Math class had barely gone on for ten minutes when Arga realized something was wrong.
Not with the numbers on the board.
With himself.
The warmth from lunch was still there.
But it had changed.
It no longer sat quietly in his stomach.
Now it moved.
Sharpened.
Focused.
Alive.
Something inside him had awakened.
It spread slowly—
from his stomach…
to his chest…
then outward into his arms, his legs… every part of him.
Arga tightened his grip on his pencil—
—and stopped.
His fingers felt different.
Stronger.
Not slightly.
Significantly.
"Arga."
The voice cut through his thoughts.
He looked up.
Ms. Rini stood at the front of the classroom, chalk in hand, her eyes fixed on him.
"Try solving number three."
A few heads turned.
Whispers followed.
Arga wasn't the kind of student who got called like this.
Not usually.
He stood.
And the moment he did—
that same sensation returned.
Light.
Too light.
For a split second, it felt like his feet barely touched the ground.
He walked toward the board.
Each step felt effortless.
Unnaturally so.
The problem stretched across the board.
Long division.
Normally, he would hesitate.
Think.
Count.
Second-guess himself.
But now—
the numbers shifted.
Aligned.
Clicked into place.
Clear.
Structured.
Precise.
Almost… obvious.
Arga picked up the chalk.
His hand moved.
First step.
Second.
Third.
No hesitation.
No pause.
It didn't feel like solving.
It felt like remembering something he had never learned.
In less than a minute—
he was done.
Silence.
The classroom fell completely still.
Ms. Rini blinked.
"That was quick."
Whispers rippled through the room.
"Is that really Arga?"
"He's usually slow, right?"
Bimo stared, his mouth slightly open.
Ms. Rini stepped closer, examining the answer.
A second passed.
Then another.
She nodded.
"Correct."
The whispers grew louder.
Arga swallowed.
Something settled in his chest.
Not pride.
Not relief.
Something else.
Something… unfamiliar.
He turned back toward his seat.
Still light.
Still—
wrong.
The moment he sat down, Bimo leaned in.
"Since when are you good at math?"
"I… don't know," Arga answered.
Sinta leaned forward from behind.
"Maybe because you were starving earlier."
"Starving makes you dizzy, not smart," Bimo shot back.
Normally, Arga would laugh.
Say something.
But he didn't.
His gaze dropped to his hand.
It looked the same.
But it didn't feel the same.
The warmth inside him hadn't faded.
If anything—
it was growing.
Like something was flowing beneath his skin.
Slow.
Steady.
Relentless.
Arga clenched his fist.
Just slightly.
The response came instantly—
too fast.
Too strong.
His muscles tightened more than he intended.
A faint crack sounded.
Arga froze.
His eyes shifted down.
The edge of the wooden desk beneath his hand—
had splintered.
Just a little.
But enough.
His breath hitched.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't just in his head.
This was real.
"Arga?"
Bimo's voice sounded—
wrong.
Distant.
Muted.
Arga lifted his head.
And suddenly—
everything sharpened.
The scratch of chalk against the board.
Clear.
Every whisper in the back row—
as if it was right beside him.
Footsteps outside the classroom.
Even those.
The world had become louder.
Sharper.
Closer.
Arga held his breath.
"I…"
His fingers trembled.
Not from weakness—
but from excess.
Too much.
Too much energy.
Like his body didn't know how to contain it.
And then—
he felt it again.
Deeper this time.
Something inside him.
Not just moving.
Watching.
Waiting.
Aware.
As if it had awakened—
and now expected something in return.
Arga swallowed.
A cold sensation slid down his spine.
This wasn't just warmth.
This wasn't just energy.
It was—
hunger.
But not the kind that came from skipping breakfast.
This was different.
Heavier.
Colder.
Unfamiliar.
It didn't ask.
It waited.
Slowly—
almost without realizing—
he turned his head.
Toward his bag.
Toward the lunch box inside it.
For a brief moment—
he saw it.
A faint glow.
Soft.
Steady.
Pulsing.
Calling him.
Alive.
Arga looked away immediately.
His chest tightened.
His heart pounded harder.
Faster.
He didn't understand what was happening.
But deep down—
he could feel it.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.
And whatever had awakened inside him—
wasn't satisfied.
It wanted more.