The order bell rang in the middle of the night, and this time a young man named Adhi Raksa appeared. He arrived with a slightly oversized bag, and at a glance, his hands looked a little messy... as if he'd gotten oil on them.
He was a college student, if I remembered correctly... currently in the fall semester. He had definitely come here to work on some insane assignment from his senior, and since business was unusually slow tonight, it was safe to assume he'd be staying awhile.
"Just finished, huh?"
He didn't answer out loud, only giving me a silent, serious look. To most people, he was the kind of individual they should avoid, or at least place in the Red circle. His stare and brief responses always made people assume he was angry.
"Campus stuff."
"Oh, you're done."
He appeared to study the menu on display, thinking over the right choice as if his finances were holding his freedom to choose hostage.
After making his choice, he sat near the register and carefully jotted down several notes.
My curiosity began to stir, because he looked a little more disheveled than usual.
"Your hands... what happened?"
"Oh, this? Oil."
"Oil?"
"Yeah, I just finished fixing a friend's motorcycle."
Well, underneath that ordinary demeanor, he apparently had another skill hidden away.
My curiosity grew stronger.
"Can you tell me about it?"
"Sure."
#### Becoming an Amateur Mechanic ####
Being surrounded by the quiet campus buildings at midnight was surprisingly enjoyable. It was peaceful enough, even though I had to practice the Scouts' greeting clap with the mosquitoes.
I sat in the garden in front of the campus building, while on the parking-lot side, a bunch of students were still having a good time.
They had been making a racket for ages over a motorcycle that wouldn't start, as if they were discussing what other project they could carry out on it.
Since everyone there was part of the same group as the motorcycle's owner, I ignored them and kept working on my research report.
Fifteen minutes passed.
They still hadn't found the problem, and the motorcycle was still stubbornly refusing to start.
I decided to take out the day's earnings, count them, and record the inventory that needed replenishing.
"Hmm..." I grinned. "Today's income is pretty good."
I looked at the group surrounding the beat-up motorcycle and felt a little happier.
Not because I was happy to see other people struggling, but because the stubbornly dead motorcycle had made my own drinks sell a little better.
"Oh, motorcycle, thank you for your support."
I put all the money into a separate container and placed it in my bag.
"I should probably head home."
Something even more horrifying had happened, and I realized it too late.
"Why is my motorcycle parked next to them?"
My motorcycle was parked beside the one they were using for their ritual.
Without paying much attention to the situation, I hurried over to my motorcycle. When I got there, I began to feel that something was off.
"Whose motorcycle is that?"
"Bacan's."
"Bacan?"
A curly-haired young man in an unremarkable outfit raised his hand. He had the nickname Bacan because he liked collecting a natural stone called Bacan.
"Mine, bro. Hahaha."
I admired this friend of mine. No matter how dire the situation, he always tried to stay calm and smile.
"What's wrong with your motorcycle?"
Damn it, my curiosity was acting up again.
"It won't start."
"Try jump-starting it with the campus electricity."
"Huh?"
Everyone looked confused by my brief comment.
"If you hook it up to the campus's 3,200-VA electricity, that motorcycle's gonna explode!"
Ohoho, at least someone understood what I meant.
"Hahaha... you asshole."
Everyone laughed as their brains finally caught up with my joke.
"Did you check the spark plug?"
"Why?"
"Just to check the electrical system."
"Not yet."
"Seriously?"
Have you guys been performing a demon-summoning ritual this whole time or what?
I took out a basic set of tools and began checking the beat-up motorcycle.
It turned out to be fairly complicated, since I had to remove several bolts first.
It was actually a very nice motorcycle. Beat-up as it was, its owner took excellent care of it.
"I'll check the spark plug first."
"You know how to fix motorcycles?"
"As long as it hasn't turned into a car, I think I can handle it."
A few people began paying closer attention, while the rest chuckled.
I successfully removed the spark plug, and a simple test showed that it was producing an electrical spark.
"Nothing wrong with it."
I put it back and tried starting the engine.
"It's been doing that this whole time," Bacan replied, growing even more confused.
"Gas?"
"I already filled it up. Only a liter, but it should be fine!"
I had no idea how far a single liter was supposed to last.
