The wall clocks in every classroom at Rajawali High School ticked toward exactly 9:00 AM. Normally, this was the standard interval for a change in periods—a moment defined by the chaotic scraping of chairs, the rustle of textbooks, and the hurried chatter of teenagers before the next instructor arrived.
Today, however, the air felt fundamentally different. It was heavy, charged with a strange, static electricity that made the hair on Salim's arms stand up.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
The school bell, which usually chimed with a cheery, melodic tone, was abruptly followed by a sharp, piercing squeal of microphone feedback from the central PA system. The sound was so jarring that students across the campus winced, instinctively covering their ears.
"Attention. This is a mandatory summons for all Grade 12 students. I repeat, all Grade 12 students from Science, Social, and Language streams. Please report to the Grand Rajawali Main Hall immediately. Thank you."
The voice belonged to Principal Handoko. It was a voice that vibrated with a peculiar frequency—not one of fear, but of a suppressed, almost manic excitement. Or perhaps, a deeply buried nervousness disguised as triumph.
"That's a first," Dani remarked, stretching his stiff limbs after two grueling hours of History. "Come on, Lim! I'm about done with hearing about the Java War. My brain needs a change of scenery."
Salim closed his notebook slowly, his pen lingering on the last page. His brow was deeply furrowed. "A sudden assembly during prime teaching hours? Usually, grade-wide meetings are reserved for homeroom periods or morning ceremonies. This is an anomaly."
"Man, you're always so suspicious. Maybe the foundation is just feeling generous and wants to hand out dividends," Dani joked, playfully grabbing Salim's arm and dragging him toward the door.
The two of them joined the current of hundreds of students in white-and-gray uniforms flowing toward the Main Hall. In the corridor, Salim caught glimpses of familiar faces. Maya was walking with her circle of friends; she caught his eye and offered a soft, radiant smile and a small wave. Rizki walked with a measured, calm pace, hands tucked into his pockets. In the distance, Rinto and his clique moved with their usual abrasive arrogance, intentionally bumping into younger students who didn't clear the path fast enough.
The Grand Rajawali Main Hall was the crown jewel of the school's architecture. It was a massive, opulent structure with ten-meter-high ceilings, crystal chandeliers that caught the morning light, and polished teak parquet floors that gleamed like a still lake. Its capacity was designed for a thousand people, yet today, only two hundred red velvet folding chairs had been arranged in a precise, geometric block in the center of the vast space.
"Sit with your classes! No mingling!" Pak Budi, the counselor, shouted, his face unusually tense as he directed the seating arrangements.
Salim, Dani, and Rizki took their places in the center row. Salim spotted Udin sitting with the Karate club members to the side, his posture alert. Rehan, true to form, had secured a spot in the absolute corner next to a massive pillar—a tactical position that allowed him to lean back and remain partially hidden from view. Alya sat upright in the front row with the Red Cross executives, while Ridha was busy fussing over her hair, checking her reflection in her phone screen.
Salim's eyes immediately drifted to the stage. Principal Handoko stood at the podium, but it wasn't the Principal who held Salim's focus.
Seated behind the Principal were five strangers.
They weren't teachers. They weren't members of the school board. They were dressed in identical, slim-fit black suits, stiff white shirts, and metallic gray ties. Not one of them was smiling. They sat with a terrifying, statuesque stillness—hands flat on their thighs, backs perfectly straight. Their eyes... their eyes were scanning the crowd of students like infrared sensors at a high-security checkpoint. Cold. Assessing. Calculating.
"Who are they, Lim? Some new boyband?" Dani whispered, trying to lighten the mood.
"No," Salim replied, his voice barely a breath. "Look at their posture. Look at the way they're tracking us. Those aren't the eyes of invited guests. Those are the eyes of buyers inspecting a shipment of merchandise."
"Good morning, my brilliant students! The pride of Rajawali!" Principal Handoko's voice boomed through the speakers, cutting through Salim's analysis.
"Morning, Pak!" a chorus of students replied, though many simply grumbled in anticipation.
