Friday, February 13th. Today I walked to school as usual, enjoying the fresh morning air. I thought about looking for Area to ask her a few questions, but she’s been quite busy lately. It’s been a few days since we last saw her — no idea where she’s gone. Maybe she has something important going on.

  When I reached the school gate, I noticed a bus parked beside the school fence. But I didn’t pay much attention to it and continued walking into the school building, heading straight to class.

  In class, the atmosphere was the same as always — noisy with the chatter of friends. Some were talking and laughing, some were busy eating at their desks, and some didn’t care at all, fast asleep in their seats. I sat in my place, trying to figure out what to do today, before a voice called from behind.

  “Hey, Adam. Have you seen Area?” Siti asked as she came over to me.

  I turned to her before replying, “No. I went to our hangout spot yesterday, but no one was there. So I just went home.”

  “Hmm… Really…”

  It’s been three days since the two of us got involved in the neighborhood gang business and the incident at the abandoned house. I didn’t do anything yesterday — I just slept all day. For some reason, I’ve had a weird feeling, but I’m ignoring it for now.

  Not long after, the teacher assigned to our class entered with a firm stride. He placed his books on the desk before looking at us.

  “How is everyone doing? All good?” he asked as he walked into the classroom.

  “Aww… I thought today was a holiday,” one student complained.

  “Yeah, we were just about to throw a party,” another added in disappointment.

  They all sighed, hoping today would be another holiday like yesterday, when Mr. Azman didn’t come to school to teach us. I looked out the window, watching every movement reflected in the glass. Mr. Azman stood in front of his desk, flipping through a book. Then he spoke, “It seems like all of you are taking your studies and life decisions too lightly.”

  He paused and began to gaze at us with sharp eyes. “Alright then, as promised, today we’re going on a field trip.”

  Our eyes widened at once. A trip? No one had expected that! Whispers began to fill the room. Excitement mixed with surprise filled the atmosphere.

  “Where to, sir?” one of the students asked.

  Mr. Azman just gave a small smile, clearly wanting to keep it a surprise. “You’ll find out when we get there. Now, pack your things and get ready. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

  With that, our classroom became lively. Everyone was busy getting ready, wondering what awaited us on this unexpected trip.

  ***

  We boarded the bus that had been waiting outside the school. A short journey took us to the intended location. Upon arrival, the teacher instructed us to get off and enter an old building.

  We stepped into a house that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. A sour, musty smell pierced our noses, causing some classmates to cover theirs with their hands. The space was cramped, with dusty furniture and sofa cushions full of holes.

  In one corner, an old radio sat on a small, nearly-collapsing table. From its speakers, a rough rap song blared, its lyrics loudly condemning some unknown group of people. The verses clearly carried anger, like a reflection of the lives of those who lived in this house.

  On the floor, empty glass bottles were scattered, some of them broken. Stains covered the walls, as if they had witnessed endless fights. The dining table in the middle of the room was full of plates and bowls with spoiled food, releasing a nauseating stench.

  On the sofa, a husband and wife lay unconscious. The man was snoring loudly, while the woman beside him, holding an empty bottle in her hand, looked as if she had just woken up. Her eyes were half-open, red, and full of exhaustion.

  We stood frozen, unsure of how to react. Our teacher, Mr. Azman, stepped forward. He held his breath, clearly disturbed by the atmosphere, but still tried to remain calm. “Alright, everyone. Let’s try talking to them,” he said softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the still-playing rap song.

  Suddenly, the woman looked toward us with her tired eyes.

  “Hello, young ones. What brings you here?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

  Our teacher replied politely, “We just came to check on the two of you.”

  The woman slowly sat up on the worn-out sofa. Meanwhile, her husband remained fast asleep. She sighed deeply before saying, “I didn’t expect to have this many visitors... Please, have a seat.”

  She then offered us some food, but it was clearly spoiled, adding to our disgust. “Which school are you all from?” she asked again while glancing at our uniforms.

  One of us replied softly, mentioning the name of our school. Upon hearing the answer, the woman began speaking to herself, as if lost in thought.

  “I still remember my youth... life was full of hope, many friends, and the future looked bright. But everything changed when we started using drugs…”

  She continued talking, seemingly forgetting our presence.

  We were startled when a dog suddenly appeared from the direction of the kitchen. With matted fur and sad eyes, it walked slowly into the middle of the living room. Without warning, the dog relieved itself right in front of us, making the already unpleasant atmosphere even worse.

  Some of our friends covered their noses, while others stepped back, trying to avoid the sight. Our teacher simply let out a long sigh before speaking gently, “Let’s be patient. Let’s finish this visit properly.”

  The woman, who had been talking non-stop, suddenly became aware of what had happened and flinched slightly.

