CHAPTER 83: FROZEN GLASS BEGINS TO CRACK

Roni shouted in panic. He instinctively tried to grab the bag back, but his bike wobbled dangerously. In seconds. The bag was gone, clutched tightly by the masked man as the motorcycle sped away.

Roni hit the brakes hard, swerving to the side of the road. The screech of horns erupted behind him as cars were forced to stop suddenly.

"Bastards!!!" he screamed, kicking the front tire of his own bike. His breath came in short bursts, his face red with fury. He looked wildly around, eyes scanning for any sign of the thieves, but they had already disappeared into traffic.

The bag contained everything: the sales documents, the land certificate, proof of the transaction. In a single moment, all of it was gone. His dreams of partying, buying a new motorbike, wasting money like there was no tomorrow. They all vanished.

He raked his fingers through his hair roughly, completely lost. The teenager paced along the sidewalk, kicking pebbles in frustration.

"Why the hell did this happen...?" he muttered through clenched teeth.

Eventually, Roni slumped down onto a bench in a small roadside park. Cold sweat trickled down his temples as he stared at the ground in silence.

The rush of the street continued around him, honking cars, distant chatter. But Roni barely noticed any of it. The world had blurred into a dull background, muffled by the pounding in his chest and the knot of panic growing in his gut.

And then, as if summoned by guilt, his father’s face appeared in his mind. The weary expression on his face when he finally signed that cursed paper. The shaky voice that said, "This land is your father’s savings for old age, Roni..."

Roni covered his face with both hands. "My heart... it hurts," he thought, voice cracking even inside his head. Guilt crept in like a shadow... slow but impossible to ignore.

His ego tried to fight it, clinging to the anger and excuses. But the guilt dug deeper, scraping at something raw and real inside him, until all he could do was sit still, lost in thought on a noisy street, with no idea what to do next.

Roni rose to his feet sluggishly. His hands were empty now, everything he once believed mattered more than his own father... was gone.

Which made it all feel pointless. Pointless that he had made his father sign that piece of paper earlier. In the end, the money wasn’t his anymore. It belonged to the thief.

But what was done was done.

At first, he’d thought of chasing after him, of trying to take back what might’ve been his only shot at fixing things between them. But that fire of anger and desperation died out even faster than it had flared up.

The teenager stood at the edge of the street, staring down the road that would have taken him to his father’s house. It wasn’t even that far. Just a short ride on his motorcycle, and he could’ve been standing at the door of the house that used to always be open for him.

But in his mind, the image of his father’s face surfaced. The older man he had just let down, not even an hour ago. That memory alone was enough to make Roni shrink inside.

He let out a long sigh. Regret pressed heavily against his chest, like a boulder dropped from above. He lowered his head and clenched his fists, trying to fight off the ache inside.

"If only I’d been braver... If only I hadn’t been so stubborn," he whispered to himself. But that guilt didn’t last long. It wasn’t strong enough to push him back toward home.

Eventually, with his head still down, Roni turned around. Instead of heading toward his father’s house, he made his way back to his apartment.

Elsewhere, high above the city on the balcony of a luxury hotel, Alaric stood with a phone in hand, eyes scanning the busy street below. He was waiting for a call from the man he had sent, the one assigned to steal Roni’s bag.

The phone finally rang. Calmly, Alaric answered.

"Well?" he asked. His voice was low, but it carried a certain weight.

On the other end, a breathless voice responded. It was a middle-aged man, slightly winded. "It’s done, boss. The bag’s secure. But... the kid looked lost. He stood in the street for a while, like he didn’t know where to go."

Alaric went quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing. "And?"

"I think he felt guilty, boss. His face looked down, like he was regretting something. But... he didn’t turn around. He didn’t go to his father’s place. I tailed him for a bit, he went straight back to his apartment."

Alaric took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Something flickered in his eyes. Was it disappointment? Relief? Even he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had already accounted for this possibility.

"Alright," he said curtly.

He hung up without another word and slid the phone back into his pocket. His gaze returned to the city below as he leaned against the railing, letting his thoughts drift.

He had given Roni a chance, a clear opportunity to make things right. But Roni had let it pass.

"So things didn’t go exactly as I planned," he murmured under his breath.

---

The next afternoon...

Roni walked sluggishly toward the campus parking lot. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, and his face showed the weariness of a night without rest. His mind was tangled with thoughts. The bag he’d lost, the memory of his father’s face, everything playing on repeat.

As he neared the lot, something caught his eye. A small crowd had gathered near the front gate, right by the roadside.

Curious despite himself, Roni furrowed his brow and slowed down. In the middle of the commotion stood a disheveled man holding his young son, probably around ten years old. They both looked confused and overwhelmed.

A woman, visibly upset, stood in front of them, angrily pointing at the boy.

"Your kid stole something! I saw him hanging around my food cart, and suddenly my food disappeared! Don’t try to deny it!" she shouted.

Her shrill voice made heads turn. The boy cowered, eyes wide with fear. "I didn’t, ma’am... I swear I didn’t even go near it," he said softly, trying to defend himself.

Roni stopped in his tracks. His eyes were fixed on the scene, and something inside him began to stir.

The father, weary but full of quiet strength, stepped forward, shielding his son with his thin body. "Please, ma’am... don’t accuse my boy without proof. I’ve raised him to never take what doesn’t belong to him, no matter how hard life gets," he said calmly.

But the woman wasn’t letting go. She kept demanding compensation. The people around just watched, some shaking their heads, others whispering to one another.

With a hesitant motion, the man reached into his pocket. He pulled out a few worn bills—clearly not much, and probably all he had left. His hand trembled as he handed the money over.

"Here. Let me pay you back. But please... don’t call my son a thief. He’s not," he said.

The woman snatched the money from his hand with a scoff. "You better keep an eye on him next time," she snapped before storming off. The onlookers slowly dispersed, their entertainment over.

The man and his son were left standing at the edge of the road, frozen.

The boy looked up at the money that had just exchanged hands, eyes brimming with tears. He bit his lip, then asked in a small voice, "But Dad... why? I didn’t even take it. Why’d you give her our money? What are we gonna eat now?"

The man said nothing. His eyes stared off blankly for a second, then he gently patted the boy’s shoulder. No answer, just a faint, forced smile meant to soothe.

From a distance, Roni stood still, heart pounding. The sight hit him harder than anything he’d felt in a long time.

For a brief moment, the father’s face shifted in his mind. And became the face of his own dad. He remembered his father when he was younger, remembered being carried in his arms, protected from his older siblings’ teasing. The memory was vivid, crystal clear.

He realized his father had done the same—again and again. Sacrificing for Roni’s sake, even when times were tough.

He had once been the closest to his father, the child always hugged and defended. And yet, what had he given in return? He had turned around and trampled on his father’s pride for the sake of short-term gain.

Roni quickly looked away, but tears had already welled up in his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his hand, trying to stay composed. His breath was heavy, weighed down by guilt.

He took a few steps back and stood there, watching the man and boy slowly walk away.

His hand was clutching his helmet, ready to ride, but his feet stayed rooted.

He stared down at the helmet, sighed deeply, and muttered, "Damn it."