The Invitation

The shrill sound of the lunch bell echoed through the pristine hallways, snapping Arya out of his lingering thoughts. He lazily gathered his books, stuffing them into his bag. His mind was still clouded by the remnants of his dream—the roar of the crowd, the weight of expectation, and that piercing gaze from the stands.

Before he could fully shake it off, a familiar voice rang out.

"Oi, Arya!"

Raka slid into the seat beside him with the subtlety of a hurricane, his trademark grin stretched wide across his face. His messy black hair looked like it hadn't met a comb in days, and his uniform was slightly wrinkled, as always. "Man, you've got guts, huh? Sleeping in Mrs. Ratna's class? I swear, you've got a death wish."

Arya merely responded with a small, indifferent smile. "Meh."

Raka snorted, clearly amused by Arya's nonchalant attitude. "Seriously, you're lucky she didn't throw a marker at your head. She almost did that to me last time. Good times."

Arya shook his head slightly, the corner of his lips twitching. Raka's energy was like an unstoppable force—relentless, loud, and impossible to ignore.

"Come on, let's hit the cafeteria. I'm starving," Raka continued, already tugging at Arya's sleeve as if afraid he'd disappear if left alone for more than five seconds.

With a resigned sigh, Arya followed him out of the classroom. The hallways of the elite boarding academy were spotless, lined with glass panels that allowed sunlight to flood in, reflecting off polished floors. Everything about this place screamed perfection—structured, controlled, and suffocating.

Arya Pratama. Born on March 12, 2007. Once a prodigy on the football field, crowned the top scorer of the National Junior High School Tournament. A boy whose name was supposed to echo through stadiums, destined for greatness—or so it seemed. But fate had other plans.

Now, he was just another new student in this prestigious academy, a place he didn't choose willingly.

Why here? Because his father was the academy's main sponsor, pulling strings to keep Arya under strict watch, far from the green fields he once ruled. A gilded cage disguised as an opportunity.

Raka Alvian, on the other hand, had been Arya's best friend since elementary school. Somehow, they always ended up in the same schools, as if fate—or maybe Raka's stubbornness—refused to let them drift apart. Raka was the polar opposite of Arya: loud, full of energy, with a mischievous streak and a passion for taekwondo.

Ironically, Arya had once dabbled in taekwondo, back in primary school. He was decent at it, but nothing compared to his love of football. That love, however, had been forcibly buried the day his father banned him from playing—after the incident with his uncle, also known as one of the biggest cases in Indonesia.

They reached the cafeteria, a spacious area filled with sleek tables, modern decor, and the familiar buzz of students chatting. The faint aroma of overpriced food drifted through the air. Despite its luxurious setting, it was still just a cafeteria—a place where teenage chaos reigned supreme.

Finding an empty table near the window, they sat down with their meals. Arya picked at his rice absentmindedly, while Raka dug in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in days.

After a few bites, Raka leaned back in his chair. "So… have you decided on a club yet? You know it's mandatory to join one, right?"

Arya took a slow bite, chewing thoughtfully before replying, "Maybe… the reading club."

Raka froze mid-bite, then burst into laughter, nearly choking on his drink. "Reading club? Dude, since when did you become this boring?"

Arya shrugged. "You know why."

Raka's laughter faded, replaced by a quiet sigh. He did know.

Arya's mind drifted back to that day—the day he defied his father's orders. After winning the national tournament, he'd expected pride, maybe even a rare smile from his father. Instead, he came home to a cold, suffocating silence.

His father's disappointment was louder than any crowd.

"You think football is your future? It's a waste of time."

That night, Arya watched helplessly as his father threw away every football-related thing he owned—trophies, medals, even the gifts from his uncle that Arya had treasured most. The sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal still echoed in his mind.

Coming back to the present, Arya dipped his spoon into his rice, his appetite fading. His grip on the spoon tightened unconsciously, knuckles turning white. Beneath the table, his other hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, the muscle twitching as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Hey," Raka nudged him, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't get all gloomy on me now. You'll make the rice sad."

