frankincense, and the threat from the mysterious figure behind the door—felt like a nightmare that refused to fade. However, the ache throughout his body was proof that it was all very real.

In a corner of the messy room, Zat was crouching atop a tilted wooden table, staring at a wall fan that spun with a sickening creak.

"Humans have truly lost their minds," Zat muttered. His form still appeared slightly transparent, but the blue glow in his eyes had returned to its sharp intensity. "You create a miniature windmill to chase away the heat, but it makes more noise than the moans of souls in the third circle of hell. Why don't you just summon a wind spirit? It’s cooler, quieter, and doesn't need these damned wires."

Arga ignored the rambling. He adjusted his faded school uniform and slung his backpack—which had a strap that was nearly snapped—over his shoulder. "There are no wind spirits in Jakarta, Zat. There’s only pollution. And if I summon a spirit in the middle of the city, the only thing that’ll show up is an ambulance from the psych ward."

"Psych ward? A place for the mad? Sounds like a perfect fit for you," Zat retorted, hopping down from the table soundlessly. He floated, following Arga as he stepped out of the house. "So, where are we going now? Hunting prey? Leveling buildings? Or do you want me to burn down that lawyer’s house from yesterday?"

"I'm going to school," Arga answered flatly. He glanced at his mother, who was still fast asleep on the thin mattress, exhausted after crying all night. Arga had locked the door from the outside and ensured a simple protective seal—which Zat had begrudgingly applied with a very lazy expression last night—was set upon the threshold. At the very least, Mr. Bakri or Raka’s father’s goons wouldn't be able to enter easily.

"School?" Zat snorted, following Arga down the muddy, narrow alley. "The place where humans lock themselves in concrete boxes to study things I forgot thousands of years ago? A waste of time. A complete waste of time."

Arga didn't care. He kept walking toward the bus stop. All along the way, Zat couldn't stop commenting. To him, the modern world was one big, failed joke.

"Look at that!" Zat pointed at a man busy swiping rapidly across his smartphone screen. "Why is he stroking that little mirror as if it were a lucky charm? Is there a demon trapped inside?"

"That's a phone, Zat. For communication. For looking up information," Arga hissed, trying his best not to look like a crazy person talking to himself.

"Communication? Back in the day, if I wanted to talk to someone across the continent, I just whispered the message to a crow. Instant. No signal needed, no data plan required, and certainly no need to hunch over like an idiot until your neck snaps." Zat floated above Arga's head, spinning his body through the air. "And look at that iron box! They call that a vehicle? It smells like a constipated dragon’s fart. My transportation magic could move you in the blink of an eye, but instead, you choose to sit here crammed inside this hot box that reeks of blue-collar sweat."

The city bus arrived with a deafening engine roar and a cloud of billowing black smoke. Arga climbed aboard, squeezing in among people whose faces looked withered even though the day had just begun. Zat sat on the roof of the bus, phasing through the ceiling as if the solid material was nothing but empty air to him.

"This world is pathetic, Arga," Zat whispered right into Arga's ear as the bus began to move. "It's full of technology that's supposedly 'convenient,' but all I see are people more stressed than the slaves building the pyramids. You have my power now. You can have anything. Why do you still bother going to a math exam?"

Arga gripped the bus handle tightly. "Because your power can't legally pay off my mom's debts. I need a diploma. I need a normal life."

"Normal is boring," Zat snapped back. "And you haven't had a normal life since you opened my bottle. Face reality, Kid. You’re a trouble magnet."

The bus stopped right in front of the gates of Garuda High School. Arga stepped off, a feeling of dread beginning to crawl up his chest. As soon as he walked toward the gate, the atmosphere suddenly shifted. Students who had been walking casually suddenly pulled aside, as if a storm were about to pass through.

In front of the school gate, a flashy red sports car was parked haphazardly. Standing beside it was Raka. His hair was perfectly styled, a luxury watch circled his wrist, and that dismissive smirk was still there—looking even sharper than usual. Behind him, Fadel and his cronies were ready, each holding a basketball or simply crossing their arms over their chests.

