The Student Organization (OSIS) office of Rajawali High School was far more than just a repurposed classroom. It was the bureaucratic heart of the institution, a fortress of glass and concrete strategically positioned on the second floor of the administration building. From its wide, tinted windows, one had a literal bird's-eye view of the entire parade ground, as if the students below were merely pieces on a chessboard.
For an ordinary student, being summoned to this room was synonymous with trouble. For its members, the room was a second home—and a relentless battlefield.
Salma Nur Azizah stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind her with a soft but decisive click. A long, weary sigh escaped her lips as the soundproofing immediately swallowed the chaotic noise of the school corridors. The meeting with the "little kings" of the martial arts clubs had drained her mental reserves. She massaged her throbbing temples, trying to ward off the dull headache that was beginning to take root.
"Good afternoon, Madam President!" a cheerful voice chirped.
It was Adel, the Second Secretary of OSIS and a vibrant member of the Theater Club. With her round, bright eyes and an aura of innocence, Adel was the kind of person everyone felt an instinctive need to protect. She was currently sitting on the plush charcoal carpet, surrounded by a literal mountain of activity proposals.
"Afternoon, Del," Salma replied, her voice instantly reverting to its default state—flat, controlled, and clinical. The "Presidential Mask" was back in place. "What's the status of the Study Tour proposal?"
"Eighty percent complete, Kak!" Adel reported enthusiastically. "We're just waiting for the final budget approval from Kak Zaki. But..." Adel glanced hesitantly toward the treasurer's desk.
There, Zaki, the General Treasurer, was frantically tapping away at a calculator with an expression of someone who had just been robbed at gunpoint. Cold sweat glistened on his forehead. Standing beside him was Dimas, the Vice President—a man so rigid and procedural he was rumored to have been born with a rulebook in his hand. Dimas was currently pointing at a laptop screen with mounting impatience.
"This makes no sense, Zaki," Dimas's voice rose, cutting through the hum of the AC. "Why has the documentation budget bloated by five million? Are we planning to hire a helicopter for aerial shots?"
"That's the request from the documentation section, Dimas!" Zaki defended himself, sounding frustrated. "They want to rent 4K drones and the latest mirrorless cameras. They claim the footage needs to be 'cinematic,' like a Hollywood production for the school's portfolio."
"Cut it," Dimas snapped. "Phone cameras are more than capable. We have a deficit in the food and beverage allocation. Priorities, Zaki. Food is a necessity; cinematic flair is a luxury."
"But Dim, if the documentation is amateur, the school's branding—"
"I said, cut it!"
The tension in the corner was reaching a boiling point. Zaki looked like he was on the verge of tears as the numbers refused to balance, while Dimas showed zero room for compromise. Adel shot Salma a pleading look: Kak, help them...
Salma walked toward them. The rhythmic, sharp click of her heels made the debate evaporate instantly.
"What seems to be the problem?" Salma asked calmly, standing between Zaki and Dimas.
"It's this, Salma," Dimas said, turning the laptop toward her. "Zaki wants to liquidate the over-budgeted documentation funds, even though the emergency health fund for first-aid supplies hasn't been fully covered yet."
Salma stared at the screen. Her eyes scanned the Excel columns with a terrifying velocity. Her "Physics Mind" engaged. To Salma, physics wasn't just about force and motion; it was about the equilibrium of a system. If one variable grew too large without a counterweight, the entire structure would collapse.
"Zaki," Salma called out. "Scrap the drone rental. We have students in the Multimedia Club who own high-end personal drones. Recruit them as volunteers, provide them with a fuel allowance and a certificate of merit. That cuts the cost by seventy percent."
Zaki's eyes widened. "Wait, we can do that?"
"We can. It's called resource optimization," Salma stated matter-of-factly. She then turned her gaze to Dimas. "And Dimas, don't be so rigid. Reallocate ten percent of the 'Unforeseen Expenses' fund to the health sector. First-aid is vital. We are taking two hundred lives out of the city. If someone gets sick, a mirrorless camera isn't going to heal them."
Dimas was silent for a moment, then gave a respectful nod. "Understood. Solution accepted. Execute, Zaki."
"Yes, Madam President!" Zaki grinned with relief, his fingers dancing over the calculator with a new lightness.
Adel clapped her hands softly. "Kak Salma is truly the best! Total problem solver!"
Salma merely gave a thin nod. She walked toward her own desk—a massive mahogany station in the corner with an acrylic plaque that read "PRESIDENT OF THE STUDENT COUNCIL." On her desk lay thick Physics textbooks (Halliday & Resnick), stacks of disposition files, and a single, small framed photo: Salma holding a national Physics Olympiad trophy.