  “Sorry about my dog,” she said with indifference. “He’s been like that... unkempt lately.”

  We glanced at each other, unsure how to react.

  As the woman tried to clean up the dog’s mess with a dirty rag, her eyes suddenly locked onto mine. She fell silent for a moment, as if trying to be sure of something.

  “You’re still alive?” she said, her voice trembling. I was shocked, not understanding what she meant.

  She stepped closer to me, her eyes starting to well up. “It really is you!!” she cried, her voice now a mix of surprise and emotion.

  The woman covered her mouth with a trembling hand before saying, with a tone full of sorrow, “Mom is so moved to see you again. I’m sorry... what happened was just a mistake... I was so foolish back then... Can you please forgive me?”

  The living room, which had earlier been noisy and unpleasant, suddenly fell silent. All eyes were on us. I didn’t know how to react. Confusion, shock, and disbelief swirled together inside me.

  Our teacher stepped forward, trying to take control of the situation. “Let’s calm things down first,” he said gently, giving me space to process what had just happened.

  But the woman didn’t move. She kept staring at me with hope in her eyes, like a mother finally reunited with her long-lost child.

  “Adam, do you know this woman?” one of my classmates asked.

  “No, I don’t know who she is,” I replied quickly, even though deep inside, I was still trying to understand what was happening.

  Siti, who had been standing behind us, quickly acted. “Ma’am, could you please step back a little?” she asked gently, while covering her nose. From a distance, I could see she was trying hard not to gag from the stench of the dog waste and the filthy room.

  “Alright, ma’am. This is our friend, Adam. He’s not your son,” Siti explained politely. “We don’t know what’s really going on, but we’re just students who came here to check on you.”

  The woman didn’t respond. Somehow, she suddenly lay back down on the sofa and started to fall asleep. We all looked at each other, confused, before our teacher signaled for us to leave the room.

  As we descended the stairs, one of my classmates broke the silence, seeking answers. “Why did we have to visit a pair of drunk, messed-up people like that?”

  Mr. Azman paused for a moment on the steps, looking at us seriously. “What you saw just now is the devastating result of methamphetamine and alcohol abuse. These drugs have destroyed their lives, made them lose control, and ruined their family relationships. I wanted you all to witness this reality so that you understand the consequences of falling into things like this.”

  His words silenced us. Each of us began to reflect on what we had just witnessed. Our walk out of that building felt heavier, as though we were carrying with us the weight of sorrow and a powerful lesson.

  I walked out of the dilapidated building with my friends, but my mind was still disturbed by what had just happened. That woman, her house, her condition—it all felt like a living nightmare.

  I tried to process what Mr. Azman had said earlier. Methamphetamine. That was the drug that had destroyed their lives. I had heard the name before, maybe in the news or on drug prevention posters. But what exactly is methamphetamine?

  I knew it was a synthetic drug, made in labs by people who didn’t care about its effects on human beings. The drug could keep a person awake for long periods, making them feel like they had an endless supply of energy. But that was just the beginning.

  Over time, it takes over their body and mind. I imagined how that woman might have started—maybe she tried it just once, hoping to escape life’s problems. But once was enough to trap her in an endless cycle of addiction. The drug damaged her brain, made her lose control of herself, become aggressive, and possibly even hallucinate.

  Methamphetamine also destroys a person’s physical health. The skin dries out, teeth fall out, the body weakens. And that’s not even considering its effect on social life. Family, friends, jobs—they all vanish. Just like that couple in the house, trapped in a bleak and broken life.

  I tried to imagine if I were in their place. What would it feel like if the world seemed to spin into emptiness, with only addiction for company? I shuddered at the thought.

  Their life was a clear warning. Drugs are not an escape—they are the beginning of a painful end.

  ***

  The next place was an area controlled by a group of thugs who lived within the realm of illegal businesses. This area belonged to certain gangs whom I myself did not yet know. The reason Mr. Azman sent us here was probably to show us the harsh reality of street life, which I had actually already experienced myself. Their life was not as easy as my classmates said. Their lives were full of challenges and regrets, just like what I faced with Siti.

  During this journey, Siti remained silent because she did not want her identity to be revealed. Surely, some street thugs knew us—only a few of them. However, they had a contract that if they saw us, they had to hide our identity. But this neighborhood seemed to not recognize us at all, and I felt a bit relieved.

  From a distance, what I saw was Siti walking with her head lowered, perhaps to hide her identity. My other classmates only looked left and right as they walked, and our teacher was explaining some things that might make the other students realize the dangers of being a thug.

  “Those who live here do not have a peaceful life like those who work in ordinary jobs. Some of them are imprisoned, and some are running from the police. Some have gone crazy because of the drugs they take. Some drug dealers also have to compete with other drug dealers in their business. A few try to escape but fail. Anyone who works with these gangs faces very high risks; some even resort to extortion. This will be bad for you and your family,” explained Mr. Azman, making us see how terrible life was here.

