If heartbreak could be translated into numbers, Firman’s report card was the ultimate representation of his deepest wounds.

For most fifteen-year-olds, the final months of middle school were filled with chatter about teenage crushes, football matches, or plans to hang out after graduation exams. But to Firman, that loud outside world felt millions of miles away. After his last letter was returned from the post office stamped with absolute rejection, Firman locked the doors to his emotions tight. He channeled every ounce of energy, time, and remaining sorrow in his chest into a single outlet: the pages of his textbooks.

At his new school, Firman was known as a quiet, enigmatic, yet undeniable genius. He rarely spoke unless addressed, never took part in canteen gossip, and spent every break sitting in the quietest corner of the library.

"Man, doesn't your brain hurt? You've been reading calculus formulas non-stop from morning till night," Dimas remarked one evening in the orphanage study hall, holding his head in frustration over his physics assignment.

Firman, who was transcribing biology summaries under the glow of his white desk lamp, offered only a faint smile. "Books never lie, Dim. And more importantly... books never abandon us."

Dimas froze at those words. He knew there was a profound wound behind Firman’s calm exterior—a ghost from his past that had forced his best friend to grow up far too soon.

To Firman, every perfect score stamped on his exam papers was more than just a grade. It was a statement. Every time his pen traced a correct answer, he felt as though he were building a tall ladder to climb out of the abyss of shame where his mother had once discarded him. He wanted to prove to the world—and to the woman who threw him away—that the child labeled as a stain could shine brighter than anyone else.

Firman’s burning ambition finally met its true stage when the final semester exams and the selection for the National Science Olympiad were held.

That day, the school auditorium was packed with hundreds of anxious students awaiting the results of the general exams and the announcement of the school’s single representative for the prestigious competition. In the front rows sat children from wealthy families who attended expensive tutoring centers downtown. In the back rows sat Firman, dressed in a faded uniform that sat thin on his frame and cheap canvas shoes with soles wearing down to the tread.

The Principal stepped up to the podium with a microphone in hand, his face beaming with pride.

"Students," the Principal’s voice echoed through the loudspeakers, sending a wave of curious whispers through the hall, "this semester, our school has set a new record. One of our students managed to achieve a perfect score across nearly every national exam subject, breaking the highest score record in the history of this institution."

He paused, scanning the audience. "This student will also serve as our school's sole representative in next week's Provincial Mathematics Olympiad. Please give a round of applause for... Firman Aditya!"

In an instant, every head in the hall turned toward the back row. Thunderous applause shattered the silence. The very students who had once whispered sneers about his background as an orphan now stared at him in disbelief and open admiration.

Firman stood up. He walked forward with a straight back and his head held high, without a trace of the fear or hesitation that had defined his nine-year-old self. As he accepted the award certificate from the Principal, he looked straight into the camera lens taking his photo.

Look at me now, Firman whispered coldly in his heart. The child you called a curse and a stain stands at the top today.

Despite the academic success washing over his life, Firman never allowed pride to touch his heart. He remained the same compliant, respectful Firman at the orphanage.

That evening, Firman returned carrying a large silver trophy and a certificate of honor as the top overall student. The moment he stepped through the green iron gate, the children greeted him with loud cheers. Andra, now six years old, ran up and wrapped his arms tightly around Firman’s leg.

"Big Brother Firman is amazing! You won!" Andra squealed with joy.

Firman let out a soft chuckle, crouching down to scoop Andra into his arms. "This is all thanks to your prayers and everyone's support here."

Mrs. Rahma stepped out from her office, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at the trophy in Firman’s hands. She approached with trembling hands and pulled Firman into a warm, tight embrace.

"I am so proud of you, Firman... so profoundly proud," Mrs. Rahma whispered, her voice thick with emotion as happy tears traced down her weathered cheeks. "I always knew you could do it. This home is honored to have you."

Held in that embrace, the ice around Firman’s heart thawed briefly. He tightened his arms around Mrs. Rahma. In his heart, Firman realized one truth: even though his biological mother had shut her door on him, God had sent a guardian angel in the form of an orphanage director to protect his journey.

Yet behind his triumphant smile that night, Firman’s ambition did not stop there. This was merely the beginning. His eyes drifted toward the brochure of a top public university posted on the dormitory bulletin board. His target was locked.

Firman knew his next step was to secure a full scholarship for higher education, break into a respectable professional career, and ensure that no one in his future would ever look down on him again.