The silence that fell over the apartment after his mother left his room was heavier than any textbook. It was a suffocating, absolute quiet, broken only by the frantic thumping of his own heart. The ultimatum hung in the air, invisible and sharp. Choose.
He sat at his desk for hours, staring at a page of differential equations. The numbers and symbols, usually so clear and comforting in their logic, swam before his eyes like meaningless squiggles. His mind, the disciplined engine that could solve any problem, had seized. There was no formula for this.
He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw two images. First, his mother's face, etched with fear and a fierce, protective love that felt like a cage. Then, the ghost of his father. He didn't remember much about him, just fragmented memories: the smell of liniment, a booming laugh that rarely came, and the endless, depressing sight of him on the sofa, staring at the television with dead eyes while a football match played to an empty room. His mother had told him the injury didn't just break his father's knee; it broke his spirit. The beautiful game had taken everything from him, and she would be damned if it took anything from her son.
The next day at school was a blur. Kai answered questions in class on autopilot, his voice a monotone echo of his usual self. He could feel Bima's concerned gaze on him from across the room.
At lunch, Bima cornered him by the water fountain, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a worried frown. "What's wrong, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Kai's laugh was hollow. "Something like that."
He couldn't hold it in. The story tumbled out in a quiet, defeated rush—the letter, the confrontation, the ultimatum. Bima listened, his face growing darker with every word.
"She can't do that!" Bima finally exploded, his voice low but furious. "It's your life, Kai! You're the best player we've ever had. We can't win the Cup without you!"
"It's not that simple, Bim," Kai said, rubbing his temples. "You didn't see her. She's terrified."
"So, what? You're just going to quit? The first match is tomorrow!"
The words hit Kai like a physical blow. Guilt, sharp and cold, twisted in his gut. He thought of his teammates, of Coach Budi, of the shared dream they had been working towards for three years.
He looked at his best friend, the captain who trusted him completely. "I can't," he said, the words tasting like ash. "I can't play tomorrow. I... I told her I'd stop."
The disappointment on Bima's face was worse than any anger. He just shook his head slowly, a mix of frustration and pity in his eyes. "She doesn't get it, Kai. For you, it's not just a game."
That afternoon, at four o'clock, Kai did not go to the football pitch. He went straight home. He sat in his sterile room, the door closed, and forced himself to open his physics textbook. The apartment was quiet. His mother was still at work.
But he couldn't study. He could feel the time ticking by. He knew his team was on the field, warming up. He could almost hear the pre-game shouts, the sharp blast of Coach Budi's whistle, the solid, satisfying thud of a ball being passed. Bima would be trying to rally them, trying to fill the gaping hole Kai had left in the center of their formation.
He was obeying his mother. He was choosing his future. But as he sat there, staring blankly at the laws of thermodynamics, Kai Anargya felt like he had just lost the most important match of his life.