THE BLUE BOTTLE CONTRACT

7. The Miracle in the Cafeteria

Arga’s stomach refused to compromise. The growling inside sounded like the groan of an old engine in need of oil, loud enough to make several students at the next table turn with looks of disgust.

Arga could only look down, pretending to be busy tying his shoelaces, which were actually already knotted tight. The savory steam of chicken soup, the aroma of fried rice fresh from the wok, and the piercing scent of meatballs were pure mental torture during this second break. In his pocket, there were only two crumpled thousand-rupiah bills—not even enough for a glass of iced tea in this overpriced Garuda High School canteen.

"Told you, didn't I? Being human is a hassle. You have to refuel every few hours just to stay upright. Why not just be a rock instead? Durable, no need for food, and Raka wouldn't be able to insult you," Zat’s voice whispered right into Arga’s ear.

Arga didn't look at him, but he knew Zat was floating lazily above the canteen table, probably sitting cross-legged atop a greasy sauce bottle. "Shut up, Zat. I don't need a philosophical lecture from a soda-bottle genie right now."

"Ancient Djinn, kid. Watch your mouth unless you want me to literally twist your intestines," Zat retorted curtly. Arga felt a sudden chill breeze against the back of his neck, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the crowded canteen. "But fine, I don't want my host dying a pathetic death just because of a glucose deficiency. It would ruin my reputation in the underworld."

Arga wiped his pale face. His vision was starting to blur. The incident in the principal's office yesterday—whether it was real or just some high-level hallucination conjured by Mr. Handoko—had drained all his energy. He needed sustenance, or he’d pass out before the final period even started.

"Zat, can you... you know what I mean? Can you make money appear or something?" Arga asked desperately, his voice barely audible over the canteen's roar.

"I'm a djinn, not a central bank printing press, moron," Zat answered sarcastically. "But, if it's just about gathering the 'trash' scattered under the tables of these greedy humans... I suppose that’s still within my power."

Arga frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Look under table five. Beneath the fat ass of that guy with the rooster-comb hair," Zat commanded.

Arga glanced at the table. There sat Fadel and several other members of Raka's gang, laughing loudly while devouring jumbo portions of chicken noodles. Arga ducked his head slightly, and there, amidst the dust and piles of dirty tissues, he saw a metallic glint. A five-hundred-rupiah coin. At another table, a thousand-rupiah coin was wedged between the table legs.

"Humans are careless," Zat muttered. "They cry if they lose a million, yet they toss coins aside like useless pebbles. To you, this is a treasure chest, isn't it?"

"And? You expect me to crawl under their tables to grab it? Get real, Zat! I'd be bullied to death right now!" Arga hissed.

"Who said you had to crawl, you broke human? Just sit there and look pretty, keep your face from looking like a common thief, and let me do the work."

Suddenly, Arga saw something extraordinary. The five-hundred-rupiah coin under Fadel's table vibrated. It wasn't a normal vibration; it was as if the coin had tiny, invisible legs. It began to move, emerging from the shadows of the table and sliding across the slippery tiled floor.

It wasn't just one. From under the drink vendor's stall, from the gaps beside the refrigerators, and from the dark corners of the canteen, coins began to emerge. Dozens of metal coins of various denominations—two hundred, five hundred, and thousand-rupiah pieces—started to march.

The sight was utterly surreal. The coins moved in an orderly fashion, lined up neatly like a colony of steel ants on a massive migration. They moved nimbly, dodging the feet of passing students, turning at the corners of the tiles, all heading toward one spot: the leg of the table where Arga sat.

"Zat... this... this is insane," Arga whispered, his eyes widening as the line of coins reached his feet.

"Don't just gape, Arga! Put them in your pocket before someone notices!" Zat ordered, his voice sounding slightly strained. "Organizing a metal parade this big takes focus, you know!"

Arga quickly dropped his backpack to the floor, making it look as though it had slipped from his lap. With a swift movement practiced from years of hiding bruises, he scooped up the line of coins "queueing" beside his shoe.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The sound of metal clashing in his pocket felt like the most beautiful music Arga had ever heard. He repeated the motion, grabbing another handful, then another. The total was probably twenty thousand rupiah—more than enough for a plate of rice with side dishes and an orange juice.

However, Arga's luck didn't last long.

"Hey! What's that moving on the floor?!"

That booming voice came from the far end of the canteen. Mr. Danu, the school's disciplinary officer—known for having eyes like a hawk and a hair-trigger temper—was marching over. His eyes were fixed right on the remaining five or six coins trying to "cross" the open corridor of the canteen.

Arga froze. The coins, thanks to Zat's magic, were moving at a constant, highly unnatural speed. Anyone watching would know something was wrong.

"Are those... coins? Why are the coins moving on their own?!" shrieked a female student who nearly stepped on the line.

