Chess Game (3) - Castling

Ian stared at his reflection in his bedroom mirror, barely recognizing the hollow-eyed figure looking back at him. Three days had passed since his meeting with Principal Hartono, and the isolation had begun to eat at him like acid. Today's supervised exam had been the final humiliation, sitting alone in an empty classroom while Pak Budiman watched his every movement, as if he were a criminal likely to slip contraband answers from his sleeve.

The whispers had grown louder, more confident. Students no longer bothered to hide their speculation. Teachers regarded him with a mixture of disappointment and suspicion that made his skin crawl. Even Aulya, still steadfastly loyal, couldn't hide the strain this was putting on her. He'd seen her arguing with other students who suggested she was naive, defending him with a passion that only seemed to fuel more gossip about their relationship.

His phone buzzed. Another message from his mother, "Ian, please call me. Pak Iwan says the investigation is getting more serious. We need to talk."

Ian deleted the message without reading it fully. He knew what that conversation would bring more questions, more doubt, more erosion of the foundation he'd been trying to rebuild. His uncle's poison was spreading beyond the school now, seeping into his home, his family, every corner of his carefully reconstructed life.

He walked to his window and looked out at the street below. Normal people living normal lives, unaware that just floors above them, someone's entire existence was being methodically dismantled by a bitter man with too much power and too little conscience.

This has to stop.

The thought came with crystalline clarity, cutting through the fog of self-pity and helpless rage that had clouded his mind for days. He turned away from the window and began to pace, his steps measured and deliberate.

But how?

He could continue playing defense, documenting everything, hoping the investigation would eventually clear him. But Ian knew better. His uncle wasn't interested in truth, he was interested in victory. The investigation would drag on, becoming more invasive, more humiliating, until Ian's reputation was so thoroughly destroyed that even exoneration would feel hollow.

He could transfer schools, start over somewhere else. But that would mean abandoning Aulya, abandoning everything he'd worked for, essentially admitting defeat. His uncle would claim victory, would tell everyone that Ian had run because he couldn't face the consequences of his cheating.

Or...

Ian stopped pacing as a darker possibility crystallized in his mind. A memory from his previous life, filed away as irrelevant until this moment, suddenly blazed with new significance.

The laptop.

Three years from now, no, two years and eight months to be precise. Pak Iwan would be caught with inappropriate content on his school-issued laptop. The scandal would destroy him overnight. Teachers, administrators, parents, all the people currently listening to his "concerns" about Ian would turn on him with the fury of the betrayed. He would lose his job, his reputation, everything.

Ian had always assumed it was some kind of accident, that his uncle had been careless with his browsing habits or fallen victim to malware. But now, staring at his own reflection, Ian realized he was looking at the architect of that future scandal.

Can I do this?

The question hung in the air like smoke. Ian walked to his bed and sat on the edge, his hands clasped in front of him. In his previous life, he would have recoiled from such a thought immediately. The "old Ian" believed in playing fair, in taking the high road, in trusting that good behavior would eventually be rewarded.

But where had that gotten him? His uncle wasn't playing fair. The system wasn't playing fair. They had all the power, all the authority, all the benefit of the doubt. Ian had nothing but his word, and in this game, his word was worthless.

Should I do this?

He thought about Aulya, forced to defend him against accusations that grew more vicious each day. He thought about his mother, torn between loyalty to her son and respect for her brother. He thought about his own future, the second chance he'd been given, slowly being strangled by his uncle's campaign.

The world isn't fair, Ian realized. So why should I be?

He stood up and walked back to the mirror, studying his reflection with new eyes. The hollow-eyed victim was still there, but underneath, something else was stirring. Something cold and calculating that had been forged in the crucible of his adult memories and tempered by his current humiliation.

"You started this," he whispered to his reflection, but he was speaking to his uncle. "You wanted to ruin my life. You wanted to show everyone what kind of person you thought I was."

His voice grew stronger, more certain.

"Now I'm going to ruin yours."

The words hung in the air, and Ian felt something fundamental shift inside him. The desperate, reactive teenager who had spent days scrambling for defense strategies was gone. In his place stood someone who understood that sometimes, survival required abandoning the luxury of moral high ground.

He wasn't going to play his uncle's game anymore. He was going to play his own.

Ian pulled out his notebook, the same one he'd been using to document his study sessions with Aulya and turned to a fresh page. At the top, he wrote a single word: "Iwan."