  We walked deeper into the area; the atmosphere grew gloomier. The narrow streets were covered with graffiti telling stories from the various gangs in the area. Several men gathered at the corner of an alley, looking at us sharply, but they did not approach. Perhaps Mr. Azman’s presence as an authoritative adult was the reason they kept their distance.

  I could see my classmates starting to feel uneasy. Their steps slowed, and quiet whispers were heard among them. But Siti remained silent, her head bowed down, trying to avoid drawing anyone’s attention. I knew how risky this situation was for her. If anyone recognized her, things could get bad.

  “Mr. Azman, are all the people living here involved in gang activities?” asked one student, sounding scared.

  Mr. Azman looked at the student before nodding slowly. “Not all of them. Some are just ordinary residents trapped in this situation. But they still live in fear. These thugs often extort and force the residents to cooperate with them. If they refuse, their lives might be at stake.”

  We continued our journey. In one corner, I saw a young man, probably not much older than us, sitting alone on the steps of a building that already looked worn down. His gaze was empty, like someone who had lost everything.

  “He’s one of those who might want to run away from this world,” Mr. Azman said suddenly, pointing toward the man. “But escaping this life isn’t that easy. Those caught up in it usually aren’t given a choice.”

  Those words reminded me of something—indeed, some street gangs want to get out of this dark world. Siti and the others also tried to escape this life, but we were trapped in a complicated situation. If we left our world now, we would still have contracts and our lives as street gang members assigned tasks by bigger, higher-level gangs. So, it’s difficult for us to get out of this situation.

  After a few minutes, our steps stopped briefly when several men came out of a narrow alley, looking at us with interest. I felt my heart pounding. One of them walked closer, smiling faintly but clearly with hidden intentions behind that smile.

  “Visitors?” The man’s voice was deep and threatening. “What are you and these kids doing here? Looking for trouble?”

  Mr. Azman stepped forward, protecting us. “We’re just passing through. No business with you or anyone here. We just want to show these students the reality of street life.”

  The man chuckled quietly but looked at each of our faces. I could feel his gaze lingering longer on Siti. Yet, Siti kept her head down, not daring to meet his eyes.

  “Reality, huh?” The man said with a cynical smile. “Our life is real, indeed. But this reality is only for the strong. The weak usually don’t last long here.”

  He looked at us once more before walking away, but I knew his threat didn’t end there. I looked at Siti, who now seemed paler than before. I knew she was also aware of how dangerous this situation was.

  As we continued walking, I heard whispers behind us, voices clearly directed at us.

  “Make sure they don’t cause trouble here,” one of the men said, before their voices disappeared into the noisy chaos of the area.

  While walking, I approached Siti. “Siti, what’s with that guy?”

  “The situation is getting more dangerous, Adam. If any of them confront us, maybe our identities as gang members will be exposed.”

  “Yes, Siti, I think the same. It’s best if we keep our heads down and stay in the middle of the group so our identities aren’t revealed. Luckily, the neighbors and thugs around here are a bit friendlier than other areas.”

  “That’s right, Adam. Ha, we really need to be more careful. Hopefully, they won’t confront us.”

  I knew Siti was panicking, thinking about the problems we might face if any of them started confronting us. But it seemed the situation was calming down, and I felt they also understood what was happening. Maybe the thug had already recognized Siti and chose to pretend not to know her.

  “Oh, by the way, Siti, do the neighbors here know you?”

  “A little, Adam. There are two or three who know me. Including that man earlier.”

  We continued walking slowly, making sure not to draw anyone’s attention in the area. Our conversation was in a very low tone, almost whispering. I could feel how tense Siti was at that moment, and I dared not show any emotion that might raise suspicion.

  “That man knows you, Siti? How does he know you?” I asked again, this time more cautiously.

  Siti sighed deeply before answering. “I came to this area once before with another street gang for some important business. Just once. But I don’t know if he still remembers me or not. I hope he forgot.”

  I looked at Siti with worry. “If he remembers, and tells others... we might be in danger. But for now, let’s just keep going and not do anything suspicious.”

  Siti nodded slowly. “Yes, Adam. We have to make sure no one finds out who we really are.”

  However, I couldn’t ignore the bad feeling growing stronger inside me. This area might seem friendlier compared to others, but I knew the smiles here were usually just masks. The people here might seem indifferent, but their eyes were always watching.

  We walked closer together in the middle of the group, as if seeking protection among our classmates. Our teacher, Mr. Azman, was still explaining the realities of street life, but I found it hard to focus. My mind was fixed on what might happen if that man decided to act.

  “Siti,” I said again after a moment. “What do you think they’ll do if they find out we’re street gang members?”

