This was the first week since Alcel rented a simple rented room measuring three by four meters. For a junior high school student, living alone might sound scary, but for Alcel, this is actually very liberating.
That morning, the air still felt cool when Alcel locked the door to his rented house. He was wearing a neat white and blue uniform. A digital pocket camera hung around his neck—an object he never left behind.
He walked to school. Alcel always deliberately leaves early so he can walk leisurely while taking photos. He likes to photograph ordinary things that people often overlook; the shadow of an electric pole extending along the sidewalk, the remains of a puddle of rain water on the side of the road, or the shape of an iron fence neatly lined up.
His steps stopped in front of a narrow alley between two high-walled houses. Alcel liked the perspective line of the alley. The straight lines of the walls look symmetrical, ending in a small street behind it.
He raised his camera, aimed at the alley, then half-pressed the *shutter* button to find focus.
However, when the camera's LCD screen clarified the image, Alcel's eyes caught something wrong in the background of the photo. About fifteen meters into the alley, a man wearing a dull leather jacket was squatting next to a parked *automatic* motorbike. The man's hand appeared to be forcing a flat iron into the motorbike's keyhole.
Alcel looked at his camera screen calmly. It was clearly an attempted motorbike theft.
He pressed the *shutter* button all the way. *Click.* The snap didn't make a loud sound, and the thief was too busy with the key to notice the presence of a kid in a middle school uniform at the end of the alley.
Alcel lowered his camera. He was silent for a moment. If this were a scene from a superhero movie, he would probably scream or throw rocks to thwart the heist. But Alcel has common sense. Motorbike thieves usually carry sharp weapons. Reprimanding him directly was the same as giving away his life for free.
So, without changing his facial expression, Alcel turned around and walked away at a leisurely pace, as if he hadn't seen anything. He didn't panic at all. He just looked for the safest and most sensible way.
Two blocks away, near a crossroads, Alcel saw a police patrol car parked in front of a tent stall. Two police officers were sitting back enjoying coffee and hot fritters before starting their rush hour.
Alcel stepped towards the shop and stopped right next to their table. Without further ado, Alcel turned on his camera screen, enlarged the image (*zoom-in*) right onto the face of the man in the leather jacket, then placed the camera on the table, next to the plate of fried food.
The two policemen stopped their conversation, looked at the camera screen, then looked at Alcel with furrowed brows.
"Sir," called Alcel casually. "In the Kenari Alley in the front block, someone was breaking the key to their *matic* motorbike. The person was wearing a leather jacket."
After delivering his message, Alcel took his camera back. He gave a small nod as a sign of goodbye, then turned around again and continued his journey towards school as if he was just passing through.
The two policemen looked at each other for a moment, a little confused by the flat behavior of the junior high school student just now. However, because they saw the very clear photo evidence earlier, they immediately reacted quickly. The two of them put down their fritters, grabbed their service caps, and half-ran towards the patrol car.
For Alcel, his business is finished. He doesn't need to be a champion. He had handed the problem over to the adults who were paid to take care of it. His steps relaxed again, enjoying the morning as if nothing had happened.
***
The motorbike theft incident in Gang Kenari was the start of a new routine. A week passed, Alcel's existence began to be noticed by people around his school route. In their eyes, Alcel was a quiet middle school kid who was "everywhere with his camera."
Every morning when he passes the same intersection, Pak Budi—one of the patrol police—is usually standing near his car. As soon as he saw Alcel's tall figure, Pak Budi would raise his hand and greet him with a big smile.
"Morning, Cel! How's it going? There's another photo 'deposit' today?" teased Mr Budi.
Alcel stopped for a moment, shook his head slowly, then showed his camera screen which contained a photo of a cat sleeping on the fence. "Nothing, sir. Just taking a photo of the fence of this house," he answered calmly.
"Hahaha, that's all right. But because of your photo last week, the leather jacket thief was really caught, you know. Thank you, that's very helpful," said Mr Budi while patting Alcel on the shoulder.
Alcel gave a small nod and smiled a faint smile. After the formalities of greeting were finished, he turned around and continued his steps.
