For most students at Rajawali High, paradise was a canteen serving premium Western cuisine, a basketball court surrounded by cheering fans, or a parking lot where they could flaunt their luxury cars. But for Rehan, paradise was a six-by-four-meter room tucked away in the most forgotten corner of the third floor—a place where the temperature was kept at a constant 18 degrees Celsius, and the only sound was the monotonous, mechanical hum of server cooling fans.
Computer Lab 3. Or more accurately, the server room hidden behind it.
Rehan sat in a swivel chair whose foam had long since flattened, his face illuminated by the pale blue glow of three monitors burning simultaneously. His fingers danced across a mechanical keyboard without a single glance at the keys, creating a sharp, staccato rhythm—tak-tak-tak—that was as fast as it was precise.
On the primary monitor, lines of green and white code cascaded down like a digital waterfall. Rehan wasn't working on a school assignment. Information Technology homework was child's play to him. He was performing a mental 'defrag'—reorganizing his thoughts by optimizing the school's network security, which he considered to be "as strong as wet cardboard."
"Humans," Rehan murmured softly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the network activity logs. "Always the greatest security flaw."
He studied the login history of the school's central server.
User: Bu_Siti_TU
Password: Naufal2002
Rehan let out a dry, cynical snort. He typed a few lines of commands, forcing the system to reset Bu Siti's password and sending her an automated security warning. It was a petty act of digital hygiene.
To Rehan, the world was nothing more than a massive, chaotic collection of data. School, friendships, romance, popularity—everything was mere 'noise.' Garbage data that consumed mental bandwidth without producing any useful output. He preferred interacting with machines. Machines were honest. If there was a mistake, it was a bug or a syntax error that could be tracked, analyzed, and fixed. Machines didn't stab you in the back, they didn't gossip, and they didn't flaunt their parents' wealth.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
A sharp tapping on the glass partition shattered his focus. Rehan didn't turn around. He knew exactly who it was. There was only one living organism in this school persistent enough (or stupid enough) to disturb him during the second break.
"Hey, Han! Rehan! Open the door, for god's sake!"
The muffled voice pierced through the soundproof glass. Rehan let out a long, weary sigh and tapped the mute button on his lo-fi hip hop playlist. He slowly swiveled his chair around.
Behind the glass, Dani was pressing his face against the pane until his cheeks were grotesquely flattened, making a ridiculous expression while waving a PS5 controller.
Rehan stared at him flatly for five seconds, hoping Dani would get bored and vanish like an ignored pop-up ad. But Dani was a persistent malware. He kept knocking.
Reluctantly, Rehan pressed a button beneath his desk connected to the magnetic door lock.
Click.
The door swung open. Dani surged inside, bringing with him the warm air and the chaotic noise of the corridor.
"Damn it, Han! I've been pounding on that door for ages!" Dani complained as he threw his bag onto the floor and hopped onto the server table—a move that made Rehan's eye twitch with irritation.
"Get off," Rehan ordered succinctly. "That table is supporting a twenty-million-rupiah switch hub. Your backside isn't worth the cost of the hardware."
Dani offered a sheepish grin and hopped down. "So cold, Mr. Robot. Hey, are you busy? Of course not, right? Just staring at black screens again."
"I'm busy ensuring your failing grades don't leak to the public," Rehan countered, turning back to his monitors.
"See? That's exactly why everyone needs a hacker friend!" Dani slapped Rehan's shoulder with unwanted familiarity. "Anyway, Han. After school today, let's go. FIFA session at my place. Salim and Rizki are coming. Pizza, cola, and high-powered AC. What else could you want?"
Rehan didn't stop typing. "A productive use of my time."
"Come on, bro! you're always in this cave. Get out once in a while, breathe some fresh air, look at the girls," Dani urged. "Maya's coming too. You might even catch the Salim-Maya-Rinto love triangle drama live."
Rehan's fingers froze mid-keystroke.
"Dani," Rehan called out without looking back.
"Yeah?"
"In your opinion, is social interaction efficient?"
Dani frowned, confused by the sudden philosophical pivot. "I mean... it's fun. Why does it have to be efficient?"
"Because my time is finite," Rehan replied coldly. He swiveled his chair to face Dani fully. "Playing games with you has zero output. Talking to Salim and Rizki involves too many emotional variables. I don't need that. I need silence to finish my encryption project before the Study Tour."
"Look, Han. Life shouldn't be that rigid. You'll grow old too fast," Dani scoffed. "We're about to graduate. These moments of togetherness are priceless, man."
"Togetherness is a biochemical illusion designed to create a false sense of security within a group," Rehan retorted. "Go play with Salim and Rizki. I'm passing."
Dani went silent for a moment, studying Rehan with a look that flickered between pity and annoyance.
"Fine, fine. I get it. You're a rare species," Dani finally surrendered, raising his hands. "But remember, Han. If you keep treating everyone like a disturbance, one day you'll realize that being alone is... lonely."
"Solitude is a feature, not a bug," Rehan answered.
Dani shook his head and walked toward the door. "Literal cyborg. Whatever, if you want pizza, just call me."
The door thudded shut. Silence colonized the room once more.
Rehan let out a breath of relief. Finally, the social malware had been quarantined. He could focus. He slipped his headphones back on.
However, just as his fingers hovered over the home row, a notification popped up in the bottom right corner of his screen. It wasn't a system alert, but a message from an encrypted chat application he had covertly embedded into the school network.
Sender: Alya (PMR)
Subject: Urgent. Logistics Sabotage Request.
Rehan's eyebrow arched. Alya? The quiet Vice President of the Red Cross Club? It was rare for her to contact him. Their only previous interaction had been when Alya treated a laceration on Rehan's finger after it got caught in a CPU casing. Even then, she had worked in absolute silence—a trait Rehan deeply respected.