  Siti turned to me, her eyes full of worry. “Maybe they’ll use us for something, Adam. Or worse, they’ll report us to the bigger gang they work for… That’s a risk we can’t afford to take.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  I just nodded. She was right. In the street life, loyalty isn’t given lightly, and secrets like this are valuable currency.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw that the man was still standing where he was, but his gaze was no longer focused on us. I hoped that was a good sign. Still, I knew how quickly things could change in a place like this.

  “I think we need to keep moving carefully. Don’t give them any reason to focus on us,” I said firmly.

  Siti nodded again. “Yes, Adam. I feel the same. We have to make sure this visit ends safely and that we get out of this trouble.”

  So we walked cautiously through the area. Meanwhile, we overheard some conversations among the thugs about life here.

  “A few days ago, the SWAT team came by to check this place.”

  “Yeah, they were rough.”

  “What were they looking for?”

  “Don’t know, lucky for us, they didn’t bother us.”

  “Haha, SWAT’s always like that. They’ve got laws to follow.”

  “That knife you bought looks sharp. Can I borrow it?”

  “No need to borrow other people’s stuff. If you want, buy your own.”

  “I suspect the cops are looking for you.”

  “What else do they want with baseless charges? I already threw away the drugs.”

  “They’re not after drugs this time. They want you to stop bothering the gang’s territory in the east.”

  “Why? There are lots of addicts there. Big profit if you work that area.”

  “Cops want you to stop selling drugs. Things there have gotten too bad.”

  “That sucks.”

  “You’re an addict. I don’t even know when you’ll pay your debts.”

  “Hey, wait! Why are there school kids here!?”

  “Seriously! Haha. How did you guys get here? What are you all looking for?”

  We, watching the scene, quickened our steps cautiously.

  “Azman!?” All of them stood with shocked looks.

  “We’re just here to visit the gang neighborhood,” Mr. Azman replied to the thugs.

  One of the men from the gang chuckled lightly. “Hah, a visit to the gang neighborhood? What are you trying to prove, Azman? You think you can change these kids’ fate? Hahaha, this world is cruel, teacher.”

  Mr. Azman stayed calm in this situation, taking a step forward before replying in a soft tone, “I’m not trying to prove anything. I just want them to see the reality of this world—that living in the gang world is not a choice. They have a chance to change, but they need to know what they’ll face if they follow the wrong path.”

  “Change?” The man raised an eyebrow, looking at us with a mocking smile. “These kids won’t understand. You can teach them anything, but when they leave here, the real world will swallow them whole.”

  One of the students gripped her bag tightly. She looked uneasy, but suddenly spoke up, “Maybe we don’t know much, but we know one thing—we don’t want to be like all of you.”

  Everyone fell silent for a moment. The men’s gazes shifted to the student, who now stood with full courage.

  “This kid’s got a mouth, huh?” one of the men sneered as he walked closer. “Do you know what you’re saying? Huh? You think you’re better than us?”

  Mr. Azman immediately stepped forward, shielding the student. “Enough. I won’t let you lay a hand on my student. You may think life is just about survival, but I believe every person can change—including you.”

  The man smirked cynically, then took a step back. “You’re bold, Azman. But remember, the world won’t change just because you want it to. Be careful, teacher. If you bring these kids back into our area, I won’t make any promises.”

  With that, the gang slowly walked away, leaving us in a tense atmosphere.

  After they left, we all breathed a sigh of relief. But I noticed something—Mr. Azman remained calm, even though it was clear the situation had been dangerous.

  “Sir, why did you bring us here?” one of the students asked, her eyes still fixed on the gang as they walked farther away.

  Mr. Azman looked at each of us one by one. “I want all of you to understand—this world is full of choices. And every choice has its consequences. What you saw just now was the result of the wrong choice. You still have time to decide your own path. Don’t waste that chance.”

  We fell silent. His words struck deep in our hearts, stirring a mix of fear, reflection, and hope. The visit wasn’t over yet—Mr. Azman wanted to take us to one last place before returning to school. And so, we all hurried there, not far from the gang’s territory.

  ***

  We walked into an alleyway nestled between tall buildings. As we began to exit the alley, the atmosphere—previously filled only with the sound of our footsteps—suddenly turned tense. From the direction of a nearby house, a man stepped out. He looked to be in his 40s, his face marked with scars that hinted at a harsh life. But what truly drew everyone's attention was the weapon in his hand—a shotgun, gripped tightly.

  We all froze. Our steps came to a halt in unison. The man paused as well, staring straight at us with sharp, suspicious eyes. The moment felt like a slow-motion scene from a movie, where everyone waits for something uncertain to unfold. My classmates began whispering to one another, fear clearly etched across their faces.