"Well, well, look who’s here," Raka's voice echoed, halting several other students in their tracks. "The pauper who ran away yesterday. I thought you’d croaked in a ditch somewhere, Ga."

Arga stopped five paces in front of Raka. He could feel his heart racing, an old reflex from years of bullying. But this time, something was different. He didn't feel small. Beside him, Zat floated in a cross-legged position, staring at Raka as if the rich boy were an insect begging to be squashed.

"Oh, so this is the clown who almost fainted seeing his car float away?" Zat laughed cynically. "Look at his style. Acting like a tough guy with a haircut like a rooster's comb. Arga, can I rip out his tongue now? He talks too much."

"Not now," Arga murmured very softly.

"What did you say?" Raka stepped forward, closing the distance. He grabbed Arga’s collar roughly, popping the top button of Arga’s uniform. "I heard your mom already signed the house transfer papers, huh? Pathetic. Soon you’ll be a real vagrant. No home, no dignity."

Raka leaned his face close to Arga's ear, whispering in a voice full of venom. "I know you had a trick yesterday. I don’t know how you did it, but today, I brought something that’ll make you realize you’re still just trash compared to my family."

Raka released his grip and stepped back slightly, reaching into his pants pocket. He pulled out a small gold coin with a single-eye symbol engraved on its surface—the same symbol as the pendant Mr. Bakri had last night.

Zat, who had been relaxed, suddenly tensed up. His blue body vibrated, and he backed away a few inches from Arga.

"Damn it..." Zat hissed. "A Spirit-Binding Coin. This snot-nosed brat... where did he get that thing?"

Raka smirked when he saw the change in Arga's expression—which was actually Arga's reaction to Zat's agitation. "What’s wrong, Ga? Scared? My dad said if I carry this coin, your invisible 'friend' won't be much help. So now... we’re back to the factory settings."

Raka signaled to Fadel and his friends. In an instant, they surrounded Arga in the middle of the school gate, watched by dozens of students who didn't dare to intervene.

"Come on, Arga. Show us your trick again," Raka challenged, flipping the gold coin between his fingers. The coin emitted a faint red glow that felt like a searing heat against Arga's skin.

Zat whispered, his voice sounding heavy and strained. "Arga, that coin... it’s poison to me. I can’t attack him directly as long as he’s holding that thing. But I can lend my body to you. You have to fight him with your own hands. And trust me, this is going to hurt your frail little body like hell."

Raka threw a sloppy punch toward Arga’s face. Usually, Arga would close his eyes and just take it. But this time, a cold surge exploded from within his spine.

THUD!

Arga caught Raka's fist in his palm. The sound of the impact was louder than it should have been. Arga's eyes began to gleam a deep blue, making Raka recoil in shock.

"You called me... trash?" Arga hissed. The pressure from his hand made the bones in Raka’s hand start to creak.

"Le-let go, you idiot!" Raka screamed in panic. He tried to pull his hand away, but Arga's grip was like an immovable iron lock.

Zat grinned widely behind Arga, even though his body was fading slightly from the coin's influence. "That's it! Crush his ego, Arga! Let him know that money can't buy a life in the face of ancient power!"

However, just as Arga was about to twist Raka's hand, a cold voice rang out from the direction of the school building.

"Arga! Raka! To the principal's office, now!"

A man with dark sunglasses and a wooden cane walked closer. Arga froze. This man wasn't just some teacher. He was the figure who had stood behind the veil of incense smoke last night. The Jin Hunter.

Zat cursed in a language Arga didn't understand. "Crap... he actually followed us to school. Arga, we’re trapped!"

Raka smiled triumphantly despite his hand being in pain. "Welcome to real hell, Arga."

Arga released Raka's hand, but he knew today wouldn't end with just a simple school punishment. He was caught between a bully holding a deadly charm and a hunter ready to obliterate Zat—and perhaps him as well.

The school gates, which usually felt like a prison, now felt like a battlefield he could no longer avoid. Arga looked toward Zat, and the spirit only gave him a very unhelpful look.

"Well, at least today won't be boring, right?" Zat said casually, right before the man in sunglasses stopped in front of them and stared exactly where Zat was floating.