He never knew when the chains first began to coil around him. Perhaps it was the day he was wounded for the first time, the jeers and losses layering themselves in his heart one after another. He grew up with voices that imprisoned him: "You're not good enough." "You're just a burden." "Stay quiet." And over time, he believed them. He lived like a shadow, present, yet never whole.
But this evening was different.
When Zinnia tapped the table with her finger and Radit let out a rough sigh, his scowl softening, Kaivan felt… alive. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was being seen, not as a tool, not as a victim, but as someone who had a voice. He looked at his hands. The chains… they were gone. What he felt wasn't cold steel dragging him down anymore, but flesh and blood. Freedom.
The chains are broken now…
He didn't say it aloud, but his heart knew. The scars were still there, but they no longer held him down. The trauma hadn't fully healed, but it no longer dictated his every step. And suddenly, the world felt a little wider, a little warmer.
Kaivan reached for the bag beside his chair, placing it carefully on the table. From within, he drew out a bundle of notes, diagrams, and a few battered old phones. He set the phones down in the center of the table, right between Radit and Zinnia.
"I found these at a secondhand market," he explained, tapping one of the phones lightly. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "Inside, there are components we can extract. We can melt them down and obtain gold from these discarded phones."
Zinnia frowned, leaning forward to examine the phone more closely. Her slender fingers brushed over the worn screen. "And how exactly does this give us a big profit?" she asked, suspicion sharpening her tone.
Radit leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. A skeptical look shadowed his face. "You're sure there's really gold in these things?" His voice carried a mocking edge.
Kaivan nodded calmly, his expression steady. Reaching into his bag again, he pulled out a small plastic pouch filled with golden flecks that glittered faintly under the café lights. "Of course there is," he said as he placed it on the table. "This is what I extracted from the same process before."
Radit's eyes narrowed as he studied the shimmering grains, scrutinizing them as though to peel away any deception. "You're telling me this is real gold, not brass, not scrap metal?"
"If we can refine the process efficiently, and if we have the right tools, this could turn into a very profitable venture," Kaivan replied, his tone calm yet deliberate.
Radit gave a slow nod, though traces of doubt still lingered in his expression. He reached out, lifting the pouch in his hand and inspecting it closer. "If this really is gold, then I'm in. But I'll still need more solid proof."
That was when Zinnia, who had been listening in silence until now, finally spoke. Her voice cut into the air, carrying weight. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. "And how exactly do we sell the gold afterward? Won't the process be complicated?" Her tone balanced skepticism with a growing curiosity.
Kaivan met her gaze evenly, offering a measured nod. He let out a slow breath, pressing his back against the chair as if anchoring himself. "That's part of the challenge," he admitted, his voice low but firm. "But I've done my research. There are plenty of small-time buyers. Shops that set up beside jewelry stores with signs that say 'We buy gold at a high price.' They accept bars, flakes, even scrap. If we're smart, we can move it without raising suspicion."
Radit, sitting directly across from Kaivan, tilted his chair back slightly, his hand rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "Tempting," he muttered, before lifting his gaze to meet Kaivan's with sharper intensity. "But how do we secure a steady supply of old phones, cheap and in bulk?"
The question felt like a gauntlet thrown across the table, daring Kaivan to prove his resolve. He leaned forward, his voice carrying a firmer weight now, no longer trembling.
"I've already thought of that," he said, the unshakable conviction in his tone filling the air between them.
"In Bandung, on Jalan Sukabumi No. 30, the City Council building often disposes of electronic waste. And in Majalengka, PT TLI handles hazardous waste processing. Those places could be our main sources. All we need is the right connection," Kaivan explained.
Zinnia tilted her head slightly, her hair swaying with the movement. Her eyes glimmered with a growing curiosity. "And how exactly do you know all this?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with suspicion.
Kaivan responded only with a faint smile, his gaze shifting briefly toward the window. He knew the truth, that this information came from the Tome Omnicent, was a Pandora's box he wasn't ready to open. "I have a contact who works there," he answered simply, just enough to quell their curiosity for now.
Radit, who had been restless for some time, finally straightened in his seat. He slapped his hand against the table, rattling the coffee cup before him. "Alright then," he said, his tone more energized.
Zinnia leaned forward, bracing both hands on the table to show her seriousness. "Kaivan, this isn't some small plan. We'll need a vehicle, a big one at that. Do you have a solution?"
"I'll find someone with a car we can work with," Kaivan replied firmly. "Plenty of kids our age have cars. I'm sure we can convince some to join us, even if only temporarily."
His confidence seeped into his words, and slowly, Zinnia and Radit began to feel that same conviction.
When Kaivan returned home, as always, his mother greeted him with a warm smile and eyes filled with affection. Her face bore gentle lines carved by the struggles of life, but it only deepened her strength. Since his father's passing, she had been the only one always there for him, working tirelessly to raise him alone, to provide both protection and an education.
"How was your day, Kaivan? Where have you been?" she asked kindly, setting a cup of warm tea on the table. Her voice was like a soothing melody, cutting through the chaos of the outside world.
Kaivan smiled faintly, sinking into the sofa with a relieved sigh. "I just met with Radit and Zinnia, Mom. We talked about a business plan we want to start." His tone carried a brightness that was impossible to hide, his eyes sparkling with fresh determination.
His mother's gaze softened with pride, though behind the smile lingered concern. She knew the path her son had chosen would be filled with trials. "You're still in school, and already thinking of business? What kind of plan is it?"
Leaning back against the sofa, Kaivan let his eyes wander to the ceiling. "We're trying to start a business dismantling old phones and selling the components." He paused, then admitted quietly, "But… I still feel like something's missing. I need to figure out how to make it grow faster."
Placing a hand gently on his shoulder, his mother's warmth radiated through her touch. "Whatever you do, make sure you're careful. The world is full of surprises, Kaivan. And sometimes, those surprises aren't kind."
After talking for a while, Kaivan stepped out onto the balcony. Above him stretched the night sky, stars twinkling like scattered diamonds across a dark tapestry. A soft wind brushed his hair as he sat in a wicker chair, staring at the heavens.
Resting on his lap was the Tome Omnicent, the book that had been the source of all his answers. Its crystalline pages shimmered faintly, glowing with an otherworldly message:
"Once you reach 650 million rupiah, stop dismantling phones and move on. Purchase Bitcoin starting February 10th, 2010."
Kaivan's eyes widened, scanning the glowing lines in disbelief. "What is this supposed to mean…?" His voice trembled with uncertainty, barely above a whisper.
Then, suddenly, the Tome Omnicent spoke again, its voice both gentle and echoing, like the whisper of a midnight breeze, comforting, yet haunting. "I can help you retain this knowledge in perfect detail, by expanding your brain's capacity."
Kaivan froze. His heartbeat quickened. The offer sounded like a lifeline, yet it pulsed with danger. Swallowing hard, he gave the faintest of nods.