The Second Flight of Garuda

The final bell of the semester rang long and low.

Rakha closed his textbook, slid it into his worn canvas bag, and stood from his desk — just as a ripple of applause spread through Class X-A. Some clapped genuinely, others with playful teasing. But they all clapped.

"See you next year, Ketua," one joked.

"Or in Majalah Tempo," another added.

Even Pak Ramlan shook his head, chuckling.

"One year, and you're already harder to schedule than the governor."

Rakha smiled, adjusting the strap of his bag.

He turned to his classmates — the loud, bright, brilliant mix of dreamers and jokers he'd grown beside this year — and bowed slightly.

"Thanks for tolerating the youngest one in the room," he said warmly."Learn a little. Laugh a lot. Rest well."

He clasped hands with Alvino, who gave him a nod and a smirk.Tari bumped his shoulder and whispered,

"Don't start a country while we're on break, okay?"

"No promises," Rakha replied, grinning.

As he walked toward the door, he paused once more and called out over his shoulder:

"Take care, everyone. Good work this year. And… goodbye, for now."

Simple. Sincere.

The kind of farewell that made people pause — and remember.

By the end of his first year at SMA 1 Padang, Rakha Yudhistira Halim had:

Won the National Youth Debate Invitational in Jakarta.

Led a school-wide cooperative proposal that earned praise from local media.

Secured first place in the West Sumatra Policy Simulation Challenge.

Served as the youngest-ever student mentor at the Padang City Youth Forum.

His trophies — modest wood and tin creations — were stacked in the corner of his dormitory room. But the envelopes they came with?

Those he counted carefully. Stored. Documented.

"Prize money isn't for spending," he told himself. "It's seed capital. For something bigger."

The next morning, before the city stirred fully awake, Rakha boarded the early intercity bus bound for Bukittinggi, then Lawang.

His canvas bag sat neatly on his lap. His school uniform was folded inside — pressed and clean — a symbol of a chapter completed.

Outside the window, Padang's streets slowly gave way to winding hills, mist-laced forests, and the sharp green of rice terraces stretching like stairways into the clouds. The engine groaned on uphill climbs. Goats scattered from the road. Traders and children waved as they passed village stops.

Rakha didn't sleep.

He used the time to reread his notes. Not schoolwork — but system prompts, project ideas, and handwritten sketches for a small-scale sugarcane press redesign. Something cheap. Something villagers could build themselves.

Beside him, an old man with a batik cap leaned over and asked,

"What're you drawing, Nak?"

"A future," Rakha answered gently, without looking up.

When the bus finally rolled past the sugar palms and bamboo huts of Lawang, Rakha felt something stir in his chest.

Home.

His mother was the first to spot him — standing at the gate in her faded blue kebaya, eyes bright.His father came next, stepping down from the field path with mud still on his ankles and a tired grin on his face.The village children, as if rehearsed, ran to meet the bus like a welcoming parade.

"Bang Rakha's back!""He's taller!""He's got that city smell!"

They laughed and swarmed him, tugging at his sleeves, asking questions faster than he could answer.

Siti Halimah hugged her son tightly.Pak Halim gave a soft pat to the shoulder — quiet, proud, unchanged.

"Still ours," he said, "but not so small anymore."

That evening, the villagers gathered in the surau courtyard.

There was no formal celebration — but the air buzzed with pride. Someone brought rice. Someone brought fried cassava. Someone made sweet ginger tea.

Rakha stood up when called, thanked everyone, and spoke briefly.

"The school taught me lessons," he said. "But this village taught me why they matter."

Then he sat down, back straight, eyes reflecting firelight.

He had returned not as a boy who left — but as someone growing into something larger than himself.

And everyone saw it.

That night, in his old room — bamboo-walled, with a leaking tin roof — Rakha stared at his growing folder of documents, sketches, and System logs.

Prize money saved:

8,000,000 IDR from local contests

10,000,000 IDR from nationals

Additional system reward funds secured.

[SYSTEM NOTICE] You are now eligible to initiate: Seed Project Alpha – Rural Enterprise Prototype.

"Initiate when ready."

Rakha smiled.

He wasn't ready to build a company yet.

But he was ready to build the thing that would build the company.