  Siti lowered her head even further, and I could feel her hand trembling beside me. “Adam,” she whispered so softly it was barely audible, “we’re in trouble.”

  But before panic could take over the situation, something unexpected happened. After a few moments of watching us, the man slowly lowered the shotgun in his hand. His once-intimidating expression softened. He stepped forward more calmly—and then, to everyone’s surprise, greeted Mr. Azman.

  “Hello, sir,” he said in a respectful tone that caught us all off guard.

  Mr. Azman gave a small smile, completely unfazed by what had just happened. He returned the man’s greeting with calm familiarity, as if encounters like this were just part of his day. “Long time no see, Zamri. How have you been?”

  My classmates looked bewildered, and I myself didn’t know how to react. The man—Zamri, as Mr. Azman had called him—now stood just a few meters away from us. The shotgun in his hand no longer seemed threatening, but it still gave off a chilling presence. I tried to read his expression, but his face now held a kind of respect—for our teacher.

  “I’m doing well, sir. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t know it was you. This area isn’t that safe anymore, so I have to be cautious,” Zamri said, a little sheepishly.

  “It’s alright, I understand,” Mr. Azman replied. “I’m just bringing these students here to witness life in this place. Hopefully, they’ll learn something from it.”

  Zamri nodded slowly. “It’s good of you to do this, sir. These kids need to know—living like us isn’t something to be admired. If they can, they should stay far away from places like this.”

  His words carried a heavy weight, as if he himself regretted the life he now led. I noticed some of my classmates starting to look a little more at ease, even though the tension still lingered in the air.

  Meanwhile, I glanced over at Siti, who looked increasingly uneasy. Zamri didn’t seem to recognize us, but we knew the risk was always there. I tried to give Siti a reassuring look, signaling her to stay calm, though I couldn’t quite shake my own wariness.

  “Alright, Zamri. Thanks for understanding,” Mr. Azman said, giving us a signal to move on. “Take care of yourself.”

  Zamri nodded once more, but his gaze remained cold—as though he was still watching us, even though the shotgun was no longer raised. As we began to walk again, I could feel my heart still pounding in my chest.

  “I don’t like this place,” one of my classmates whispered from behind.

  I could only agree in my heart. This area, although seemingly quiet at first glance, was full of threats that could appear without warning. And I knew that our encounter with someone like Zamri was only the beginning.

  We finally entered a house nearby in the area. Inside, there were several electronic items and other objects commonly used by gangsters. Mr. Azman stepped forward and greeted someone who was playing a video game.

  “Hello, Bob. Long time no see,” Mr. Azman said.

  Bob turned around and looked at all of us. “Azman—hold up, woah… why are you bringing kids here? You know this place isn’t safe, right?”

  Mr. Azman stepped further into the room. “Yeah, I know… but they seemed so excited talking about gangster life. So I decided to bring them here, to see the reality for themselves. As a lesson.”

  After hearing Mr. Azman’s explanation, Bob told all of us to come in and started treating us as best he could. He stood up from his chair and headed to the kitchen, seemingly about to prepare something for us. Mr. Azman then told us to come further inside and take seats on the available couches and chairs.

  The house was messy and filled with old items, making it difficult for us to walk any further. Not long after, someone opened the door and called for Mr. Azman to step outside. He looked like someone who knew Mr. Azman. Without hesitation, Mr. Azman stood and walked toward the man. The two of them whispered about something before Mr. Azman decided to go out.

  “Ah man, Azman went out?” said Bob as he came out from the kitchen. He was carrying several cans of drinks and some snacks to serve us.

  “This place is kinda filthy…” one of us muttered, clearly disturbed by the condition of the house. Looking around, it was obvious Bob wasn’t the tidiest person. Bob placed the drinks and snacks on the table, then walked back to his seat and resumed playing his game.

  “This is what life looks like when you don’t have a job,” Bob joked as he put on his headset.

  We stepped away from where we were standing and made our way to the sofa, looking for places to sit. Bob came across as generous toward us. He offered snacks and drinks without hesitation, even though the state of his house was far from welcoming.

  “Just take it, don’t be shy,” he said in a gentle tone, easing the tension in the room slightly. Still, we weren’t sure whether his kindness came from sincerity—or if he was trying to cover up the obvious flaws in his living condition.

  Questions started to pop up among us, and we began chatting with Bob about a few things. But shortly after, someone entered the house. He spoke to Bob in a demanding tone.

  “Bob, I need money right now. You know how hard it is living in this neighborhood.”

  “Wait, I know… but there are kids here, are you seriously gonna act like this?”

  “I don’t care about the kids. It’s not like they understand our lives. They should be in school or playing somewhere far away. Azman was stupid to drag them here. If the loan sharks find out, we’re screwed.”

  “Why do you suddenly need money?”

