THE BLUE BOTTLE CONTRACT

8. Raka’s New Target

Dust and lingering wisps of smoke from the chaos in the canteen still clung to Arga’s hair as he ran down the school corridor, which was starting to empty. His breath was short. In his pocket, the coins from Zat’s "hard work" still felt warm, as if the metal still held a trace of life.

"You run like a chicken thief caught by the villagers, Arga. You're embarrassing my dignity as an ancient entity," Zat’s voice whispered, sharp and full of mockery. His form was invisible, but Arga could feel the cold gust of wind following his every step.

"Shut up, Zat! Those two tattooed guys... they were definitely Mr. Bakri’s men. If I get caught, I won't just be taken to the police station; I'll be going straight to the grave!" Arga replied in a half-whisper while looking around frantically.

He needed a place to hide. The library was too open, and teachers were already filling the classrooms. The only place that crossed his mind was the old restroom at the end of Building B, which was rarely used because the lights were often out and it smelled like preserved rat carcasses.

BRAK!

Arga slammed the restroom door shut and locked it from the inside. He leaned against the moss-covered wall, trying to normalize his heartbeat, which felt like it was about to jump out of his ribs.

"This place smells like piss, Arga. Your taste in hiding spots is absolute garbage," Zat appeared in front of a mirror cracked into a thousand pieces. His pale face looked very displeased. He covered his nose with the edge of his transparent cloak. "I’d rather go back into a rusty soda bottle than breathe in the scent of this human waste."

"It's the only safe place," Arga replied while washing his face in a sink where the water flowed thin and brownish.

"Safe?" Zat grinned wide, revealing his small, bluish-glinting fangs. "You really don't feel anything? Your survival instinct is lower than a shrimp's."

Just after Zat spoke, heavy and steady footsteps were heard from outside. Not one person, but at least four or five.

CLICK.

The sound of the restroom door being locked from the outside.

Arga flinched. He tried to pull the door handle, but it was locked tight. From behind the door, a laugh he knew all too well echoed. A laugh that still carried the scent of leftover trash and a deep-seated grudge.

"Aww, look at the poor kid hiding in the corner. Want to practice more magic tricks, Ga?"

It was Raka’s voice. It sounded deeper, more dangerous than usual. There was no longer a casual tone of arrogance; there was only pure rage.

"Raka! Open the door!" Arga shouted while pounding on the iron-clad wooden door.

"Open? Oh, don't worry. We’ll open it... once I’ve made sure your face is more trashed than that dumpster yesterday," Raka replied. "You embarrassed me in front of the whole school, Arga. My old man is furious because the video of me doing a somersault went viral. My family name became a laughingstock all because of a scruffy brat like you!"

"I didn't start it!"

"I don't care!" Raka barked from behind the door. "Fadel, make sure no one comes this way. We’re going to give this amateur magician a lesson he’ll never forget."

Arga backed away, his back pressing against a toilet stall door. In front of him, Zat was casually sitting on a leaking water pipe, swinging his legs as if watching a free movie.

"Well, here we go. It turns out Raka’s new target isn't just your pride anymore, but your life," Zat chuckled. "Interesting. Very interesting."

"Zat, don't just laugh! Help me!"

Zat rolled his eyes lazily. "Help again? Do you think my power is some buy-one-get-one-free promo? Listen, Broke Boy. The best way to deal with a barking dog is to break its jaw. I suggest you 'negotiate' with them. Roughly. Very roughly."

"I can't fight, Zat! There are five of them!"

"Pathetic," Zat hissed. "You have a nuke in your hands, yet you choose to use a slingshot. Listen to me, Arga. Raka is carrying something in his pocket. I can feel the red energy from this morning's coin is still there. He doesn't just want to beat you up; he wants to try 'taming' me through you."

THUD!

The restroom door was kicked from the outside. It didn't break yet, but the hinges were starting to give way.

"Arga! Come out or I’ll burn this restroom down with you inside it!" Raka shouted again.

Arga stared at his trembling hands. He remembered his mother. He remembered his house about to be seized. He remembered how Raka had treated him like dirt for years. That fear slowly began to mix with something hot. Anger.

"Zat... I don't want to die here," Arga whispered.

Zat floated closer, his cold face now right beside Arga’s ear. "Then stop being a victim. Want power? I’ll give it to you. But remember, your body will bear the burden."

Zat raised his right hand, then pressed it against Arga’s right hand.

Instantly, Arga felt a sensation like thousands of hot needles being thrust into his veins. The muscles in his right arm began to twitch violently. His veins bulged, emitting a faint but intense glow of blue light beneath the skin. It felt scorching, as if his hand had just been dipped into molten iron.

"AAARGH!" Arga groaned in pain, clutching his right arm, which now felt incredibly heavy, as heavy as a block of concrete.

"Hold it in, crybaby!" Zat snapped. "I’m only lending five percent kinetic energy to your hand. If you scream again, I’ll take your soul right now!"

Outside, Raka and his friends laughed at Arga's groans. "Wow, he's actually starting to cry, Raka! One bang on the door and he's already begging for mercy!"

"Kick the door down now!" Raka ordered.