"Today, I bring you news of unparalleled magnificence. News that will redefine the history of your graduating class," Handoko said, spreading his arms wide, his face flushed with a peculiar glow. "The Rajawali Foundation, in collaboration with a highly prestigious international educational consortium, has selected your class—the 27th Batch—as the sole recipients of an exclusive pilot project."
The massive projector screen behind the stage flickered to life. A high-budget, sophisticated multimedia presentation began to play. The video showcased pristine turquoise waters, exotic tropical jungles, five-star luxury resorts with infinity pools, and futuristic science laboratories filled with cutting-edge equipment.
Golden text materialized on the screen: GRAND STUDY TOUR: INTEGRATED CHARACTER & SURVIVAL INTELLIGENCE PROGRAM.
A wave of audible awe swept through the hall.
"Holy crap! Look at that hotel!"
"Are we going to Bali? Or Raja Ampat?"
"Look at that lab! It looks like something out of an Avengers movie!"
Handoko smiled, clearly savoring the reaction. "Indeed. All two hundred of you, the entirety of Grade 12, will be deployed for a seven-day integrated study tour. Your destination is a private island managed by our international partners, dedicated specifically to the advancement of science and leadership."
"And the best part..." Handoko paused for dramatic effect. "Every single expense—transportation, five-star accommodation, gourmet catering, and even a generous stipend—is covered 100% by our sponsors. It is entirely FREE!"
The hall erupted. Cheers, whistles, and thunderous applause echoed off the high ceilings. Dani actually stood up and hugged a startled Rizki.
"Free, man! My old man's money is safe! I can finally buy those new rims for the Mustang!" Dani shouted in pure ecstasy.
Even Rinto and his gang looked impressed. For them, 'free' wasn't about the money, but the exclusivity and the bragging rights. Ridha was already typing furiously on her phone: Going to a private island, guys! Stay tuned! #Blessed #EliteLife.
However, amidst the celebration, a few people remained silent.
Salim sat motionless, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen. His mind was already crunching the numbers, running the probability of such an investment.
Two hundred students. Charter flights or private cruises. Five-star lodging for a week. Three gourmet meals a day. Staff. Equipment. Insurance. This was an investment of billions of rupiah. No corporation in the world threw away billions for the 'character building' of high schoolers without an equivalent return on investment. What was the return? Data? Bio-sampling? Or...
Salim glanced over at Udin. The fighter wasn't cheering either. Udin's gaze was fixed on the men in black suits. One of the suited men was staring back at Udin, coolly marking something down on a slim tablet. Udin instinctively touched his own arm, feeling as if an invisible target had just been painted on his skin.
"Now," Handoko continued after the noise subsided. "Allow me to introduce our partner. Mr. Adrian, a representative of the Consortium."
One of the suited men rose. He was tall, with a sharp, ethnically ambiguous face—perhaps Eurasian—and hair slicked back with military precision. He walked to the podium with a stride that was disturbingly efficient. He did not smile.
"Good morning," Mr. Adrian spoke. His Indonesian was fluent, but it was hollow. Devoid of any regional accent or inflection, it sounded like a perfectly rendered AI voice. "We have studied your profiles extensively. Academics. Extracurriculars. Health records. Psychological evaluations. You are the 'Prime Seeds.' And we wish to see... exactly how far those seeds can grow in a true environment."
He emphasized the word 'true' with a chilling intonation.
"In this program, you will not merely be tourists. You will learn about nature. About the limits of human capability. I guarantee that after seven days, you will return as different people. Or..." Adrian paused, his cold eyes sweeping across the room like a scythe, "...you will discover versions of yourselves that have remained hidden until now."
"My team will now distribute the consent forms and waivers. They must be signed by you and your legal guardians. They are to be collected tomorrow morning. Without these forms, you cannot participate. And remember, this is mandatory for all students as a requirement for your Integrated Practicum graduation credit."
The other suited men descended from the stage, moving with a synchronized, robotic grace. They began handing out thick sheets of paper with a gold-embossed letterhead.
Salim received his copy. His eyes immediately bypassed the flowery introductory text and scanned the fine print at the bottom.
Article 4: The Organizer assumes responsibility for maintaining safety and operational flow throughout the program, including the implementation of 'supervisory methods' deemed appropriate for participant needs.