Arya forced a small smile, grateful for Raka's unspoken support.

But just as they were about to fall back into random chatter, a voice broke through from a nearby table.

"Wait... aren't you Arya Pratama? You're that Arya Pratama, right? Top scorer of the tournament?"

Arya froze, his heart skipping a beat.

He slowly turned to see a group of upperclassmen, and their confident smirks suggested they knew exactly who he was.

The one who spoke leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd be at some football academy by now."

Raka's eyes flicked to Arya, his grin fading to a cautious frown.

Arya clenched his jaw tighter, the faint sound of his teeth grinding almost audible. His fingers curled around his spoon until it felt like it might snap. He forced himself to take a breath, but it didn't ease the tightness in his chest. "I don't play football anymore," he muttered, turning back to his food.

But the senior wasn't finished. "Really? That's a shame. A talent like yours going to waste." His words dripped with mock pity.

Raka slammed his spoon down, ready to retort, but Arya stopped him with a slight shake of his head.

"Let's go," Arya said quietly, standing up and grabbing his tray. His footsteps were heavy, echoing louder than they should've, as if trying to drown out the fading laughter behind them.

However, a pair of serious eyes were seen watching Arya leave.

Outside, Raka finally spoke. "You know, you can't keep running from it forever."

Arya didn't reply. He just stared at the sky, wondering if dreams really ever stopped chasing you.

Outside, the crisp afternoon breeze brushed against Arya's face, cooling the lingering heat from the cafeteria encounter. He and Raka walked in silence down the stone path that led toward the dormitories, their footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet corridor between buildings.

Just as Raka was about to break the silence, a voice called out behind them.

"Hey, Arya, right?"

They both turned around. Standing a few steps away was a girl with sharp, confident eyes and neatly tied-back black hair. Her posture was relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of her blazer, but there was a spark of curiosity in her gaze.

Raka was quick to react, flashing his signature grin. "Whoa, just Arya? What, I don't get a shout-out too?"

The girl chuckled softly, the tension in the air easing slightly. "Guess I should've said both of you, huh?" She took a few steps closer. "I'm Tara Meisya. I'm new here too, just like you guys."

Arya gave a polite nod while Raka, ever the social one, crossed his arms with an exaggerated shrug. "Well, welcome to the club, Tara."

Tara smiled, then glanced toward the cafeteria, her expression shifting slightly. "I saw what happened back there… with those guys."

Arya's jaw tightened instinctively, but he said nothing.

"They're from the football club," Tara added casually, as if dropping a harmless fact. "Think they're hotshots just because they've been here longer." She rolled her eyes. "But honestly? The club sucks. They barely win any matches, can't even make it past the group stages. Most of them are just rich kids with fancy cleats and no real talent. You know how it is—this place is full of people like that."

Raka snorted. "Sounds about right."

Tara's gaze shifted back to Arya, a hint of softness replacing her usual sharpness. "Also… sorry if I'm overstepping, but you looked kinda down when you were talking to your friend."

Arya simply nodded, his face unreadable.

For a brief moment, none of them spoke. The distant sounds of students laughing and chatting filled the silence. Then Tara broke it with a surprising offer.

"I don't know if you'll be interested," she said, her tone more casual now, "but if you ever want to see what real football looks like around here, you should come by Starfield tonight. There's a local club that plays there regularly. Might be worth your time, y'know, since school's not too hectic yet."

With that, she gave them a small wave and turned to leave, her steps light and confident as if she hadn't just dropped a casual bomb into Arya's day.

Arya and Raka stood there for a moment, staring after her. Then their eyes met, both filled with the same unspoken question.

Raka arched an eyebrow. "Well… that was interesting."

Arya didn't reply, but the slight furrow in his brow said it all.

Puzzled. Curious. Maybe even tempted.