Two of Raka's friends, Fadel and a hulking student named Erik, began bracing themselves to ram the iron door together.

Arga stood tall. The pain in his hand began to transform into a massive surge of power. He felt as if he could tear the world apart with his bare fists. His usually dull eyes now flashed with a sharp intensity.

"Arga, give them a surprise they'll never forget for the rest of their lives," Zat whispered with a bloodthirsty smirk.

Arga didn't wait for the door to be kicked in. He stepped forward. He pulled his right hand back, gathering all the turbulent blue energy swirling there.

"This... is for everything you've done to me, Raka!"

BOOM!

It wasn't just a punch. When Arga's fist slammed into the surface of the iron restroom door, the thud echoed through the school corridor like a gas bomb exploding.

The thick iron door didn't just fly open; it buckled inward. The imprint of Arga's fist was clearly visible in the center, creating a ten-centimeter-deep dent that instantly shattered the hinge structure. The door ripped off the wall, slamming into Fadel and Erik just as they were about to charge, throwing them both ten feet away until they hit the corridor wall opposite the restroom.

Instant silence.

Concrete dust from the crumbling wall drifted through the air. Arga stood in the threshold of the ruined doorway, his right hand still emitting faint smoke and a blue glow that was slowly fading. His breath came in gasps, his eyes staring intensely at Raka, who now stood frozen in the middle of the hallway.

Raka didn't move. His face, previously full of rage, had turned deathly pale. He stared at the severely dented iron door, then at Arga as if he were looking at a monster crawling out of hell.

"What... what... the hell..." Raka's voice trembled violently. A gold coin in his pocket fell to the floor, clinking softly in the eerie silence.

Fadel and Erik lay sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain with their bodies trapped under the mangled metal door. Raka's other friends retreated in an orderly fashion, their courage evaporating in a single second.

Zat laughed hysterically beside Arga, his form now looking more solid. "Look at their faces! Hahaha! They thought they were hunters, but they're just a pack of cowardly rabbits!"

Arga stepped out of the restroom. Each step made Raka back away with trembling knees. "What was that you said, Raka? You were going to break me even more?"

Arga raised his right hand, which still felt hot. "Go ahead and try. I want to see how strong your head is compared to that iron door."

Raka swallowed hard. He fumbled frantically in his pocket, searching for something—maybe a charm or a communication device—but his hands were shaking too much. "Arga... listen... this is just a misunderstanding..."

"A misunderstanding?" Arga smirked, an expression that mirrored Zat’s smile perfectly. "There's no misunderstanding here. There's just me, and I'm tired of being your target."

Just as Arga was about to deliver another threat, the sound of steady footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. A very distinctive tap of a wooden cane.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Mr. Handoko emerged from around the corner, his sunglasses glinting as they reflected the flickering corridor lights. He stopped a few meters away from them, looked at the destroyed restroom door, then stared at Arga with an unreadable expression.

"That's enough drama," Mr. Handoko said coldly.

Zat, who had been laughing, suddenly went silent. He floated low behind Arga, his form tensing. "Arga, don't attack that man. It's not time yet."

Mr. Handoko walked toward the dented door, touching the imprint of Arga's fist with his wrinkled fingers. "Great power in the wrong hands... is a recipe for disaster."

He turned toward Raka. "Raka, get out of here. Your father is waiting for you at the gate. He won't be pleased with your failure to 'secure' this boy."

Raka didn't argue. He immediately bolted, leaving his friends lying on the floor.

Mr. Handoko now gave Arga his full attention. "Do you think this is a victory, Arga? You've just lit a flare in the middle of the darkness. And believe me, it's not just Mr. Bakri or Raka's family who are coming for you now."

Mr. Handoko pulled a black envelope from his coat and tossed it at Arga's feet.

"Tomorrow night, go to that address. If you want to know how to control the parasite inside your bottle before it devours your soul completely."

Arga was stunned. Parasite? He turned to Zat, but the spirit only looked away with a strange, sour expression.

"And one more thing, Arga," Mr. Handoko turned to leave. "That iron door costs ten million. The school will be billing your mother tomorrow morning."

Arga froze. That incredible power felt useless in an instant. He stared at his right hand, which was now beginning to feel excruciatingly painful and turning blue—a side effect of forcing Zat's power into his human body.

In the distance, the sound of sirens—police cars or maybe ambulances—began to draw closer to the school grounds. Arga realized one thing: his world hadn't gotten any easier after getting Zat. In fact, the hole he was digging was now too deep for him to jump back out of.

"Ten million?" Arga muttered bitterly.

"Well," Zat returned to his sarcastic tone, floating casually in front of Arga's face. "At least that punch was pretty cool, wasn't it? Besides, ten million is just a number. Your real problem just stepped out of that black car at the front gate."

Arga looked toward the corridor window. Down below, a long black limousine had pulled up. And from inside, a middle-aged man emerged with an aura so oppressive that Arga could feel it from the second floor.

Raka's father. The true owner of the city. And he didn't come alone. Behind him stood three people in long robes, holding ancient objects that emitted a blood-red glow.

"Zat... who are they?"

"Djinn butchers," Zat answered shortly, his voice now dead serious. "And it looks like they just found a new target much bigger than just me."