The Sports Hall (GOR) of Rajawali High was a massive structure separated from the main academic building. If the academic building was where brains were sharpened with calculus and history, then the GOR was where muscles were forged with sweat and adrenaline. On the second floor, there was a spacious room lined with blue and red puzzle mats. The air here always felt denser, smelling of rubber, sweat, and the distinct aroma of liniment oil.
This was the Dojo. The den of Rajawali's fighters.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
Sounds of ragged breathing echoed, clashing with the 'woosh-woosh' sound of gi (karate uniforms) snapping every time a punch was thrown.
In the center of the room, Saifuddin—or better known as Udin—stood solid in a Zenkutsu Dachi stance. Sweat poured down his temples, soaking his stiff crew cut hair, then dripping onto the mat. Udin wasn't the talkative type like Dani, or the eccentric genius like Salim. Udin was a rock. He was silent, hard, and immovable.
"One hundred more!" Udin shouted, his voice thundering through the room, bouncing off the concrete walls.
"Osu!" twenty other Karate club members responded in unison. Their voices trembled with exhaustion, but not a single one dared to lower their fists.
Udin led the Kihon (basics) training. His hand, wrapped in white hand wraps, shot straight forward. Seiken Zuki. A straight punch.
"Ichi!"
Thud! The sound of air being punched simultaneously.
"Ni!"
Thud!
"San!"
Thud!
Every punch Udin threw had a different weight. He wasn't just punching the air. He imagined a wall in front of him that he had to destroy. His back muscles contracted perfectly, his hips rotating as the power axis. This was what distinguished Udin from the other members. To Udin, Karate wasn't just a sport for a college application certificate. Karate was a way of life. The way he defined his existence among the spoiled rich kids at this school.
"Yame!" (Stop/Finish).
Udin lowered his hands, taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth (Ibuki), normalizing his racing heart rate.
"Five-minute break. Drink up. Don't sit down, walk around a bit so the lactic acid doesn't build up," Udin instructed firmly.
The junior members immediately scrambled to the edge of the room, grabbing their water bottles as if they were the elixir of life. Meanwhile, two seniors walked up to Udin.
They were Sucipto and Ramon. Udin's trusted lieutenants in this dojo.
Sucipto had a wiry build, slightly shorter than Udin but his movements were agile and explosive. Ramon, on the other hand, was big and stocky, a tanker-type fighter who relied on throws and locks.
"You're crazy, Din," Sucipto complained while wiping his face with a small towel. "This is just warm-up and it feels like a world war simulation. The 10th graders look like they're about to puke."
"Let them puke now rather than puking blood when fighting the Taekwondo kids next week," Udin answered flatly, gulping down his mineral water.
"You're way too serious about that sparring match against Taekwondo," Ramon chimed in while massaging his muscular shoulder. "It's just a friendly match, Din. Not a gang war."
Udin stared at Ramon sharply. A gaze that made Ramon, whose body was bigger, shudder slightly.
"There's no such thing as friendship once you're on the mat, Mon," Udin said coldly. "Raka will definitely bring his core team. They're arrogant. They think Karate is stiff, slow, like robots. I don't want our Dojo humiliated in our own home."
The rivalry between Karate, Taekwondo, and Silat at Rajawali High was an open secret. These three martial arts competed for prestige, for new members, and most importantly: for the school budget. Whoever achieved the most, got the best facilities. Last year, Taekwondo under Raka's leadership managed to snatch gold at the provincial level, causing the Karate budget to be cut to buy new Taekwondo mats. Udin hadn't forgotten that insult.
"Okay, okay, Mr. Chairman," Sucipto raised his hands in surrender. "So what's next on the menu? Kumite (sparring)?"
Udin nodded. He put down his water bottle and put his gumshield back in.
"Free Kumite. Me against both of you."
Sucipto and Ramon looked at each other, their eyes widening.
"Huh? Two against one? Are you suicidal?" Sucipto asked in disbelief.
"I need to train my reflexes for handling gankers. Raka plays speed. I have to get used to being surrounded," Udin answered while walking to the center of the mat. He took a stance, his gaze shifting into that of a hunter. "Come on. Don't hold back. Pretend I'm an enemy trying to steal your girlfriends."
Sucipto grinned. "Fine, if that's what you want. Don't cry if I kick your handsome face, Din."
"Osu!" Ramon shouted along, stomping his foot on the mat.
The fight began.
Sucipto moved first. He was fast. His leg shot out performing a Mawashi Geri (roundhouse kick) aimed at Udin's head. At the same time, Ramon charged forward like a bull, trying to grab Udin's waist for a takedown.
A high-low combination attack. Deadly.
However, Udin didn't retreat.
Instead of dodging, Udin stepped forward—entering Sucipto's attack range. He raised his left arm, executing a hard block (Jodan Uke) that smashed into Sucipto's shin.
Thud!
"Argh!" Sucipto winced, his leg feeling like it had kicked an iron pole.
Without pause, Udin rotated his hips, sending a Gyaku Zuki (reverse punch) straight into Ramon's solar plexus which was open because he was trying to grapple.
Bugh!
Ramon coughed, his steps stopped instantly. His breath hitched.
Udin used the momentum. He swept Ramon's leg (Ashi Barai) until the giant faltered, then spun to land a back kick (Ushiro Geri) that pushed Sucipto backward until he crashed into the padded wall.
One second. Two opponents down.
The juniors drinking water gaped. They stopped chatting, mesmerized seeing their chairman beat two seniors at once.