In an instant, the attention of half the canteen shifted. Mr. Danu quickened his pace, his reddish face full of suspicion. He pulled out the long steel ruler he carried everywhere.

"Zat! Stop! Mr. Danu sees them!" Arga whispered in a panic, cold sweat starting to drench his forehead.

"I can't just stop them suddenly, idiot! The momentum is locked! If I let go now, these coins will fly into people's faces!" Zat shot back in frustration.

Mr. Danu was now only five meters away. He leaned down, his eyes narrowing at a thousand-rupiah coin crawling nimbly in front of him. "What is this? A magic trick? Who's playing games here?!"

Arga felt like his heart was going to burst. If Mr. Danu reached his table and found his pockets full of coins still "vibrating" with residual magical energy, he wouldn't just be accused of stealing; he might be seen as practicing the dark arts. At Garuda High, strange things like this always ended badly.

"Arga! You!" Mr. Danu pointed his steel ruler at Arga. "Why are you sitting there alone clutching your pocket? And why are these coins running toward you?!"

Siswa-siswa lain mulai berkerumun. Fadel dan kelompoknya berdiri, menatap Arga dengan seringai curiga. Raka, yang baru saja masuk ke kantin dengan baju seragam baru (setelah kejadian tong sampah kemarin), langsung memicingkan mata.

"Whoa, looks like the charity case is playing witch doctor now," Raka mocked, his voice baiting the crowd.

Mr. Danu now stood directly in front of Arga's table. He stared at the floor, where the last three coins had just stopped right at the tip of Arga's shoe because Zat was forced to cut the magical connection.

"Stand up, Arga! Empty your pockets right now!" Mr. Danu barked.

Arga stood on trembling legs. His hands tightly gripped his pant pockets. "This... this is my own money, Sir. I was just counting..."

"Counting? Since when do coins line up like ants? Don't you lie to me! I saw it with my own eyes—those coins were moving from under that table over there!" Mr. Danu pointed toward Fadel's table. "You're stealing, aren't you?!"

"No, Sir! I swear!"

"Open your pockets or I'm calling the guard to search you by force!"

Arga looked at Zat, who had now appeared on his shoulder—though only Arga could see him, of course. Zat seemed indifferent, busily picking his ear. "Well, looks like you're in trouble again, kid. Want me to make Mr. Danu do a little ballet to distract them?"

"Don't you dare!" Arga's mind screamed.

Just as Mr. Danu’s hand was about to snatch Arga’s collar, a loud bang echoed from the direction of the canteen gate. Everyone turned. Standing there were two men dressed in all black with tattoos protruding from their necks. They weren't students, they weren't teachers, and they were clearly not good people.

One of them held a strip of a photo. He scanned the canteen until his eyes locked onto Arga.

"That's the kid! Arga, Mrs. Lastri’s son!" one of the men shouted.

The atmosphere in the canteen, which had been tense because of the coin incident, suddenly turned chilling. Mr. Danu lowered his hand, his face shifting to a look of wariness. "Who are you? This is school grounds, you can't just barge in here!"

The tattooed man ignored Mr. Danu. He walked closer, roughly shoving chairs aside. "Get out of the way, old man! Our business is with this brat. His mom ran off with Mr. Bakri’s money, and now the kid’s gotta pay!"

Arga took a step back. Mr. Bakri. Those debt collectors weren't playing around. They had the nerve to come to his school in broad daylight.

"Zat... help..." Arga whispered softly, truly terrified this time.

Zat stood tall on Arga’s shoulder, his eyes flashing a sharp blue. His sarcastic smirk was gone, replaced by the expression of a bloodthirsty predator. "Two nuisances at once? Nagging old Mr. Danu and two loan shark guard dogs?"

Zat floated forward, approaching the face of the tattooed man who was now right in front of Arga. "Arga, you’re still hungry, right? I think I have an idea on how to get a free meal and take out this trash at the same time."

"What do you mean?"

Zat turned to Arga with a terrifying smile. "Cover your ears, Kid. Because in a moment, this canteen is going to become the loudest concert hall you’ve ever heard."

Just as one of the tattooed men was about to grab Arga’s neck, the coins in Arga’s pocket suddenly turned scorching hot. Not just the coins in his pocket, but every metal object in the canteen—spoons, forks, trays, even Mr. Danu’s steel ruler—began to vibrate violently with an ear-splitting hum.

Arga realized something. The miracle in the canteen had only just begun, and the moving coins from earlier were merely the appetizer for the impending disaster.

"Zat, don't—"

Arga’s sentence was cut short by the sound of metal exploding against the floor, creating a shockwave that sent everyone flying. Through the swirling dust, Arga saw Zat laughing hysterically, while the coins in his hand began to glow as if ready to become bullets.