Bandung City, West Java Province
Behind the gymnasium of SMA 3 BANDUNG
Several students stood in a circle, their laughter echoing against the brick walls as they mercilessly beat another student on the ground.
"Hahaha, look at the coward trying to fight back!" yelled a fierce-looking boy in a school uniform.
"Hahaha, pathetic!" the others chimed in, their jeers like a pack of hyenas.
Standing silently, a smug young man watched the spectacle. He was the one in charge, the boss of the group. "Brat, how dare you bump into me and get my expensive uniform dirty?" he said, his voice dripping with condescension.
Damn it, will I, Dion Wardana, forever be humiliated like this? The beaten boy, Dion, swore in his mind.
He was a scholarship student from a poor background, an orphan who grew up in a charity home. To gain independence, he left the orphanage for Bandung High School 3, where he hoped to build a new life. He worked part-time jobs to pay his rent and scrape by, a constant struggle against a world that seemed determined to put him down.
His foster mother at the orphanage had told him he was found as a baby in a basket near a garbage bin. The basket held only him and a small metal box—a box that, no matter what they tried, could not be opened. On his neck was a locket with the words "DION WARDANA," which became the name the caregivers gave him.
"Hey, kid, why are you so quiet? Are you deaf?" the boy in charge yelled, annoyed by Dion's silence.
His name was Rendy Wijaya, and he was from Bandung's top-tier family, the Wijaya clan.
"Ah, sorry, Rend. I... I didn't mean to," Dion stammered, his face a mask of weary resignation.
Rendy's annoyance turned into anger at Dion's sullen expression. "What? You don't like it? That look on your face is a challenge!" he bellowed.
"Hit him again! Don't stop until the school bell rings!" Rendy commanded his lackeys.
The thugs smirked, advancing on Dion like predators closing in on their prey.
"Damn you, Rendy! It was an accident! Why do you always do this? Why do you always insult and beat me?" Dion cried out.
"HAHAHA! Because it's fun! You're nothing but trash! A poor loser like you deserves everything you get!" Rendy shot back dismissively.
The other students behind them roared with laughter. They saw this as nothing more than an amusing show.
"BASTARDS! I'll fight you all!" Dion screamed, a surge of rage fueling him.
He lunged, but the fight was over before it began. Outnumbered and with his small frame—1.8m tall but only 45kg—Dion was quickly overpowered. He was kicked and punched until he was a bruised, bloody mess. His nose bled, his hands and legs were torn and bruised.
Some of the onlookers felt pity but were too scared to help. They were terrified of Rendy and his powerful family. Others simply laughed, enjoying the spectacle of Dion's pain.
Dion begged them to stop, pleaded for mercy, but the blows kept coming.
Finally, the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day. And the beating.
"Hahaha, how does it feel to get a beating, huh?" Rendy sneered sarcastically.
Dion didn't answer. He just stared at Rendy, his eyes burning with pure hatred.
Damn it… why is my life like this? No, I can't keep living like this. Someday, I'll make you pay, Rendy. I'll make everyone who ever mocked and humiliated me pay. I'll prove that I am not trash. I am not a coward!
Rendy saw the hatred in Dion's eyes and just smiled sinisterly.
"Remember, you're just a poor man. Next time, watch where you're going. Be careful what you do, and listen to those in power. Don't provoke anyone you can't afford to offend." He then turned to his goons. "Let's go. We've wasted enough time on this trash."
And with that, they left Dion, bloody and broken, on the ground.
Dion was a genius. His foster mother knew it and sponsored his education, knowing it would be a waste to let his intelligence go to waste. In elementary and middle school, he was often bullied, but it was nothing compared to high school. His academic performance had plummeted. From his first year of high school to now, his final year, his grades were a mess. He was always doing errands for others, which made him fall behind in class. It affected his mental health and made him feel like giving up. He even thought about ending his own life.
---
"Ah, it hurts so much," Dion groaned, struggling to get to his feet. "I should buy some medicine, but I don't have any money. I'd better just go home."
He hobbled to his classroom to grab his backpack and began the painful journey back to his boarding house. People stared at him on the streets, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disgust as they took in his blood-stained uniform and his limping gait.
God, I forgot to wash up at school. It's so annoying to be stared at like this, but what can I do? I'm not going back to school.
Dion didn't own a bike, let alone a motorbike or car. He rarely even took public transportation to save money. The 1km walk from school to his boarding house, which usually took him 20 minutes, now felt like an eternity.
After a long while, he finally arrived at "Harapan Indah" Boarding House, a complex on the outskirts of Bandung.
"Dion, dear, why are you covered in blood?" asked Mrs. Salma, his kind landlady, who was doing her weekly inspection of the rooms. Her eyes widened as she saw his state.
"Ah, it's nothing, Mrs. Salma, hehe. I just fell," Dion lied, forcing a strained smile.
Mrs. Salma looked at him with a suspicious gaze. "Alright, well, I'm going to my room now," Dion said, quickly trying to escape the questioning eyes.
As he walked away, Mrs. Salma and a few other tenants who saw him looked on with a mixture of pity and concern. But they didn't dwell on it for long and went about their business.
Dion stumbled into his room, locked the door, and collapsed on his bed, the pain from his injuries finally overwhelming him. He lay there, his mind filled with a single thought.
Just wait, Rendy. One day, I will make you pay for all of this. And then, I'll prove to everyone that I'm not trash.