A Contract With The Devil in a Suit

"Ezra! Table seven needs extra ice!"

"Yeah, just a second!" Ezra called out loudly, raising his hand without even turning around. Both of his arms had been aching intensely since the afternoon. It was no surprise; he had just finished a grueling morning college shift and immediately rushed to the cafe where he worked without a single moment to catch his breath.

In the corner of the room, the espresso machine hissed relentlessly, competing with the chime of the front door bell that signaled a steady stream of new customers. The cafe was packed that night. Too packed. But Ezra didn't have the luxury to complain. With practiced agility, he grabbed a glass of ice, delivered it to table number seven, and hurried back behind the cashier's desk before another customer could call his name.

He glanced at the wall clock. 8:30 PM. There were still thirty minutes left before he could finally breathe a sigh of relief and go home.

Suddenly, the phone inside his apron pocket vibrated. Once. Twice. Thrice. Ezra ignored it. Usually, a barrage of messages like that was just online loan promotions or monthly bill reminders he didn't want to see. Nothing important.

Until the screen lit up again. This time, the sender's name on the display made Ezra freeze in his tracks.

Nusantara University Academic Administration.

Ezra’s heart felt as if it were being gently tugged, leaving a strange, dull ache behind. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress the sudden wave of anxiety creeping in, and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Later, he pleaded silently. He wasn't ready to read it right now.

The Unforgiving Numbers

At 9:00 PM, the cafe finally closed. Ezra collapsed onto a staff chair, completely exhausted. His legs throbbed with pain. Untying his apron, he reached for his phone. The screen, cracked in one corner, reflected the dim fluorescent lights of the cafe.

With bated breath, he opened the email. His eyes moved slowly, reading line after line of formal text, until his gaze locked onto a single row of numbers.

Outstanding Academic Tuition Balance: Rp15,000,000.

Ezra's hands froze. The figure seemed to materialize into an invisible entity, mocking his poverty. Fifteen million. Even if he worked himself to the bone every single day without a day off for months, that amount still felt impossible to reach.

He read the email again, and then once more. Hoping for a typo, or perhaps a miracle that would make the amount shrink if he stared at it long enough. But the numbers remained unchanged. Still fifteen million rupiah.

Ezra closed his eyes tightly, clutching his head, which suddenly felt crushed under a ton of weight. Outside the cafe window, a light rain began to fall, slicking the empty streets.

The Reality at Home

Their house stood at the end of a narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for a single motorcycle to pass through. The aging porch light flickered dimly as Ezra pushed open the rusted iron gate. The moment he unlocked the front door, a soft, dry cough greeted him from inside.

"Nino?" Ezra called out softly.

"I'm here, Kak."

An eleven-year-old boy emerged from behind a bedroom door, clutching a sketchbook. His face was pale and his eyes looked weary, yet he still managed a wide smile upon seeing his older brother home.

Ezra forced himself to return the smile as warmly as possible. "Have you taken your medicine?"

Nino nodded obediently. "Look, Kak. I drew a robot," he said proudly, showing off a piece of paper covered in colorful doodles. "I want to be a game developer when I grow up."

"Of course you will, you can definitely do it," Ezra replied gently, ruffling his brother's hair.

Nino laughed happily. However, that crisp laughter instantly made Ezra's chest tighten. A crushing sense of guilt weighed heavily on him because, in the deepest recesses of his heart, he didn't even know if he could secure his own future, let alone help his brother realize a dream.

At the dining table, his mother sat alone under a dim bulb. She was counting a few crumpled bills. One bill, two bills, three bills... Then, she let out a long, heavy sigh—a sigh that sounded profoundly exhausted. She tucked the money back into a wallet that had begun to peel at the edges.

Ezra stood frozen in the doorway. He didn't need to ask because he already knew the answer. Not enough. Once again, it wasn't enough for their needs this month.

A Trail of Rejections

The next morning, Ezra purposefully went to campus early. He walked straight to the administration building, clinging to the tiny shred of hope he had left. The campus corridors were still empty and cold.

Behind the counter, a middle-aged female clerk accepted the documents Ezra handed over with a blank expression.

"I would like to apply for an extension on my payment deadline, Bu," Ezra said, his voice trembling slightly.

The clerk didn't answer right away. Instead, she checked Ezra's data on her computer screen. A few seconds passed, feeling like agonizing hours, before she finally shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said curtly.

It was only two words, but they felt like a massive gavel slamming straight down on Ezra's head.

"I really just need a little more time, Bu. Please. I will definitely pay it," Ezra pleaded, his eyes filled with desperation.

"We have already granted you two dispensations, Ezra. The system will not allow any further access."

"Please, Bu... just this once."

The clerk sighed, seemingly reluctant to argue so early in the morning. "There is nothing more I can do. It is a central policy."