A few people with motorcycle-repair skills showed up. One of them borrowed my screwdriver and started taking the motorcycle apart.
There was no indication that anything was wrong with it, yet it still refused to start.
"Gas."
I made another brief comment about Bacan's motorcycle.
"I already filled it up. Why are you so stubborn?"
The mood increasingly turned against me, since I hadn't found anything wrong while helping them take the motorcycle apart.
I was starting to get suspicious. Before asking the same question again, I should dig a little deeper.
"When was the last time you got gas?"
"This morning."
I began putting together the ignition and mechanical systems I knew about. Of course, all of it was happening in my imagination.
The battery was fine, the coil was fine, the spark plug was fine, there was oil, and there was voltage. Everything checked out.
"It's the gas."
I muttered it after sitting in silence for quite a while.
Someone began getting annoyed by my repeated comment.
"All you ever talk about is gas!"
Hey, at least I'd helped check the entire motorcycle system. Why was the guy who was merely acting as a spectator suddenly turning into a commentator?!
"I'm gonna prove you wrong!"
The emotional young man wanted to prove that my suspicion was wrong. Honestly, I suppose I was expected to be wrong all the time in this group.
With an exasperated look, he opened the motorcycle's gas tank cap.
"See? Look!"
I saw nothing but the bottom of the gas tank.
Even though the lighting wasn't great, I could clearly see that the motorcycle had no gas.
"Look at what?"
"You jerk, it's right there! Look inside the tank!"
Still seething, he took the phone from his pocket, expertly turned on the flashlight, and pointed it into the tank.
"See? Look!"
Everyone fell silent when the phone's flashlight revealed nothing but the bottom of the gas tank.
"But I filled it up earlier!" Bacan exclaimed, turning the whole thing into a mystery.
"When did you fill it up?"
I asked while tracing the route he'd taken and estimating how much gas he should have used.
"Starting at six this morning, I took my mother to the market."
"And then?"
"After that, I took my younger sibling to school."
There should still have been enough left—around half a liter, probably.
"And after that?"
Bacan seemed to be thinking hard. He'd been on campus continuously since eight that morning. Even toward late afternoon, he was still somewhere around here.
"Ah!"
Ah?
What was it?
"Hehehe..."
A suspicious, sheepish laugh began to escape him.
"I helped a friend earlier..." He rubbed his head. "I gave him some of my gas..."
Several people smacked their foreheads, while the rest lowered their heads and shook them.
"All of it?"
"Of course not!"
"How do you know?"
"At first, the gas was pouring out. Then, once there wasn't much left, I closed it again."
Logically, that shouldn't have been enough to use it all up.
I hurried to check the choke, and sure enough, the lever was still engaged.
"The choke lever is still on."
"Of course it is. I turned it on." He slowly began closing the motorcycle seat.
The seat clicked shut with a clearly audible sound.
Oh no, he closed it.
"Because..." Bacan continued, "if I didn't turn it on, only a little would come out, and then the poor guy wouldn't make it to the nearest gas station."
Several people commented on Bacan's actions, but I hurried to put the tools away.
Once Bacan's motorcycle seat was locked, it would be difficult to open. Especially since he'd left the motorcycle key inside it.
"Hey, where are you going?" one of them asked.
"Heading back. It's late... fish sleep..."
"Oh, right. Thanks for your help."
"Yeah."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bacan trying to find his motorcycle key in his pocket.
"Huh?!" Bacan began to panic. "The motorcycle key?"
I quickly left that occult forum behind. Whatever topic they were going to discuss next, I didn't want to know.
"I should stop by Riyumi's café."
#### Back to the Café ####
"So you just left everyone there?"
I asked Adhi, who was drinking the juice he'd ordered.
"Besides, why should I have stayed?"
He had a point. In my eyes, Adhi was an extremely professional introvert.
He kept his distance from problems he felt had nothing important to do with him. Then he disappeared the moment a task was finished, because he didn't like getting dragged into more complicated problems down the road.
The bell rang again, and this time I saw a large group of young men come in.
Adhi looked at them and hurriedly stuffed all his belongings into his bag. Remaining perfectly calm, he paid for his order and simply got up to leave.
The professional attitude of an introvert—something I rarely encountered...