Article 7: Communication access with external parties may be regulated to ensure participant focus and order, without prejudice to the right of contact in 'critical situations.'
Article 12: The School and the Organizer are not liable for incidents arising from force majeure or as a result of participant violations of safety protocols.
"Rubber clauses," Salim whispered. "This isn't a permission slip. It's a custody transfer agreement."
"Man, you're overthinking it, Lim," Dani said, already signing his section without reading a word. "Just sign it. It's a graduation requirement. If you don't go, do you really want to repeat Grade 12? Besides, when else are we going on a luxury trip with Maya?"
Salim looked at Dani, then at Maya in the front row, who was also reading the form with a slight frown. She turned back, meeting Salim's eyes with a silent question: Is it safe?
Salim sighed. Safe or not, they were backed into a corner. Graduation credits were the ultimate leverage against a scholarship student like him. If he failed to graduate, his mother's heart would break.
"Fine," Salim whispered. "We go. But I have a very bad feeling about this 'free lunch'."
In the corner of the room, Rehan partially opened his laptop, shielding the screen behind his bag. He attempted to scan for any Wi-Fi or Bluetooth signals originating from the equipment carried by Mr. Adrian and his team.
No Device Found.
Rehan blinked. In this day and age, every piece of technology emitted a signature. Unless... their devices were utilizing military-grade encryption or frequencies that standard civilian hardware couldn't even detect.
"Interesting," Rehan whispered, his fingers tapping his touchpad. He became even more determined to pack his homemade Signal Jammer. These people weren't just event organizers. They were hiding their digital presence.
The assembly closed with a group prayer. Principal Handoko led the prayer, asking for safety and blessings for the journey. Salim lowered his head, but he didn't pray for a safe trip. He prayed that his logic was wrong. He prayed that this was all just paranoia born from reading too many dystopian novels.
However, as the crowd dispersed and began to filter out of the Hall, Salim found himself face-to-face with Mr. Adrian near the exit.
The man stopped directly in front of him. His height forced Salim to look up.
"Salim Nur Hidayah," Mr. Adrian said. He didn't consult a list. He knew the name by heart. "National Math Olympiad winner. IQ 145. Low economic profile, high resilience factor."
Salim tensed. "You know a lot about me."
"We know everything about our assets," Mr. Adrian replied flatly. "I hope you do not disappoint our algorithms, Salim. Numbers never lie, but humans... humans are far less reliable."
The man brushed past him before Salim could respond, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something else... antiseptic?
Salim stood frozen in the middle of the stream of laughing students who were already discussing what clothes to pack for the island.
"Assets," Salim repeated the word softly.
Mr. Adrian hadn't called them "students." He had called them "assets."
Udin appeared beside Salim, his hand gripping Salim's shoulder. The grip was tight—tighter than usual—signaling that the fighter was feeling the same vibration of dread.
"You felt that too, Lim?" Udin asked quietly.
"Felt what?"
"Them." Udin nodded toward the retreating backs of the men in suits. "The way they walk. The way they stood at ease while Handoko was blathering. That's a military stance, Lim. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands balled into fists behind the small of the back. Those aren't educators. They're soldiers. Or at the very least, paramilitaries."
Salim nodded slowly. New data entered his mental calculation.
Unlimited Funding + Isolated Location + Military Organizers + Communication Restrictions = A War Zone.
"Udin," Salim said, looking his friend in the eye with a terrifying seriousness. "Tell the guys in your Dojo. When we leave... tell them not to let their guard down. Pack personal first-aid kits. Bring anything that can serve as a weapon but can pass through school security."
"Are you serious?"
"I hope to god I'm wrong. But if I'm right... we're going to need more than just swimsuits on that island."
In the distance, Dani's boisterous voice called out to them. "Hey! Canteen! My treat to celebrate the free vacation!"
Salim and Udin exchanged a look, then forced smiles to join Dani. They had to remain normal. They had to blend in with the flock of sheep being led to a green pasture... a pasture that, at its edge, likely housed a slaughterhouse.
The stage was set. The contracts were signed in gold ink. And the cold-eyed director was already holding the script.
The Rajawali High Study Tour was no longer a plan. It was the beginning of the end of their adolescence.