Not just the police, local residents are starting to memorize it. One afternoon on his way home from school, Alcel stopped to take photos of a grocery store. The arrangement of biscuit tins in the display case has a very neat geometry. When his camera lens was aimed there, his eyes caught something near the foot of the cashier's desk; a brown leather wallet fell out and was half hidden behind the cardboard.
Alcel came in, pointed at the wallet, and said simply, "Mom, the wallet fell over there."
The shop owner was shocked, thanked him many times, and hurriedly packed a bag of snacks and cold drinks. Alcel accepted it calmly. He gave a small smile as a form of courtesy before leaving. He took one bag of snacks home to his rented house. At least, he didn't have to think about side dishes for dinner.
Gradually, residents felt calm when they saw the junior high school student passing by with a camera.
"What else are you bringing today, Cel?" Mr. Budi asked when they passed him again a few days later, glancing at the plastic bag in Alcel's hand.
"The bread is torn, sir. I told you earlier that the keys to his motorbike were still hanging in the minimarket parking lot," answered Alcel casually.
Pak Budi laughed, shaking his head at Alcel's retreating back. "Unique child."
Local residents welcomed him warmly. However, at the same time, in a room far from the peaceful street, Alcel's amateur camera shots were being dissected by people who saw the world in a much darker way.
***
Cigarette smoke billowed thickly, filling the meeting room on the fourth floor of the City Police Headquarters. The room was soundproof, filled with five detectives whose faces all expressed acute fatigue. On the middle table, piles of files reporting on money laundering and illegal weapons distribution were scattered in disorder.
They are desperate. For the past six months, their operations had always hit a dead end.
"Their Blind Path is really neat," said Detective Surya, rubbing his rough face. "Every time we map the movement route of the syndicate's black van, the city CCTV in that area always happens to be damaged, hacked, or under repair. They have someone on the inside."
A young cyber analyst in the corner of the room cleared his throat, breaking the suffocating silence. He typed something on his laptop's *keyboard*, then connected it to the large projector screen on the wall.
"We might lose sight of the city's CCTV, sir," said the analyst. "But I found other eyes that were much cleaner. And this had absolutely nothing to do with the police."
On the projector screen, a photography blog page appeared. The design is very minimalist, with no owner's name, only a series of photos of city streets which are uploaded regularly every day.
"What is this? An art exhibition?" scolded one of the senior detectives.
"Pay attention to the metadata, sir," the analyst clicked on one of the photos of the old building. Artistically, the photo is ordinary. However, the analyst enlarges the image (*zoom-in*) to the bottom left corner, right at the reflection of the puddle on the edge of the asphalt.
In the reflection of the water, it was clear that a black van without a number plate was passing by.
"This photo was uploaded on Tuesday, fifteen minutes past sixteen. Exactly on the route and at the same time when the city CCTV in the area was turned off," explained the analyst. He then changed to another photo—a photo of a bus stop. This time he zoomed in on the rearview mirror of a motorbike parked near the bus stop. In the rearview mirror, the face of a man in a suit was reflected who was handing a backpack to someone in plain clothes.
The meeting room suddenly fell silent. Detective Surya stared at the screen with wide eyes.
"The camera resolution is extraordinarily sharp, and the shooting angles are consistently precise," continued the analyst. "The owner of this blog never deliberately took pictures of them. He just took pictures of the streets, asphalt, buildings, every day on the same route. But indirectly, he continuously documented the syndicate's Blind Path without being detected by anyone's radar."
"Who owns this blog?" Surya asked quickly, his voice sounded tense.
"The IP address points to a public network around a small rental on the outskirts of town. The owner..." The analyst swallowed hard. "A junior high school student."
Several detectives in the room cursed under their breath. That fact did not relieve them at all. Instead, a new horror crept up their throats.
"Listen, if we can trace this pattern and find the blog..." Surya broke the silence, his gaze never leaving the projector screen. "The IT expert from that bastard syndicate will definitely be able to find him sooner or later."
The detectives looked at each other. They all knew how cruel the syndicate they were dealing with was. If the syndicate had realized that their billions of rupiah worth of operations had been leaked because of a prank photo of a junior high school student, they would not have sent a warning letter. They will send an executor.
"This child walks over minefields every day without realizing it," muttered Surya quietly. "And we can't protect it officially without unmasking this investigation."