He opened the message.
"Rehan, I need help sabotaging the PMR logistics system. Urgent. We need to forge a medicine order to the school's partner pharmacy before this evening. The lives of our entire grade are at stake."
Rehan read the final sentence twice. The lives of our entire grade are at stake.
"Dramatic," he muttered. But something in the message piqued his interest. The word 'sabotage.' And the fact that Alya—a model student who lived by the rules—was asking him to perform something illegal. It was an anomaly. And Rehan loved anomalies.
He typed a brief reply.
Rehan: Details?
Two seconds later, the response appeared.
Alya: Ridha cut the budget for Painkillers and Antibiotics to buy Sunblock. I need you to enter the ordering system, swap the 'Sunblock' items for 'Amoxicillin' and 'Tramadol' without changing the total price on the final invoice so Ridha doesn't get suspicious. Can you do it?
Rehan offered a thin, rare smirk. The corners of his mouth curled into a genuine smile.
Ridha, the narcissistic PMR President? Rehan knew exactly who she was. She was the type of human he loathed most: High maintenance, low performance. Swapping cosmetic cream for life-saving medicine? That wasn't just sabotage; it was an act of intellectual hygiene.
Rehan: 5 minutes. Consider our debt from last month settled.
Rehan closed the chat window. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"Alright, let's play," he whispered.
He opened a terminal window. A black screen filled with green text appeared.
Target: Rajawali High Logistics Server.
Security Level: Low (Standard Windows Firewall).
Rehan typed a series of SQL Injection commands. The school's security was pathetic. Whoever the admin was, they were likely using a default password.
Access Granted.
Rehan's monitor now displayed the school's logistics admin dashboard. He navigated to the folder: "PMR – Study Tour Proposal."
Click. File opened.
There it was—the shopping list approved by Ridha.
Sunblock SPF 50 (Imported) – 50 bottles – Rp 5,000,000
Vitamin C Collagen Drink – 20 boxes – Rp 3,000,000
Aloe Vera Face Masks – 100 pcs – Rp 1,500,000
"Insane," Rehan cursed softly. "Is this a study tour or a spa retreat?"
He set to work immediately. He couldn't just delete the items; that would change the total budget and trigger a red flag in the finance department. He had to perform a 'masking' operation.
He entered the product code database. He began swapping ID tags.
He changed the descriptions in the backend system but ensured the frontend display—the one Ridha would see when printing her reports—still showed the cosmetics. However, the order sent to the pharmaceutical supplier would read the actual codes.
Sunblock SPF 50 --> Code changed to: AB-500 (Amoxicillin 500mg)
Vitamin C Collagen --> Code changed to: TRM-50 (Tramadol/Painkiller)
Face Masks --> Code changed to: BND-01 (Elastic Bandage & Sterile Gauze)
Rehan adjusted the quantities until the prices matched perfectly. He inserted a small script to ensure the negligible price difference was automatically diverted to the "Student Donation" account, keeping the balance at zero.
Three minutes and forty seconds.
Enter.
Changes Saved.
Order Sent to Supplier: Apotek Sehat Farma.
Rehan leaned back in his chair, rotating his stiff neck. Done. Without Ridha ever knowing, she had just ordered a truckload of critical medicine instead of skin-whitening cream.
"Alya... Alya..." Rehan murmured. "You're one of the few people in this school whose brain actually functions besides me and Salim."
Rehan closed his access, wiped his login logs, and returned to an empty desktop.
On a whim, he opened another window on his third monitor. School CCTV access. This was his private entertainment—watching humans was like watching ants in a glass aquarium.
He clicked on Camera Corridor 2 – Front of Class XII Science 1.
On the grain black-and-white screen, he saw Salim walking out of class with Maya. Rehan performed a digital zoom. He could see their gestures. Maya was laughing, touching Salim's arm. Salim looked awkward but resigned.
He shifted to the Basketball Court. He saw Udin sitting alone on the sidelines, re-wrapping the bandage on his foot. Udin's face looked grim, staring blankly ahead.
Finally, the Canteen. He saw Dani surrounded by other students, laughing loudly as he showed off new sneakers.
And lastly, the Student Council Office. He saw Salma berating someone on the phone, her face etched with tension and exhaustion.
"Variables," Rehan whispered. "You're all just random variables moving without a pattern."
Salim with his logic.
Udin with his physicality.
Salma with her order.
Alya with her medicine.
And Dani with... his noise.
Rehan felt safe behind his screens. Here, he was the observer. He was the controller. He didn't need to be involved in their emotional dramas.
"Study Tour," Rehan looked at the digital calendar in the corner. "Three days to go."
He wasn't enthusiastic. To him, the tour just meant he had to be away from his beloved computers and forced into social proximity inside a cramped bus for hours.
Rehan opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small device of his own making—a Portable Signal Jammer and a mini Hacking Deck he had scavenged from old phone parts and a Raspberry Pi.
"At least I'll bring my own toys," he said to himself.
He didn't know that this little "toy," combined with the way his fingers danced across a keyboard, would soon be the only thing capable of silencing a death signal and manipulating the map of their fate on that cursed island.
Dani's offer to play a game earlier was a disturbance. But the real game was currently loading. And in that game, Rehan wouldn't be able to stay a spectator behind a CCTV screen. He would have to be a player.
Rehan switched off his monitors. The room plunged into darkness, illuminated only by the rhythmic, pulsing red and green status lights of the servers.
In that darkness, Rehan felt at home. Solitude was his blanket.
"System normal. Human... error," he whispered, then closed his eyes for a short nap before the next bell.