Below it, he began to list everything he knew about his uncle's habits, his weaknesses, his routines. The information came easily, he'd been observing the man his entire life, first as a nephew seeking approval, then as a student trying to avoid conflict, and now as prey studying its predator.

Pak Iwan arrives at school early, usually around 6:30 AM.

He stays late most days, grading papers or preparing lessons.

He's protective of his school laptop, never letting students use it, always keeping it in his locked desk drawer.

He takes the laptop home every weekend and during holidays.

He's paranoid about internet security at school but more relaxed at home.

The list grew longer as Ian's memory sharpened, focused now on details that had seemed insignificant before. His uncle's coffee routine. The way he positioned his computer screen so no one could see it from behind. His habit of checking his phone during breaks, always angling it away from curious eyes.

But most importantly, Ian remembered something from his previous timeline that suddenly took on new meaning. His uncle's weekend routine included long hours on his laptop at home, claiming to be working on lesson plans or administrative reports. Ian's mother had sometimes commented on how dedicated Iwan was, working so many hours on weekends.

But what if he wasn't just working?

Ian closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair. The seed of a plan was beginning to form, but it required more than just memories from a future that hadn't happened yet. He needed current intelligence, real-time observation, a detailed understanding of his uncle's present-day vulnerabilities.

He needed to stop being prey and start being a predator.

The next morning, Ian arrived at school with a new sense of purpose. He moved through the hallways differently, his previous defensive posture replaced by something more alert, more calculating. When other students whispered about him, he didn't flinch or try to overhear. Their opinions were irrelevant now. He had bigger prey to hunt.

During the break between second and third periods, Ian positioned himself near the administrative corridor, pretending to read while actually observing his uncle's office. He watched as Iwan emerged, coffee mug in hand, heading for the faculty lounge. More importantly, he watched as his uncle carefully locked his office door behind him, double-checking the handle before walking away.

Paranoid, Ian noted. But predictable.

He timed the coffee break, twelve minutes. Long enough for conversation with other teachers, not long enough for a meal. Ian filed this information away and continued his observation.

During lunch, instead of sitting in his usual spot, Ian found a table with a clear view of the administrative area. He watched as his uncle returned from the faculty lounge, unlocked his office, and disappeared inside. Twenty-three minutes later, Iwan emerged again, this time carrying a stack of papers. He walked to the copy machine, spent eight minutes making copies, then returned to his office.

Each routine, each habit, each predictable behavior was another piece of the puzzle Ian was assembling. His uncle moved through his day with the confidence of a man who believed himself untouchable, unobserved, secure in his position of authority.

That confidence would be his downfall.

After school, Ian followed his uncle at a distance, maintaining the kind of casual surveillance he'd learned from spy novels in his previous life. Nothing too obvious, nothing that would attract attention. Just a nephew happening to walk in the same direction as his uncle, taking the long way home.

He watched as Iwan stopped at a small warung to buy cigarettes, a habit Ian hadn't known about, since his uncle never smoked around family. He observed the brief conversation with the shop owner, noting the familiarity, the routine nature of the interaction. Another data point, another thread in the web Ian was weaving.

Most importantly, he confirmed that his uncle took his laptop home every day, carrying it in a black leather bag that never left his side.

That evening, Ian sat in his room with his notebook open, adding new observations to his growing profile of his target. But now he went beyond simple behavioral notes. He began to think strategically, like a chess player studying his opponent's tendencies.

Iwan is methodical but not particularly tech-savvy. He uses the same password for multiple accounts. I've seen him type it at school computers. He's trusting of familiar websites and careless about security when he thinks he's safe.

He's proud, defensive about his expertise. He doesn't like being questioned or challenged, especially by younger teachers or students.

He has a reputation to protect. His authority at school depends on being seen as competent, moral, above reproach.

He underestimates me. To him, I'm still just a troubled teenager, reactive and emotional. He doesn't expect strategic thinking from me.

That last point was crucial. Ian's uncle had spent so much effort painting him as an immature cheater that he'd forgotten Ian possessed an adult's mind in a teenager's body. The man was so focused on destroying Ian's reputation that he'd made himself vulnerable, confident that his prey was incapable of fighting back effectively.

Ian smiled as he wrote the final entry of the day. Target believes himself invulnerable. This is his greatest weakness.

He closed the notebook and looked once again at his reflection in the window, now dark with evening. The hollow-eyed victim was gone completely. In his place was someone his uncle would never recognize. Someone patient, calculating, and utterly committed to turning the tables on his tormentor.

The transformation was complete. Ian was no longer playing defense.

Tomorrow, he would begin his attack.