"Get up!" Udin barked. "The enemy won't wait for you to catch your breath!"
Sucipto winced while holding his leg. "Damn it... are your bones made of concrete or what, Din?"
Ramon got up with a beet-red face, his ego bruised. "Again! I wasn't serious earlier!"
They attacked again. This time more coordinated. Sucipto acted as a distraction with agile movements around Udin, while Ramon waited for an opening for a heavy attack.
Sweat poured even harder. Sounds of flesh and bone colliding filled the room. Udin took a few hits. His lip split slightly from Ramon's elbow, and his thigh bruised from Sucipto's kick. But Udin didn't stop. The pain only made him sharper.
To Udin, pain was information. Pain in the leg meant his stance was too wide. Pain in the face meant his guard was too low. He processed pain like Salim processed numbers: as data for a solution.
The brutal training lasted for twenty minutes non-stop. Until finally, the dojo door swung open with a loud bang.
The atmosphere went silent instantly.
Three people stood in the doorway. They wore black-collared dobok (Taekwondo uniforms). In the middle stood a tall young man with a neat undercut hairstyle. Raka. The Chairman of Rajawali Taekwondo.
Raka looked at the scene inside the dojo with a mocking smile. He saw the battered Udin, and the panting Sucipto and Ramon on the floor.
"Whoa, intense," Raka said, stepping inside without taking off his shoes—a massive insult to dojo etiquette. "Training to be a punching bag, Din?"
Udin spat out his gumshield, spitting a little blood onto a tissue he took from his pocket. He stared at Raka's shoes stepping on their sacred mats.
"Take off your shoes, Ka. Or I'll take them off by force, along with your feet," Udin threatened in a low voice, but his aura chilled the air in the room.
Raka chuckled. "Relax, Bro. I just wanted to remind you about the match schedule next week. I heard the Silat kids—Amir's group—want to join and watch too. So don't embarrass yourselves, okay. Pity if your budget gets cut again."
"Worry about your own budget," Sucipto retorted, standing up, his temper flared. "This year the gold is coming back to Karate."
Raka glanced at Sucipto briefly, uninterested. He looked back at Udin. There was a deep rivalry between them. Raka represented natural talent and luxury facilities. His movements were beautiful, acrobatic, and liked by many (especially the girls). Meanwhile, Udin represented raw, un-aesthetic hard work. Udin's Karate wasn't for show, it was to incapacitate.
"I see you're getting slower, Din," Raka commented, provoking. "Your body has too much dead muscle. In a real fight, speed kills. You won't even have time to touch me."
Udin walked closer until their faces were only centimeters apart. The smell of Udin's sweat clashed with Raka's expensive perfume.
"In a real fight, Ka," Udin whispered sharply. "You won't get points for kicking my head. You'll die if I catch your leg."
Raka scoffed, taking a step back. His smile vanished. He felt a real threat from Udin's words. Udin wasn't the type to bluff.
"We'll see on the mat," Raka said coldly. He turned around, signaling his two lackeys. "Let's bounce. It smells like laborer's sweat in here."
Raka and his entourage left.
"Bastard!" Ramon cursed, kicking a water bottle until it flew. "I'm breaking his leg next week. Just watch."
"Hold your temper, Mon," Udin said, though his own jaw hardened. "That's his strategy. He wants us heated, playing rough, then getting disqualified."
Udin turned to face his members who looked anxious and angry.
"You heard that?" Udin shouted. "They think we're laborers. They think we're slow. Show them! Karate isn't about jumping around beautifully like a kangaroo! Karate is foundation! Karate is one punch, one kill!"
"OSU!" the dojo members shouted, their spirits reignited by anger.
"Training continues! Five hundred Mae Geri kicks! Now!"
The GOR rumbled again.
Amidst the training, Udin let the pain in his body subside. His mind wandered briefly to his other friends. He imagined Salim.
Salim must be eating fritters or counting loose change right now, Udin thought, smiling slightly in amusement between his shouts.
Udin admired Salim. Although Salim was physically weak—Udin was sure he could snap Salim's arm with one finger—Udin knew Salim possessed a different kind of "muscle." Mental muscle. Salim's endurance in facing poverty and Rinto's insults in class without hitting back, to Udin, was a form of high-level martial art. Patience.
Whereas Udin? He only had his physique. He wasn't a doctor's kid like Alya, not the Student Council President like Salma, and not a genius like Salim. He was just the son of a retired soldier who was taught that the world is hard, and you have to be harder than the world if you want to survive.
"Yame!" Udin shouted, ending the session.
Training was over. The sun had set outside. The GOR lights began to flicker on. Udin sat cross-legged in the center of the mat, closing his eyes for the closing meditation (Mokuso).
In the darkness behind his eyelids, Udin felt a strange premonition. The same feeling he got before facing a big match. His heart pounded not from fatigue, but from anticipation.
Why does it feel... like there's a danger bigger than just Raka?
Udin opened his eyes. He looked at his calloused and bruised right hand. A hand he had trained for thousands of hours to become a weapon.
"I hope I don't have to use this for the wrong things," he muttered softly.
Sucipto patted his shoulder. "Talking to your djinn, Din? Hurry up and shower, you smell like a rat trapped in a door hinge."
Udin chuckled, stood up, and the anxiety vanished momentarily, covered by typical high school banter. He walked toward the locker room, leaving the silent dojo, a mute witness to the soldier's final preparation before the real war began.