The summer of 2017 marked a crossroads for Yon Alessio. Fresh out of middle school, he stood at the threshold of high school—a chapter he refused to begin in the crumbling public schools that dotted their district, their reputations as weathered as their cracked walls.
"I'm enrolling in SMA Honour," he declared to his mother one evening, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "It's the only choice."
His mother sighed, her eyes tracing the brochure he'd shoved into her hands—a glossy pamphlet showcasing SMA Honour's ivy-clad walls and laboratories that gleamed like spaceships. "Yon… this place is for elite families. We can't—"
"We won't pay a single pennies," he interrupted, triumphantly slapping a letter on the table. "Full-ride scholarship. Tuition, uniforms, even textbooks—covered. All of it."
The scholarship, a relic of his elementary school days, had been clinched by a single victory: a perfect score on the national exam, a feat that crowned him "Indonesia's Prodigy" in headlines now yellowing with age. SMA Honour's administrators had resurrected that title, offering him a golden ticket to their legacy of excellence.
His mother's resistance crumbled. Yon's relentless drive—the same stubbornness that had kept him hunched over textbooks until dawn, the same fire that refused to settle for good enough—left her no room to argue.
By August, Yon walked through SMA Honour's wrought-iron gates, his uniform crisp and unpaid for, his future stretching ahead like the institution's endless marble corridors. Here, among the sons and daughters of politicians and tycoons, he'd carve his name into something greater.
But beneath the grandeur lurked whispers—of cutthroat competitions, of secrets buried in the school's century-old foundation. Yon, ever the strategist, didn't care. He'd survived worse.
Or so he thought.
—
Yon stepped into SMA Honour for the first time, his breath catching at the sight of its sprawling, modern campus—a stark contrast to the cramped, weathered halls of his junior high. Sunlight streamed through glass-paneled ceilings, illuminating corridors lined with digital bulletin boards and sleek lockers. He wandered, awestruck, barely registering the swarm of students around him.
"Oof—!"
A collision. Bodies tumbled. Yon hit the floor, his uniform sleeve smeared with dirt, while a girl sprawled beside him, her books scattered.
"I'm so sorry!" she gasped, scrambling to her knees. "I wasn't looking—let me help!" She brushed dust off her pleated skirt, then froze, noticing the grime on Yon's shirt. "Oh no, your uniform! Here—"
"No, no—my fault," Yon stammered, rising quickly. He offered a hand, his cheeks burning. "I was… distracted."
The girl laughed, warm and unguarded, as she took his hand. "Well, distracted, I'm Alice. Tenth grade, social studies track. You new too?"
"Yon. Yeah, i'm new too. Same class, actually." He hesitated, scratching his neck. "Mind if we… stick together? I'm kinda lost here."
Alice tilted her head, her smile widening. "Sure. Friends it is."
Before they could exchange another word, the bell rang—a sharp, melodic chime that sent students surging like a tide. Alice grabbed Yon's wrist. "C'mon! Class 10-S is this way!"
He followed, the chaos of the hallway blurring around him. For the first time since stepping through those gleaming gates, Yon didn't feel entirely alone.
The two raced through SMA Honour's labyrinthine halls, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous stairwells. Ten floors of gleaming corridors, endless classrooms—but no Room 10-S. ( S=Social )
"This place is a maze!" Alice hissed, sweat beading on her forehead. "We're going to be late. First day, and we're already doomed!"
"There's someone," Yon nodded toward a figure ahead—a boy? a student? The man's broad shoulders and athletic build screamed varsity captain, but his posture carried an odd authority.
"Excuse me," Yon called, tentative. "Do you know where the 10th-grade social studies track meets?"
The man turned, revealing a face far older than his physique suggested. "Ah, fresh meat!" He grinned, clapping Yon's shoulder with a force that nearly buckled his knees. "Follow me, kids. You're late enough to earn detention already!"
"Wait—you're a teacher?" Alice blurted. She really doesn't recognize especially they use same Uniform, even for the teacher.
"Surprised?" He winked. "Coach Park. Now move—unless you want laps on the field!"
Yon swallowed a groan. Thank god he's not one of those drill-sergeant types.
—
Coach Park led them not to a classroom, but to the sprawling central field, where hundreds of students stood in regimented rows under the blazing sun.
"Ugh, it's broiling," Alice muttered, shielding her eyes.
"Quit whining!" Coach barked, though his tone held a teasing edge. "Drop your bags and line up. Welcome to SMA Honour's character-building boot camp!"
Yon shot Alice a panicked look. "Boot camp?!"
"Just a morning assembly," Coach chuckled. "But if you're late again, I'll make you wish it was boot camp."
They scrambled into the nearest line, their uniforms already clinging to their backs. As the principal's voice boomed over the speakers, Yon glanced at Alice. Her face was flushed, her hair frizzing in the humidity—but she flashed him a thumbs-up.
Survived the first hurdle, he thought. Only a thousand more to go.