Just as Salma was about to sit, the heavy double doors of the office were hammered with a series of violent, disrespectful thuds.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The room fell into an immediate, uneasy silence. Dimas narrowed his eyes. "Who on earth is that? How rude."
The doors burst open. In walked Pak Budi, the portly school counselor, literally dragging two male students by their collars. Behind them, two other students followed, wearing shameless, mocking grins.
It was Maman, Asep, Toto, and Ajis. The infamous quartet of troublemakers from 12th Grade Social 4.
"Salma!" Pak Budi panted, his face flushed. "I'm handing these boys over to OSIS for now. I have an emergency meeting with the Principal. Record their violations and prepare the formal Incident Report. They were caught gambling with cards in the warehouse behind the canteen!"
Pak Budi released Maman and Asep, then hurried away, leaving the "time bomb" in the middle of the OSIS office.
Maman, whose slightly long hair was a blatant violation of school code, straightened his collar with a sneer. "Take it easy, Pak. This is an expensive shirt."
Toto, the largest and most intimidating of the group—dubbed the "Preman of Rajawali"—surveyed the room with a condescending gaze. He walked up to Adel's desk, snatched a piece of candy from her jar without asking, and began to chew it noisily.
"Whoa, it's nice and cool in here. No wonder the OSIS kids stay inside," Toto remarked with a sneer. "While we're sweating in the warehouse, you guys are chilling on our tuition money."
Adel looked visibly frightened, her body shrinking behind her stack of proposals.
Salma rose slowly from her chair. She didn't speak immediately. She allowed the silence to colonize the room, building an invisible pressure. She walked toward the four delinquents, stopping just outside their personal space.
"Hand them over," Salma said softly.
"Hand what over, pretty lady?" Ajis asked with a nauseating, flirtatious tone.
"The cards and the gambling money. Place them on this table," Salma commanded, gesturing to the central meeting table.
Toto let out a loud, forced laugh. "Listen to her, guys. The Queen wants a cut of the action. Who do you think you are, ordering us around? You're just a student, like us. Don't think that armband makes you a cop."
Dimas stepped forward, his face red with suppressed rage. "Toto! Watch your attitude! Salma is the President!"
"I don't care!" Toto slammed his hand onto Adel's desk. Adel let out a small shriek of surprise. "I'm not afraid of OSIS. My father is the foundation's biggest donor. You want to report me? Go ahead. By tomorrow, my violation points will be wiped clean again."
The situation was escalating. Zaki was ready to run for help. Dimas had his fists clenched. But Salma raised her right hand, signaling Dimas to stand down.
Salma looked Toto directly in the eyes. Her gaze wasn't one of anger; it was the look of a scientist observing a particularly disgusting bacterial specimen.
"Toto," Salma said, her voice calm but cold enough to pierce bone. "You're right. Your father is a major donor. PT. Sinar Abadi Construction, correct?"
Toto's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
"I read every student profile, especially the 'problematic' ones," Salma replied. "And did you know? Your father's company is currently bidding for the two-billion rupiah contract to renovate the school library."
Salma took a single step closer.
"If I write this Incident Report with specific detail: 'The son of the owner of PT. Sinar Abadi caught in illegal gambling on school grounds,' and I carbon-copy this report not just to the counselor, but to the Foundation Board and the School Committee... what do you think will happen to your father's tender?"
Toto's aggressive posture began to crumble. His face went from flushed to a ghostly pale.
"The school has an ethics clause, Toto," Salma continued, her voice pressing on every word. "Partners of the school must maintain a sterling reputation. A scandal involving the owner's son could be legal grounds for the Foundation to terminate the contract negotiations. Do you want to be responsible for your father losing a two-billion-rupiah deal because you wanted to play for pocket change?"
The room was deathly quiet. Ajis, Maman, and Asep exchanged terrified looks. They were delinquents, but they were delinquents who were afraid of being poor.
Toto swallowed hard. His arrogance shattered against the wall of bureaucratic logic Salma had built. He hadn't expected her to attack his family's business interests—a variable he couldn't simply ignore or override with a bribe.
With a trembling hand, Toto reached into his pocket. He pulled out a worn deck of playing cards and several crumpled ten-thousand-rupiah bills. His friends followed suit.
"Place them there," Salma pointed to the corner of the table.
They obeyed like chastened children.
"Dimas, record their names. Enter them into the violation log, but hold the report to the Foundation. Consider this their final warning," Salma ordered.
"Understood, Salma," Dimas said, grabbing a pen and offering the four troublemakers a satisfied, mocking smile.