  “I haven’t paid the gang I owe. And now they’re here.”

  “You seriously borrowed from those people? You know what they’re like!”

  “I was desperate at the time. They were the only ones available…”

  “Man… How much did you borrow?”

  “Around five hundred.”

  “That’s a lot. What did you even do with the money?”

  “Stuff…”

  Bob stood up and walked toward a drawer. He opened it, and a swarm of cockroaches spilled out. He covered his nose in disgust.

  “This is disgusting…” Bob muttered as he took out some money and handed it to the man.

  “Thanks, Bob… I owe you big time,” the man said before leaving. As he did, his eyes swept over us—as if imagining himself among us.

  We chatted with Bob about several things, revealing just how harsh life could be without a steady job—and how they had no choice but to live under the rule of the local thugs. After the man left, someone dressed in black came from the kitchen and called Bob over. Bob stood up from his seat and walked toward the kitchen. From where we were, we could hear them whispering.

  “Bob, why did you give him money just now? You’re not exactly doing well yourself.”

  “I know… but I couldn’t bear to see him that desperate with those thugs around. If I didn’t help, his situation could’ve gotten worse.”

  “Ugh, how long do we have to keep living under this pressure? Everyone here’s struggling to survive.”

  “That’s just how it is around here. If you don’t follow their orders, you get in trouble.”

  “Feels like there’s no way out. But how could he even borrow money from them?”

  “I don’t know. People like him… when they’re desperate, they’ll take the easiest way.”

  “Aren’t you scared, Bob? What if they find out you helped him? You’ll be next.”

  “I’m used to this kind of life. Scared or not, we still have to go on. But I worry about the kids growing up here.”

  “Yeah… they see all this, and over time they’ll start thinking it’s normal.”

  “That’s what I’m most afraid of. When kids start following the wrong path. But what can we do? Getting out of this place isn’t easy.”

  “There has to be a way, Bob. We can’t let our lives be controlled by those people forever.”

  Bob sighed. “I hope you’re right. But for now, all we can do is survive.”

  Mr. Azman returned. “Alright everyone, let’s head back to school. Looks like I have something to attend to, so we’ll end the visit here.”

  The man in black in the kitchen turned to Mr. Azman. “Azman, why would you bring kids to a place like this? You know it’s not safe for them.”

  “They’re too curious about the world of drugs and gangsters. So I brought them here to show them what that life really looks like. Nothing bad will happen as long as I’m with them.”

  “Yeah, well… just make sure you’re not bringing trouble to this neighborhood. I don’t know what they would do if something went wrong,” the man said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they’re all safe.”

  Mr. Azman guided us out of the house. And with that, our visit came to an end. We all walked toward the bus waiting outside the block.

  ***

  As we walked toward the bus, something felt off. There was an odd sense, as if something was missing. That uneasy feeling became real when Mr. Azman, who had been waiting on the bus, started counting the students.

  On the final count, his expression turned serious. “Wait… We’re missing someone. Where are the other three students?”

  We looked at one another, confused. The atmosphere on the bus shifted to a buzz of whispers and guesses. “Don’t tell me they’ve been left behind,” Mr. Azman said, a slight panic in his voice.

  One student replied, “It’s true, sir. They’re not here.”

  “Where did they go?”

  Another student raised a hand and offered a suggestion. “Sir, maybe check the place with the drugs we visited earlier. They might still be there.”

  Mr. Azman nodded. “Alright, I’ll go check.” With hurried steps, he got off the bus to search for them.

  I couldn’t sit still. Something in my gut pushed me to follow. Without thinking twice, I stepped off the bus and trailed behind Mr. Azman. A few other students followed as well, while the rest stayed on the bus—perhaps not wanting to make things more chaotic.

  I quickened my pace, ignoring the sound of footsteps echoing down the narrow alley. When I reached a corner, I stopped, holding my breath behind a wall. My eyes locked onto Mr. Azman, who was speaking to a group of gangsters.

  “Teacher?!” one of the missing students called out, their voice trembling with fear and shock.

  One of the gangsters quickly turned toward the voice. “Wait, who are you?” he asked, glaring sharply at Mr. Azman.

  “I’m their teacher,” Mr. Azman replied firmly, his voice loud but controlled. He demanded the gangsters release their grip on the students.

  The five gangsters exchanged glances, their faces filled with uncertainty, before turning their eyes back to Mr. Azman.

  I stayed in my place, watching everything with my heart pounding loudly. Not long after, some classmates arrived behind me. I signaled for them to be quiet, and we all stood there, observing without daring to act.

  One of the thugs spoke, his voice full of sarcasm. “So you’re their teacher, huh? Did you know your students tried to conspire with us to carry out a drug deal contract?”

  Mr. Azman looked surprised and immediately asked, “What contract are you talking about?”

