The trophy fell and rolled among the shards of glass.
The number 1 on its surface reflected the ambulance lights. Each time the red lights flashed, the number looked like a freshly opened wound.
Raka did not move.
An officer approached and reached for it, but his mother suddenly screamed.
“Don’t touch it!”
Her scream silenced everyone.
His mother tried to get up from the stretcher. Two officers held her down.
“Ma’am, take it easy,” one of them said.
“Don’t let him take it.”
Raka stared at the trophy. The black cloth wrapped around it was soaked with rain. Through the folds, the surface of the old metal pulsed faintly.
Once.
Twice.
Like a heartbeat.
Then a voice came from beneath the car.
“Raka.”
He turned.
Beneath the car’s chassis, a pair of black shoes stood in a puddle. The shoes did not move, but their shadow stretched toward Raka.
Ardi.
His face was invisible. Only the old university jacket and his drenched pants could be seen.
Raka took a step back.
“Don’t look at his face,” his mother whispered.
“Why?”
“Because if you see it, you’ll remember.”
“What am I supposed to remember?”
His mother closed her eyes.
“Who was holding that trophy that night.”
Before Raka could ask anything else, the officers lifted his mother’s stretcher into the ambulance. The rear doors closed. He only had time to see his mother’s hand reaching through the gap between the doors.
“Find your father,” she said. “Not to save him.”
The ambulance doors shut.
The siren wailed.
The vehicle drove away, leaving Raka with the rain, the shards of glass, and the trophy still lying in the road.
He picked it up using the black cloth.
A new sentence had appeared on the bottom of the trophy.
ONE NAME HAS BEEN ERASED.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Naya.
WHERE ARE YOU? DR. SENO CAME TO CAMPUS. HE SAID YOUR FATHER IS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING.
Raka typed quickly.
What is he looking for?
Naya’s reply appeared a few seconds later.
ARDI’S ORIGINAL RECORDS.
Raka stared down the road where the ambulance had disappeared.
He remembered his mother’s last message.
Find your father.
Not to save him.
Raka climbed into the tow truck the officers were preparing. He asked to be taken to campus. During the entire ride, he kept the trophy on the floor, far from his body. But every time the vehicle passed a streetlight, he heard the sound of metal scraping against metal.
Like someone scratching the inside of it.
The campus was almost empty when Raka arrived. The rain made the front courtyard look like a black pond. The lights in the old administration building came on one by one, even though the building was not supposed to have electricity.
Naya was waiting beneath the awning.
“Your face is bleeding,” she said.
“Mom was taken to the hospital.”
“What happened in the accident?”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
Naya looked at the trophy wrapped in cloth.
“Did it come too?”
Raka nodded.
“We have to get inside before Seno finds the records.”
“What records?”
“The original list of winners. Not the copy you found yesterday.”
Naya pulled Raka toward the side door of the old building. The lock had already been broken. On the floor, a trail of water led toward the archives.
The trail ended in front of the door.
Naya raised her phone to use as a light. “Seno went in alone.”
“How do you know?”
“He left this behind.”
Naya showed him an old ID card.
The name on the card was not Dr. Seno.
BAYU ADITYA.
Raka felt the back of his neck go cold.
“Aditya?”
“Your father’s last name.”
They went inside.
The hallway of the old building smelled of wet earth. Yellowing competition posters swayed without any wind. On one of them, the face of the first-place winner had been crossed out with black ink.
Raka stepped closer.
Beneath the ink, he could still make out part of the name.
ARDI PRATAMA.
Beside it was a photo of a young Raka wearing his elementary school uniform.
He had never taken a photo in this building.
“Don’t look at it for too long,” Naya said.
But the image had already changed.
In the photo, young Raka was holding the trophy. Ardi stood behind him with both hands bound. Ardi’s face was turned toward someone outside the frame.
Someone who had a hand on his shoulder.
Raka touched the surface of the poster.
The image moved.
Ardi opened his mouth.
“Not him.”
Raka yanked his hand away.
From the archives came his father’s voice.
“Raka, if you’re here, that means your mother failed to stop you.”
Raka and Naya looked at each other.
“Dad?”
“Don’t come in.”
Raka opened the door.
