"My name is Satria. And you are...?"
Rangga blinked, surprised. "So I guessed right," he muttered. Then, more clearly: "My name is Rangga. And yes, I've been searching for you for the past three days. There's something I need to tell you."
Satria's expression softened, a small smile forming. "Alright then. Let's talk back at the hotel where you're staying. It's better to have this conversation in a more comfortable setting."
—
Later, in the quiet lobby of the modest hotel, Satria took a sip of his coffee, his posture relaxed but alert.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, glancing at Rangga over his cup.
"I'm fine. Thanks for your concern."
There was a pause before Rangga leaned forward, his tone shifting. "What was that... back there? No, wait... Are you a Bio-Evolutionary, like me?"
Satria chuckled softly, taking another sip. Then he lit a cigarette with practiced ease.
"Rangga," he said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke, "I don't know what exactly you mean by 'Bio Evolution.' But in any martial tradition, there's always a technique that combines movement with breath. That's all I understand."
Rangga frowned. "But that light... what you emitted before I blacked out. That felt like something more."
Satria leaned back, studying the younger man. "Tell you what. Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow morning, I'll show you something."
With that, he stood and walked out of the hotel, carrying the bag he'd used during the fight with the five men. Rangga didn't press further. His defeat, the strangeness of the battle, and Satria's composed demeanor weighed heavily on him. Rest, for now, seemed like the best course.
—
The next morning, Satria led Rangga along a narrow rocky path. They drove together into a remote cape where only one vehicle, Satria's, disturbed the serenity of the landscape. Eventually, he stopped the car in front of a small hut nestled among mangrove trees.
"Come in," Satria said, motioning casually.
Inside, the place smelled of salt, damp wood, and old coffee grounds. Satria busied himself making coffee with an electric kettle that had clearly seen better days. He poured the dark liquid into a tin mug emblazoned with a faded wolf.
"Help yourself. There's cold water in the fridge. Make yourself comfortable."
Rangga took a seat, his eyes wandering to the large window overlooking the open sea.
"This is where I usually operate," Satria explained. "It's a strategic location for reconnaissance. From here, I can observe movements on the sea without being noticed."
Then, he dropped the facade of casual hospitality.
"I'm a special customs unit officer. My job is to secure this region from illegal intrusions—things that can threaten our country. What you saw last night was part of that. That was one of the more refined methods of intimidation used by a certain network that keeps trying to muscle in here."
He paused, looking directly at Rangga.
"But understand this: If I allowed them to take even a step into this territory, the whole network would collapse. There's an unspoken code—a legacy from long before our time, maybe even back to the Dutch era. Those battles? They're a form of tribute, a declaration of respect for territory. Only two have ever passed through without conflict. That tradition... still stands."
Rangga absorbed every word.
Satria took another sip of coffee. "Now, let me show you something."
He led Rangga out to the sandy shore, the waves lapping quietly at their feet.
"Before I begin your training, there's something I call the self-adaptation process. It means aligning your abilities with your environment, using self-control to adapt. It's like meditation, transforming your body in line with the genes you were born with."
Rangga listened intently.
"For instance," Satria continued, "my genetic link is with the wolf. But it's not limited to wolves. In biology, animals are classified into similar clusters. Wolves, foxes, hyenas, even squirrels—they're in the same genetic order. Though vastly different physically, their defense mechanisms can be just as powerful."
He looked out toward the horizon. "Last night, what you felt—that powerful defense—came from the Moon Weasel. Or as locals call it, Luwak Bulan. That's the form I take when defense is needed. You, Rangga, may have inherited the traits of a feline. Agile, alert, flexible."
Satria paused, his tone becoming almost reverent.
"And there's one more... a creature many believe extinct or mythical. But I think it still exists. A perfect camouflage master: the dragon."
Rangga was silent, overwhelmed but fascinated. He was finally beginning to understand his own powers, and Satria was the key to unlocking them.
They began the first day of training. It was grueling. By the time they returned to the hut, Rangga was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching but his spirit soaring. He felt himself growing—stronger, more focused.
Back inside, Satria glanced out the window, his eyes narrowing. A small fishing boat bobbed in the distance, oddly still.
"Look over there," he said, pointing. "Notice anything strange?"
Rangga squinted. "Is that an intruder?"
"Not quite," Satria replied. "That's an informant. Someone who exchanges information. It's what we call a mutualistic relationship."
A moment later, the boat sent a series of flashing light signals toward the hut.
Satria responded with a light of his own. The boat soon disappeared beyond the cape.
—
That evening, as they ate dinner, Rangga finally shared the real reason he had sought Satria out.
"It was an order from my superior. General Subianto."
Satria nodded slowly. "I thought so. I understand the General's intention. He wants you trained. Trained by someone who understands you."
Satria paused, his expression nostalgic.
"I served under General Subianto once. It was he who reassigned me to this special division. He saw that my skills were better suited here. He was right."
Rangga leaned forward. "Then when do we go to meet him?"
Satria shook his head. "Go back to Jakarta. In three days, we'll meet at headquarters. There's something I still need to take care of here."
Rangga nodded, respecting the man's discipline. He admired Satria deeply. Despite the workload, Satria had still found time to train him. A true mentor.
At ten that night, Rangga departed. He left behind the cape, the hut, and Satria—the man who had become his guide.
As the stars shimmered over the sea, Satria packed a diving kit into his weathered backpack. A speedboat arrived quietly, cutting its engine as it reached the beach.
Satria approached the man near the anchor.
"Did you see any cargo transferred to the fishing boat?" he asked.
The man shook his head. "Nothing so far. Just one refueling trip. Other than that, they're pretending to fish."
"Alright," Satria said. "Then we patrol near the dock. There's something beneath the surface I need to check."
Together, they pushed the boat into the sea and set off toward a nearby pier. Once they reached the coordinates on the GPS, Satria slipped into the water. Ten minutes later, he resurfaced, holding a piece of plastic resembling candy wrapping.
"Exactly as I suspected. They hid it under the netting."
He handed it over. "Document it and file a report. I'm putting this back where it was."
Without another word, Satria dove beneath the waves once more.
The mission wasn't over yet.