  “These kids tried to act as middlemen in drug sales. Looks like they’re interested in us,” the thug replied while looking at three students who appeared frightened.

  The three students looked toward Mr. Azman, their eyes pleading for help.

  “Listen here,” Mr. Azman said firmly, “they are just school kids. They don’t know anything about this. So please, let them go.”

  The thug snorted, glanced at his friends, then said, “Huh, you think it’s easy for us to let them go? They just came into our territory, did whatever they wanted, and tried to steal.”

  “They’re only high school students who don’t understand anything about the thug world. I advise you, better let them go before things get more complicated.”

  The atmosphere grew tense, like a bomb waiting to explode. I held my breath, trying to guess what the next move the thug would take.

  “What if we don’t?” one of the thugs said sarcastically. “They came into our territory, tried to steal, then want to make contracts with us. They’re really funny.”

  Mr. Azman stood firm, but it was clear he was trying to think of something to ease the situation. After a few moments, he raised his hand, showing a gold ring on his finger.

  “All right, how about we make a trade?” he said, raising his hand as if to negotiate. “I’ll give this ring, and you let those three go.”

  The five thugs fell silent for a moment, looking at the ring before one of them responded with a chuckle, “Eh, a ring? Why would we suddenly need that? We’re not jewelry dealers.”

  Another added, his voice full of mockery, “Besides, these kids like to steal, right? Instead of you giving a ring, how about we ‘sell’ them? That’s way more profitable!”

  Their laughter echoed through the alley—simultaneous and aimless, like a sneer at the situation they considered trivial. The atmosphere grew heavier, and I, still hiding behind the wall, could feel cold sweat trickling down my forehead. Something had to be done immediately, or things would get worse.

  The thugs’ laughter grew louder, as if mocking Mr. Azman’s offer. They glanced at each other, their faces full of sarcasm and arrogance.

  “Wait, you think you can buy us off with that ring?” said one thug, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. “You don’t know who we are!”

  Mr. Azman remained calm, even as the tension in the air became palpable. “You can try. But first, let them go,” he replied cautiously, his eyes never leaving the thugs.

  Suddenly, one of the bigger, more muscular thugs stepped forward, approaching Mr. Azman slowly. “You want to know who we are?” he said, raising his hand as if to warn. “We are the ones who control this territory. No one can stand against us!”

  Mr. Azman didn’t flinch. He pulled something from inside his clothes—a small knife he had kept all this time. “You’re wrong if you think you can scare me. I also have ways to defend myself,” he said with a confident tone.

  The thug smiled widely, “You want to fight us with that little knife? You want to be a hero?”

  But before he could move, Mr. Azman acted quickly. He stepped forward, the knife gleaming under the dim light. In one fast and precise move, he kicked the thug’s leg, causing the big man to fall to the ground.

  His friends were shocked, and in the blink of an eye, they tried to attack. Another thug lunged forward with his large hands, trying to grab Mr. Azman from behind. But Mr. Azman moved swiftly, dodging the attack and twisting the thug’s arm, making the man slam to the floor.

  A third thug tried to use a longer knife, but Mr. Azman once again showed his fighting skills. He blocked the attack with a quick movement, freeing himself from the knife’s reach and launching a counterattack that knocked the thug down hard.

  The four remaining thugs, still standing, could not hide their surprise. They didn’t expect Mr. Azman to be so skilled and brave. However, they attacked simultaneously, trying to surround him. But with a swift step, Mr. Azman jumped high, dodging their attacks and landing behind them.

  “Enough! Let them go!” Mr. Azman commanded, his voice full of authority.

  The thugs, now tired and stunned by Mr. Azman’s abilities, began to stop attacking. They exchanged glances, their previously arrogant faces now filled with fear.

  Mr. Azman stood tall in the middle of them, breathing steadily, looking at each thug’s face. “You may control this territory, but don’t be mistaken. There are things bigger than strength and cruelty.”

  The last thug, younger and thinner, finally raised his hand in surrender. “Alright, let them go,” he said with a hoarse voice.

  Mr. Azman gave a slight smile and nodded. He stepped toward the tied-up students and freed them one by one. “You are all still young, and there is much you need to learn,” he said gently to them, even though inside he still felt frustrated about the situation.

  We who were watching from afar couldn’t help but feel admiration. Even though we shared the same fear, Mr. Azman showed us the true power of confidence and courage.

  ***

  While we were on the bus, almost all of my classmates kept their heads down, still shaken by what had happened earlier. Mr. Azman stood in front of us, his face full of concern, then began to tell us a story as a lesson.

  “There’s a story I remember. Two siblings lived in extreme poverty, with nowhere to stay. They eventually got involved with a gang. The gang offered them jobs. At first, their lives changed—they started earning a lot of money and became obsessed with drugs. Every day, they only sold the drugs given to them by the gang. But one day, they decided to try the drug fragments they were selling.