His father stood in the middle of the archives. His face was pale. His shirt was wet, as though he had just come in from the rain. In his hand was the same red folder as the one in the old photo.
Dr. Seno lay near the steel cabinet.
His eyes were open, but he wasn’t blinking.
“What are you doing?” Raka asked.
His father looked at the trophy in Raka’s hand.
“Putting it back.”
“Where?”
“Where Ardi’s name was erased.”
“Who erased it?”
Raka’s father did not answer.
A small laugh came from the corner of the room.
His mother’s voice.
Raka turned.
A woman in a hospital jacket stood between the archive shelves. Her hair was wet. Her face was exactly the same as Raka’s mother’s, but her eyes were far too dark.
Raka’s father lowered his head.
“She’s found you.”
The woman smiled.
“Not found,” she said. “I was waiting.”
Raka raised the trophy. “Did you cause the accident?”
“No. I only returned what once happened.”
“Who caused Ardi’s death?”
The woman pointed at Raka’s father.
Her index finger moved slowly, like she was pointing at a defendant in a courtroom.
“He knows.”
Raka’s father closed his eyes.
“Dad didn’t push Ardi.”
“But he saw it.”
“I saw someone else.”
“Who?”
His father looked at the red folder.
“You.”
Raka fell silent.
Naya took a step back.
The woman’s smile widened as she laughed.
“Now remember.”
The lights went out.
In the darkness, an old recording began to play from inside the trophy.
Children’s voices.
Applause.
Ardi screaming.
Then the voice of a little boy who sounded exactly like Raka.
“I want to win.”
Raka gripped the trophy.
“I never said that.”
His father whispered from the darkness.
“You weren’t the one who said it.”
The lights came back on.
The red folder on the archive table had opened.
Inside was a single sheet listing the winners.
First place: Ardi Pratama. Second place: Raka Aditya.
But both names had been crossed out with red lines.
Beneath them was a new name.
BAYU ADITYA.
Raka’s father stepped back.
The woman in the hospital jacket stood directly behind him.
“It’s time,” she said.
Raka’s father turned, but it was too late. The woman’s hand pierced his chest without drawing blood, then gripped something inside his body.
A small key.
Raka’s father fell to his knees.
Raka screamed and ran toward him.
Naya held him back.
“Don’t touch him!”
“He’s my father!”
“Look at his hand!”
Raka’s father raised his palm. The number 2 was carved into it, just like the burn mark.
The woman inserted the key into the trophy.
There was a click.
The base of the trophy opened, revealing a small compartment filled with ash and an old photograph.
The photograph showed the competition stage six years ago.
Ardi stood on the left.
Young Raka stood on the right.
And between them, holding the trophy, was Bayu Aditya.
On the back of the photograph was handwritten:
THE REAL WINNER MUST CHOOSE WHO WILL BE ERASED.
Raka stared at his father.
“Who did you choose?”
Bayu raised his face. Tears streamed down it, but no sound came from him.
The woman answered for him.
“The child who didn’t want to be the winner.”
Footsteps came from the hallway.
One.
Two.
Three.
Ardi appeared in the doorway. Blood ran from his temple, but his eyes were fixed on Raka.
“Now you know,” he said.
“What do I have to do?”
Ardi looked at the trophy.
“Don’t give it to me.”
“Then who do I give it to?”
Ardi pointed at Raka’s father.
“To the person who made you win.”
The woman tilted her head.
“Don’t listen to the loser.”
Raka tightened his grip on the trophy.
The number 1 on its surface began to crack.
From inside the crack came the voice of a little boy.
“I want to win.”
Raka recognized the voice.
It was his own.
And this time, he also remembered who had been standing beside him when the words were spoken.
Not his father.
Not his mother.
Ardi, with blood covering his face, holding Raka’s hand.
Ardi whispered:
“If you win, I’ll disappear.”
All the doors to the archives slammed shut at once.
Raka’s father vanished from the floor.
The woman in the hospital jacket disappeared along with her shadow.
Only Raka, Naya, Ardi, and the trophy remained, still pulsing.
New writing appeared on the wall behind them.
SECOND PLACE MUST CHOOSE.
Raka looked at Ardi.
“Choose what?”
Ardi smiled sadly.
“Who will die tonight.”