As Toto and his gang were being documented with their heads bowed in shame, the OSIS office door was knocked again. This time, the knock was light, rhythmic, and polite.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
"Come in," Salma said, exhaling, expecting another crisis.
The door opened. A head poked inside—slightly messy hair, a sheepish smile, and a uniform that looked a bit too worn.
It was Salim.
He was holding a single piece of paper. As he stepped inside and surveyed the scene—four of the school's toughest bullies hanging their heads in front of Salma—an eyebrow arched in amusement.
"Whoa," Salim remarked. "Did I walk into a lion's den or is this an early audition for an afterlife judgment scene?"
Adel stifled a giggle at Salim's entrance. "Kak Salim! Come on in."
Toto turned, spotting Salim. His ego, recently demolished by Salma, looked for an easy outlet. He saw his favorite target: the scholarship kid.
"What are you doing here, beggar?" Toto grumbled softly, trying to recover an ounce of his dignity by intimidating Salim. "Looking for a handout?"
Salim walked casually past Toto, completely unphased. He stopped right in front of Salma's desk.
"Looking for a signature, Toto. Not a handout. If I wanted a handout, I'd go to a charity bin," Salim replied airily. He handed the paper to Salma. "Madam President, sorry for the intrusion. This is the scholarship renewal form for academic achievement. It requires the Student Council President's acknowledgment."
Salma took the paper. Her hand brushed against Salim's for a fleeting second. A pause hung in the air. Salma read the form. Salim's average grade: 98. Absolute perfection.
"You're ranked first in the entire grade again this semester?" Salma asked, her tone slightly softer than usual, though she tried to hide it behind a professional veneer.
"Just luck, Salma. The questions were a bit too elementary," Salim replied with a shrug.
"Yeah, right," Asep sneered from the back. "Probably just cheated."
Salim turned around, looking at Asep and the pile of gambling cards on the table. "Better than you, Asep. Getting caught gambling just proves you lack basic probability skills. If you understood the math of chance, you'd know 'the house always wins.' Unless you're the dealer, but clearly, you're not smart enough for that."
Asep was silenced. Another logic-based checkmate.
Salim turned back to Salma. "Help me out, Sal. If I don't get this signed today, they'll charge me full tuition tomorrow. I might have to sell one of Dani's kidneys to pay for it."
Salma fought back a smile. The corner of her lip twitched—a sight that was utterly bizarre to the other OSIS members. Their Ice Queen was almost smiling at Salim's dry humor.
She picked up her expensive fountain pen and signed the form with an elegant, flowing script. She then stamped it with the official OSIS seal.
Thump.
"Done," Salma said, handing the paper back. "Maintain your grades. The school needs a high average for the national rankings."
"Understood, Boss," Salim said, giving a mock-military salute. "Thanks, Salma. Thanks, Dimas, Zaki, Adel. And for you four..." Salim glanced at Toto and his group. "...good luck explaining to your fathers why your allowances are about to be cut."
Salim strolled out of the room, leaving a strange, positive aura in the wake of the tension.
Once he was gone, Salma returned her gaze to Toto and his friends.
"You may leave. Remember, one more mistake, and that tender vanishes," Salma warned.
Toto and his gang scrambled out, dragging their feet in total defeat. The office returned to its tranquil state.
"Man..." Adel whispered, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the closed door. "Kak Salim is... unique, isn't he? He wasn't afraid of Toto at all. And Toto is huge."
"He uses his brain, Adel," Dimas commented, returning to his laptop. "People with brains are rarely afraid of people who only have muscles."
Salma sat back in her chair. She looked at the hand that had just held Salim's form. A strange, ticklish sensation played in her chest. Respect? Admiration? Or something else?
She glanced at the Physics book on her desk. Physics taught that particles with different charges attract each other.
Salma: Peak position, authority, order.
Salim: Bottom position, freedom, calculated chaos.
They were polar opposites. And yet, that was exactly why Salma was always fascinated by the way Salim's mind worked.
"Adel, Zaki, Dimas," Salma called out, refocusing. "Let's get back to work. This Study Tour must be perfect. Not a single error is allowed. Understood?"
"Yes, Kak!"
Behind her iron mask, Salma hid a profound exhaustion. She wanted this Study Tour to be a success so she could finally rest. To be a normal student for once. Perhaps to have a casual conversation with Salim without the barriers of their titles.
However, Salma didn't know that the very "perfection" she sought in the Study Tour preparations would soon become the stage for their greatest nightmare—a place where her title as President would mean nothing compared to the brutal will to survive.
Salma watched the sunset from the office window, unaware that it was one of the last sunsets she would ever view with a sense of security.