  Over time, they became addicted. They kept working while taking increasingly higher doses. And in the end, both of them died from an overdose. After they died, the gang didn’t care at all. They just found others to replace the two siblings. So, I want to ask all of you—why are you so easily influenced by the gangster world and illegal sales like drugs?”

  The bus fell silent, with no response or reply, leaving only Mr. Azman’s voice filling the space inside the bus. He looked at all of us and began to give a serious lecture.

  “So you know how their lives were? They lived burdened with debt, deep addiction, and had to stay in filthy places…” He paused, letting us absorb his words.

  “You are all still young and have the choice to determine your future. But you often take the opportunities for granted, even choosing to live like them—trapped in hardship—instead of striving for an easier life. What makes you all think that way?”

  One of my classmates answered, “We just thought selling drugs could make a big profit. One pill costs ten Myd, some go for a hundred. If we sell, we’ll definitely make a lot of money.”

  “That’s true, I’ve heard that too, and it seems like this job can make life easier. But the truth is, it’s really bad. Sometimes it even feels like being tricked.”

  Mr. Azman slowly shook his head, hearing their words full of ignorance. “Yes, it may seem profitable. But you have to understand, in the end their lives are destroyed. What you see is just an illusion. The truth is, this is all a trap.”

  Mr. Azman looked at us sharply before continuing, “As I said yesterday, it all depends on your choices. So, what choice will you make from now on?”

  One student raised their head, gathering courage to ask, “Why are you willing to do all this for us, Mr. Azman?”

  Another student added, “That’s true, even though we always mess with you… you still try so hard to make us realize our choices. What makes you so determined, Mr. Azman?”

  Mr. Azman was silent for a moment, his eyes seeming to recall something. Finally, he spoke, “It might not be important to you, but… I used to teach troubled students like all of you. When I asked about their futures, their answers were only to become drug dealers, thieves, or gangsters. At first, I thought it was just a joke. But after they graduated school, without jobs, they really chose that path.”

  He took a deep breath before continuing, “Because of that experience, I was determined not to repeat my mistakes. I want students like you to succeed. That’s why I was assigned to teach here. I believe some of you will go on to higher education. No matter how many times you mess with me, I will never give up. That’s a promise I made to myself.”

  A promise made after a major event is a promise forever held in the heart. What Mr. Azman shared was his heartfelt expression as a teacher. A sign that he wanted to see his students succeed.

  “So that’s why I want all of you to pass the upcoming exams. Please, this is my request,” added Mr. Azman.

  “You want us to pass the exams. But why?”

  “I will explain something to you all. My purpose coming here is a test. If I pass, I will become a permanent teacher. That means I won’t be a transfer teacher moving from school to school anymore. If all of you pass the exams, I will stay at your school. So that’s why I hope you all pass the exams coming up. You all like challenges, right? So I’m challenging you to pass the exams. This isn’t just for you but for me as well.”

  Time seemed to slow down, and the only sound inside the bus was the hum of the engine. Everyone was silent, reflecting on the responsibility they carried as students.

  “Alright, Teacher, since there’s no one as great as you, we accept your challenge to pass the exams,” one said.

  “Yeah, Teacher, you were amazing when you handled those thugs earlier.”

  “That’s right, Teacher. No other teacher is as good as you.”

  “If you hadn’t refused to give up on waking us up, then we won’t give up on passing the exams coming up.”

  “Okay, Teacher, we promise to pass the exams for you.”

  Mr. Azman’s words pierced through our hearts. Some of the students began to reflect deeply. The intentions that once leaned toward becoming local thugs slowly shifted into a desire to change for a better future.

  I listened quietly to their conversations. My friends were like naive kids just discovering the world of local gangs. They might be dazzled by the easy money, but I knew better.

  As someone bound by a gang contract, and with Hate operating under the northern territory leader, I had more experience. We took orders, carried out tasks, and never really had a choice. That’s why I knew this world wasn’t what they imagined. The gang world isn’t about luxury — it’s about the darkness that consumes you.

  I took a deep breath with Siti, because our identities as street gang members were still hidden from our classmates. We were definitely walking a fine line during this visit, since some of the places we went to were known gang territories where we were recognized. But they seemed indifferent to us. Siti felt relieved and simply leaned back on the bus seat, staring out the window.

  Our visit ended as the sun was nearly setting, painting the sky with beautiful orange hues. Siti and I breathed a sigh of relief — the visit had been completed without any trouble related to our gang identities.

  From my seat inside the bus, I looked out at the buildings bathed in the twilight glow. Mr. Azman’s words about the life of street gangs lingered in my mind, but I knew the reality was much darker and more complex than what he had shared with us.