The bamboo training sword clattered to the ground, bouncing once before settling in the dust. Training today had been as brutal as ever, stretching until evening. But before Jaka could head home, he stood squarely in front of Ra Kuti.
"I need five days off," Jaka said.
Ra Kuti didn't move. He stared at the boy like he'd just spoken in bird language.
"…What did you just say?" His voice was low and dangerous, like distant thunder.
"I said I want to rest. Five days."
Silence.
Then Ra Kuti stepped forward, each step like a mountain shifting. "Five days. You want to rest? After all this time hammering your body into shape, now you want to lounge around like a pampered prince?"
"It's not to lounge," Jaka said quickly. "I want to learn."
"Learn? What? How to braid your hair like a noble lady?"
"Politics," Jaka said, firmly. "I want to study politics. Alliances. Court dynamics. The structures that hold this kingdom together."
Ra Kuti snorted so hard the leaves rustled. "Politics?!" He turned, grabbed a stick from the ground, and flung it so hard it impaled a training dummy through the eye socket. "This is warrior's ground! Not a place for tea-sipping lectures on marriage pacts!"
"I'm not asking to stop training," Jaka said, standing his ground. "I'm trying to become more than just a fighter."
Ra Kuti turned, fuming. "Explain."
Jaka took a breath. His voice was calm, not defiant, but steady—like someone speaking a truth that had waited long inside him.
"A warrior who only knows how to fight… is just a beast with a blade. I don't want to be that. What happens after the war ends? When the enemy is gone? Will I keep looking for one just to feel alive?"
Ra Kuti squinted, his frown twitching.
"I don't want to be a weapon that can't live in peace," Jaka continued. "If I don't learn how the world works, how people think, what they need… then I'm no better than a war dog. Useful in battle, lost in peace."
He looked the old man in the eye. "I want to be strong. But I also want to be wise. A warrior who doesn't need war to exist."
Ra Kuti's expression shifted—barely. A flicker in his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not anger. Something else.
"You surprise me," he muttered.
"I want to study under Princess Dyah Netarja," Jaka added. "She's respected, clever, and powerful. If I want to understand this kingdom, it starts with people like her."
Ra Kuti stared at him long and hard.
Then he spoke, slower now, voice tinged with curiosity. "You say things like a man older than me. Wise even."
Jaka didn't flinch. "Maybe I've lived as much as yours."
Ra Kuti tilted his head. "You're ten years old."
"Am I?" Jaka said with a quiet smile.
The wind passed between them, stirring the dust and the silence.
Ra Kuti let out a long breath, eyes still locked on the strange boy before him.
"You don't just want to be a warrior for wartime," he said slowly. "You want to be one even when the kingdom knows peace."
"Yes," Jaka said. "What good is power if I can't use it to help others live better lives?"
Ra Kuti rubbed his chin, grumbling. "Such clever thinking. Are you really ten, boy?"
Jaka just smiled again.
Ra Kuti sighed deeply, rubbing his chin. "Fine. Five days. You may study. But if you lose your edge—"
"I'll train twice as hard after."
"—and if you embarrass me with the Princess—"
Jaka snapped to attention. "Never!"
Ra Kuti's brow furrowed. He leaned in, voice dripping with exaggerated seriousness.
"I mean it. Embarrass me, and I'll send you back to the forest. Barefoot. In the rain. With a full-grown boar as your only companion. And that boar will probably have better manners than you."
Jaka blinked, wide-eyed. "Wait, a boar? But—"
But I'm the one who designed this world. Every forest is my playground. What a failed threat. But let's just go along.
"Shut up and don't make me regret this," Ra Kuti growled, turning away. "I'll introduce you to her tomorrow morning. Don't stare too long into her eyes. She'll gut you with her poems."
"Understood," Jaka said, saluting dramatically.
Ra Kuti grunted as he walked off. "And if you get yourself in trouble, don't come running to me. You're on your own."
"Got it! I'll just take notes on her devastating verbal attacks and practice dodging her insults like a true warrior!" Jaka called after him, grinning.
Ra Kuti paused, glaring over his shoulder. "You better not."
Jaka walked off, Ra Kuti remaining behind with arms crossed, watching the boy's back disappear beyond the training ground.
He'd thought Jaka a spirited brat. A quick learner with a sword, yes—but nothing more.
Now?
Now he wondered if he was witnessing something rare.
Not just a warrior.
But someone who could shape the world. And maybe—just maybe—someone who could go toe-to-toe with Princess Dyah Netarja's razor wit.