Ezra stood rigid in front of the desk for a long moment. His hands clenched tightly at his sides until his knuckles turned white. But ultimately, he turned around with heavy, dragging steps. There was no use forcing it or begging there. Rules were just rules—cold and unyielding.

That day seemed to mark the beginning of a chain of rejections that slapped him across the face repeatedly. He went to the student cooperative to apply for a loan, but was rejected because he wasn't an active member. He tried calling an uncle from his father's side, but the call was redirected to voicemail. Even when he messaged another relative who was relatively well-off, the message ended with nothing but two blue checkmarks. Read, but never answered.

That night, with the remnants of his dignity shattered, Ezra desperately downloaded an online loan application and filled out the form with shaking hands. Two hours later, a notification popped up on his screen: Your Application Has Been Denied.

Ezra let out a soft laugh. A bitter, hollow laugh that sounded more like a choked cry of despair trapped in his throat.

The Last Warning

The following days passed like a nightmare running in slow motion. Every morning he forced himself to focus on lectures, every afternoon he sweated it out at the cafe, and every night he stayed awake until dawn looking for any loophole to get money. His sleep was cut down to just a few hours, causing thick dark circles to frame his hollow eyes.

Yet, all his hard work felt futile. The money he managed to scrape together hadn't even reached one-tenth of the required amount.

One night, Ezra sat alone on a bus stop bench. A drizzle fell, creating a thin mist in the cold night air. He opened his mobile banking app, staring blankly at the numbers displayed on the screen.

Rp438,000.

Not even half a million rupiah. Ezra bowed his head as low as it could go, burying his face in his hands. The headlights of passing vehicles flashed rapidly in front of him, one by one, without a single one stopping. It was exactly like his life right now—moving forward cruelly, without caring whether he could keep up or not.

The sixth day. Ezra came home much later than usual. His body felt like a wet sponge soaked in water; heavy, exhausted, and empty.

However, that fatigue vanished instantly when he saw a crisp, white envelope lying on the dining table. His university's logo was printed clearly in the top left corner. Ezra's heart raced, pumping adrenaline that triggered a wave of nausea.

With trembling hands, he tore the envelope open. The sound of tearing paper echoed loudly and painfully in the quiet house. His eyes swept across the formal sentences written there, and slowly, all color drained from his face.

Final Warning Letter.

Payment deadline: Seven days. Failure to settle the outstanding balance will result in the revocation of the student's academic status.

Seven days. Only one week left.

His mother, who had just stepped out of the kitchen, stopped in her tracks upon seeing Ezra's expression. "What's wrong, Le?" she asked anxiously.

Ezra didn't answer immediately. His fingers crumpled the edges of the letter. "I have to pay for college within seven days, Bu," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

Instantly, a suffocating silence filled the room. In the living room, Nino, who was engrossed in coloring his robot, was completely unaware that his older brother's world was shattering into pieces.

An Unexpected Message

That night, Ezra couldn't close his eyes at all. He just lay flat on his back, staring at the moldy bedroom ceiling while listening to the rhythmic creak of the old fan. Occasionally, the roar of a motorcycle echoed from outside the alley.

His mind spun wildly in an endless loop, like a vicious cycle. Seven days. Seven days. Fifteen million. The more he tried to find a way out, the more impossible everything felt.

The next afternoon, after finishing his shift at the cafe, Ezra walked out with sluggish, dragging steps. The sky above had turned completely dark, and the remnants of rainwater puddled on the sidewalk.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrated. An incoming message from an unknown number. At first, Ezra intended to ignore it, assuming it was just spam. But driven by some inexplicable urge, his finger moved to open the message anyway.

There was only one short sentence:

I can solve all your problems.

Ezra furrowed his brow. A joke. Surely this is some new scam ring, he thought cynically.

His finger was just about to hit the delete button when a second message arrived from the same number.

Including that fifteen million rupiah tuition balance.

In that exact second, the blood supply to Ezra's face felt entirely drained. His body froze in the middle of the busy sidewalk. His eyes read the sentence over and over again, making sure he wasn't hallucinating from sleep deprivation.

How did this person know? Not many people knew about his financial troubles; even his own mother didn't know the exact figure in detail.

With a heart pounding so hard it felt painful in his chest, Ezra typed a reply with cold hands.

Who are you?

The checkmarks instantly changed color, indicating the message had been read. But there was no immediate answer. One minute passed. Two minutes. Three minutes. Ezra almost thought he was being played with before the phone finally vibrated once more.

Tomorrow night. 8:00 PM. Hotel Aruna. Suite 2701.

Ezra swallowed hard, his throat feeling completely dry. The tips of his fingers turned icy cold. A final message appeared a few seconds later, locking away any other options he had left in life.

Come if you want to remain a student.