THE BLUE BOTTLE CONTRACT

6. The Accidental Backflip

Arga's footsteps felt heavy, as if pulled by an unnatural gravity. Beside him, Raka walked with a clenched jaw, his hand still trembling—whether from the lingering pain or the rage boiling over. In front of them, the man in sunglasses with the wooden cane walked calmly. The rhythmic tapping of his cane on the quiet corridor floor sounded like the ticking of a death clock.

"I don't know what kind of black magic charm you're using, Arga," Raka whispered, his voice hoarse and full of hatred. "But this coin will make sure you can't lift a finger. You're going to grovel at my dad's feet before the day is over."

Zat floated behind Arga, his figure appearing slightly blurred, as if the blue glow of his body was being disrupted by the red aura from the gold coin in Raka's pocket. The spirit snorted, crossing his arms.

"Tch, this wet-behind-the-ears brat is really asking to have his tongue cut out," Zat grumbled. His voice was audible only to Arga’s ears. "Does he really think that cheap coin can hold me back forever? Arga, look at his feet. He’s bracing himself. Looks like this rooster-haired punk wants to get physical before we reach the principal’s office."

Arga caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye. He was right. Raka began to quicken his pace, trying to pull slightly ahead of Arga on his right side. They were passing through an open food court area teeming with students, as lunch break had just begun. There, a large iron trash can with an open lid stood tall at the edge of the corridor—a donation from Raka’s father’s company, complete with their family logo sticker.

"Zat, don't mess around. That Hunter is right in front of us," Arga whispered, his lips barely moving.

"That Hunter won't care if an insect falls due to his own clumsiness," Zat replied with a cunning smirk. "Hold on tight, Kid. I need a little bit of my remaining energy to put on a circus act."

Right then, Raka made his move. With a gesture deliberately made to look like an accident, Raka crossed his right leg directly in front of Arga’s path. He wanted Arga to sprawl flat, kissing the floor in front of hundreds of students who were busy eating lunch.

However, Zat was faster.

A split second before Arga’s shoe could touch Raka’s leg, Zat flicked his finger toward the floor. The air beneath the sole of Raka’s foot suddenly solidified, then exploded into a small, high-pressure whirlwind.

WHOOSH!

Instead of Arga falling, Raka’s leg was bucked upward as if he had just stepped on an invisible landmine. The laws of physics suddenly felt chaotic. Raka’s athletic body was launched into the air, performing a perfect 360-degree flip that was entirely beyond his control.

"WAAAAAA—!"

Raka’s scream was cut short. Before hundreds of students who stood frozen with their mouths agape, Raka performed a highly acrobatic backflip. His body soared high over Arga’s head, spinning twice in the air like a drunken professional gymnast, and ended with a very precise falling trajectory.

CRASH! PLOP!

The loud sound of metal meeting flesh rang out, followed by a disgusting, wet squelch. Raka landed headfirst into the large trash can at the edge of the corridor. His legs, clad in expensive leather shoes, poked out from the pile of garbage, kicking the air in a panic.

Silence. The entire school suddenly froze.

Then, the stench began to waft through the air. The trash can had recently been filled with soup remnants and greasy plastic waste from the cafeteria. Raka struggled, trying to pull his head out, but his body only slipped further inside.

"Oh my god... Raka?" one student muttered from a distance.

Zat roared with laughter in the air, rolling around uncontrollably. "Hahaha! Look at that! Ten points for choreography, zero for the landing! I never knew the offspring of the wealthy had such a talent for being a garbage scavenger!"

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

The deathly silence was broken by the sound of smartphone camera shutters. Within seconds, hundreds of students simultaneously pulled out their phones. Flashlights flickered from every direction.

"Damn! Raka just backflipped into the trash can!"

"Hey, record it, record it! This is golden content!"

"I swear, that was so cool when he spun earlier! But why did he land there? That must be so stinky!"

Arga could only stand there frozen, staring at Raka’s legs still flailing inside the trash can. He wanted to laugh, but his fear of the man in black sunglasses ahead still haunted him.

Fadel and his gang, who had been ready to bully Arga earlier, now ran in a panic, trying to pull Raka out. When Raka’s head was finally yanked out, the sight was far worse. His handsome face was now covered in stale instant noodle scraps, greasy yellow broth dripped from his hair, and a cracker wrapper was stuck to his forehead.

"I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, ARGA!" Raka screamed hysterically, his voice cracking and trembling from sheer humiliation. He tried to stand, but his feet slipped on the trash liquid on the corridor floor, making him fall back into a sitting position with an embarrassing plop.

The man in black sunglasses stopped walking. He turned slowly, surveying the chaos with an unreadable, flat expression. He tapped his wooden cane once against the floor, and instantly, all the boisterous students fell silent. It was as if a wave of stillness had been emitted by the man.

"Enough," the man’s voice was low but authoritative.

He looked at Arga, or more precisely, looked toward the side of Arga’s shoulder where Zat was busy laughing. The red glow in his black sunglasses flashed.

"Rough play, Little Djinn," the man said softly, almost a whisper that could only be heard by Arga and Zat.

Zat stopped laughing. His figure suddenly became alert, his blue glow dimming sharply. "Arga... this man... he’s not just a hunter. He knew I was here from the beginning."

Raka tried to stand again, his face beet red. His eyes, usually full of arrogance, were now filled with pure, dark rage. "Sir! Look at what he did! He used magic! He cheated!"

The man in black sunglasses ignored Raka’s shouts. He stepped closer to Arga, making Arga reflexively take a step back. The scent of frankincense and old teak wood wafted from the cloak the man wore.

"My name is Mr. Handoko. I am not just a guidance counselor here, Arga," the man said as he removed his sunglasses, revealing eyes that were entirely white without pupils—the eyes of a blind man, yet Arga felt as though he was being stripped bare by his gaze. "And you... you have just started a war that you cannot finish with a mere circus act."

Mr. Handoko then turned toward Raka, who was still covered in trash. "And you, Raka. Go inside. Your father is already waiting in the principal’s office. Not as a parent, but as the new owner of all the assets your family once took pride in."

Raka was stunned. "What do you mean, Sir? What assets?"

"That coin you hold has a price, Raka," Mr. Handoko continued coldly. "And your father just paid for it with something far more expensive than mere money."

Arga felt a tightness in his chest. He realized that the "Accidental Backflip" surprise wasn't just about humiliating Raka, but it had triggered something much larger. In Arga’s pocket, the blue bottle felt incredibly hot, as if something inside wanted to burst out.

"Arga, run," Zat whispered suddenly, his voice no longer sarcastic. "Don't go into that room. That’s not a principal’s office in there... it’s a trap."

Just as Zat spoke, the large principal’s office door opened on its own. It wasn't a luxurious room visible inside, but rather a bottomless dark corridor emitting a cold draft that could freeze one's blood.

From that darkness, a heavy voice that Arga knew all too well called out his name.

"Come in, Arga. Your mother is waiting for you here."

Arga’s eyes widened. That was his mother’s voice. But that was impossible. His mother should be at their rented house, sleeping under the protection of Zat’s seal.

Mr. Handoko smiled thinly, a smile more terrifying than Mr. Bakri’s rage. "Please, go inside, Arga. Your contract with Zat has just entered the collection phase."

Raka, still smelling like trash, laughed maniacally beside him. "You think you’ve won, Arga? Welcome to your own grave!"

Arga looked at Zat, pleading for help, but for the first time since they met, the powerful Djinn looked completely helpless, his blue body starting to be sucked into the bottle by force.