…Or so he believed.
Because as Jaka rounded the corner and vanished from sight, the boy let out a quiet sigh of relief and muttered:
"Whew. That worked."
Then he grinned.
"Five days of Intellect and Charisma farming. Finally. Physical stats are easy under Ra Kuti, but these two? Truly nightmarish grind."
With a light bounce in his step, he made his way toward the palace.
Let the grinding begin.
The next morning.
The Royalty Camp had its own rhythm—less shouting, more murmurs. No flying spears or warriors covered in mud. Just batik banners fluttering lazily and the faint scent of sandalwood clinging to the morning air.
Dyah Netarja leaned against one of the carved pavilion posts, sipping her ginger tea. Her batik cloth bore a deep divine motif—symbolic of unending struggle, though she wore it like it meant calm instead of chaos.
The crimson selendang draped over her shoulders fluttered slightly in the breeze. Her jet-black hair was tied elegantly, simple but precise.
She looked up when she heard Ra Kuti's footsteps—heavy, as always.
Beside him...
Ah, there he was. The boy from the river.
Dyah Netarja didn't flinch. She simply sipped her tea again, quietly watching them approach.
Ra Kuti gave a short bow. "Princess."
She nodded. "Morning, Ra Kuti. You've got that face again."
"What face?"
"The 'I-don't-want-to-do-this-but-he-won't-stop-bothering-me' face."
Jaka grinned. "That's my specialty."
Ra Kuti grunted. "He wants five days off training. Says he wants to study politics."
Dyah Netarja raised an eyebrow. "Politics? Really? Why?"
Jaka shrugged. "Well, I figured swinging a sword's not enough if I don't know why people fight."
Ra Kuti cut in. "He also said warriors without brains are just angry statues."
Jaka smirked. "Did I say that?"
"You said it with your face."
Dyah Netarja chuckled. "Sounds like something I'd say."
Ra Kuti folded his arms. "Told him I'd bring him to you. If he gets soft, it's his fault."
"Don't worry," she said smoothly, then her eyes met Jaka's—calm but sharp. "Hello, Jaka. We meet again."
Jaka scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, Your Highness. A day after you arrived."
Ra Kuti blinked. "You what?"
"We met by the river. I was spearfishing. We talked a bit and there was roasted fish involved."
Dyah Netarja smiled. "A very delicious one."
"What!?" Ra Kuti reeled.
"Oh, and I tried spearfishing too." added Dyah Netarja.
"You what!? Princess! You're royalty, you can't just—!"
"Every opportunity is a teacher, Ra Kuti. I'd be foolish to ignore that."
"Indeed," Jaka agreed, remembering his own training with spoons.
Ra Kuti looked between them like they'd grown extra heads. "Are you two making this up?"
"Nope," they said in unison.
Dyah Netarja studied Jaka again, her gaze lingering. Something stirred in her chest—nothing certain, just a quiet sense of familiarity.
Maybe even destiny.
Ra Kuti sighed. "I'm leaving before one of you starts reciting poetry."
"Bye, Master," Jaka called.
Once Ra Kuti was gone, Dyah Netarja turned to Jaka, voice dropping to something lighter. "So. You've come to learn. Sure you're ready for boring debates and dusty scrolls?"
"I like boring," he said. "It gives me time to think."
She gave him a look. "That's a dangerous habit."
"I've been called worse. Spoon-specialist, by you, Your Highness."
"Call me Iswari or Netarja. No need for politeness when no one's watching. I'll teach you—but if you fall asleep mid-lecture, be warned: I've perfected the art of weaponizing poetry."
He laughed. "And I'm still working on perfecting my spoon-combat techniques."
Dyah Netarja chuckled at Jaka's banter, then turned, motioning for him to follow. "Come on. I'll show you where we keep the maps and conspiracy theories."
Jaka followed with a bounce in his step. "So… second time we meet. No fish this time?"
"No promises," Dyah smirked. "But if you survive politics, maybe you can teach me proper spearfishing. And if I catch one, I'm naming it after you."
He chuckled. "Jaka the Master Spearfisher. Has a nice ring to it."
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting. "You remember that day too, huh?"
"Hard to forget a princess who eats roasted fishes and talks like she curses her own intellect for growing up too fast."
"…You noticed that?"
"I notice a lot of things," he said quietly.
Dyah Netarja didn't answer at once. But her smile returned—soft, thoughtful.
"I did too."