The sound of the coffee machine broke the stillness of the early morning at SM Putra’s administration office.

It was too early for visitors.

Too early for teachers.

Too early for anything that required effort.

___

For a moment, the noise felt out of place—like something wasn’t supposed to be there.

It would have been absurd to imagine a thief making coffee.

Or a mouse clever enough to press the buttons.

__

But it wasn’t either.

__

A tall, lanky man stood by the machine.

Tanned skin. Salt and pepper on his sideburns.

A purple short-sleeved batik rested loosely on his frame.

The horizon outside was still tinted blue.

He had turned on the lights himself.

“One Americano should wake me up,” he murmured, selecting a pod.

___

Beside the machine sat a small container.

Inside—

a garlic bun.

Homemade.

He had made it the night before.

He always did.

___

The door creaked open.

___

Syarah stepped in.

She paused almost immediately.

___

“I knew it, boss.”

Her eyes didn’t go to him.

They went to the bun.

___

“It’s not you who greets me every morning,” she said flatly.

“It’s the garlic.”

A small beat passed.

“At this rate, our office will be free of vampires.”

___

Megat didn’t respond.

He took a sip of his coffee instead.

As if the comment required no defence.

The room settled into its usual rhythm.

Quiet.

Predictable.

___               

But something about the morning—

felt like it was about to shift.

___

A Mini Cooper eased into the school compound, sliding into the same spot as always.

Inside, Nazha paused.

A sandwich rested between her teeth.

___

She leaned back slightly.

Closed her eyes.

One breath in.

Then out.

Her way of steadying the day—

before it began.

She opened the door and stepped out.

___

After she punched in, Megat stepped out of his office.

His eyes landed on Nazha almost immediately.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—held back, barely.

The sandwich was still in her hand.

Again.

___

Syarah didn’t even look up from her tablet.

“A chicken ham sandwich meets the garlic bun,” she said flatly.

Deadpan.

___

Megat let out a quiet exhale through his nose.

Not quite a laugh.

But close enough.

“Still the same,” Megat murmured under his breath.

___

Megat stepped closer, coffee still in hand.

His eyes lingered briefly on the sandwich.

“Gate duty,” he said.

A slight tilt of his head.

“Come with me.”

A pause.

“You should experience it while you can.”

Then, almost casually—

“Consider it a free pass.”

Nazha bit into her sandwich, thinking for a second.

Then she nodded.

“Alright.”

Megat turned without another word.

As if the answer had already been expected.

The gates opened wider.

Students began to flow in.

And just like that—

The day began.

___

She stood still at first.

Composed.

Stoic.

___

“Good morning, teacher!”

A boy waved as he passed.

Nazha looked at him for a beat.

Then—

She nodded.

“Good morning.”

A pause.

Then—

a small smile.

___

Another group passed.

“Teacher Nazha, early today!”

She turned slightly.

“I am always early.”

Light. Almost casual.

From the side corridor, Megat stood still.

Watching.

___

His gaze lingered.

Not on the students.

On her.

This version—

was not in his records.

___

He took out his phone.

Typed once.

Observation Note — Nazha

Baseline deviation detected in the student-facing context.
Increased verbal engagement and emotional accessibility.

___

He paused.

Then added—

Requires monitoring.

__

He lowered the phone.

Looked at her again.

__

Nazha was still smiling.

As if it had always been there.

Megat did not look away.

___

This version felt like her—
just written in a different font.

But why Nazha?

___

A Form One boy walked past them, his necktie hanging awkwardly, almost dragging attention away from his small frame.

Megat stepped forward and gently stopped him.

“Wait.”

The boy froze immediately.

Megat reached out, straightening the tie with practised ease, adjusting the knot until it sat properly against the collar.

“There,” he said simply.

“Better.”

The boy nodded quickly, a little embarrassed but grateful.

“Thank you, sir.”

He hurried off, rejoining the flow of students.

Megat stayed still for a moment longer, eyes following the boy into the crowd.

Then he returned to his place at the side of the gate—quiet, observant.

And his attention drifted back to Nazha.

___

It was almost 7:00 a.m. when a group of girls arrived, uniforms slightly dishevelled.

No emblems. No name tags.

Megat stepped forward.

“Where is your emblem?” His voice was firm.

The girls froze.

One of them lowered her gaze.

“Not yet, sir…”

Mid-March.

Still not resolved.

___

Megat’s expression hardened.

“What a disgrace as a student.”

The air tightened.

Before the silence could settle too long—

Nazha spoke.

Light. Almost too light.

“They’re late on fabric supply, not character development.”

A pause.

Megat glanced at her.

Just once.

The girls slipped away quickly.

Nazha didn’t look at them anymore.

But her tone—

had already changed the air.

___

Nazha realised it immediately.

Too fast. Too sharp.

___

Her eyes darted to Megat.

Waiting for impact.

Waiting for correction.

___

Her fingers tightened into a fist at her side.

A small attempt at control.

As if the body could prepare for the words that hadn’t come yet.

___

But Megat didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t correct her.

___

Only watched.

Quietly.

As if he was listening to something she hadn’t said out loud.

Then he finally said,

“Don’t explain for them.”

A pause.

“Explain it when you’re right.”

___

Nazha’s fingers tightened.

Too tight.

Her words still hung in the air—too quick, too sharp.

And now, silence.

___

Her mind filled the gap immediately.

Disappointment.

That was what she expected.

From him.

From Megat.

From the space she had interrupted.

___

Her throat locked.

Her gaze dropped for a fraction of a second.

Just enough to hide the thought forming behind it.

___

Megat saw it.

Not the mistake.

Not even the impulse.

But the assumption behind her silence.

___

The silence stretched.

Then—

His voice came, steady.

Not cold. Not warm.

Just certain.

___

“I’m not disappointed.”

A pause.

“You’re just ahead of your own control.”

__

He held her gaze.

Not pressing it.

Just anchoring it.

__

And for a moment—

Nazha stopped bracing.

__

Nazha returned to Bilik Sahsiah.

Faizal was already there.

Out of his supervisor's mask.

Relaxed posture. Half-written speaking template on the table—something about Kanshin Inferno characters scattered across his notes.

“Oh, hey, Nazha, I was about—”

He paused.

Leaning slightly forward.

“Wait… why are your eyes red?”

___

The question landed gently.

Too gentle to ignore.

__

She answered softly,

“I thought I messed up with the principal this morning… when we halted a group of girls during gate duty.”

Her lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like something she was trying to hold together.

___

Then she straightened.

The softness folded back in.

__

Her expression reset.

Composed. Firm.

Nazha again.

___

“It was nothing,” she added, voice steadier now.

“As a teacher, I should’ve been more careful with my wording.”

Faizal let out a small laugh—more a release than mockery.

“Ah…”

He leaned back slightly, tapping the edge of his notes.

“So that’s what’s been sitting in your head.”

___

His eyes softened a little.

“But hey—” he gestured lightly, as if brushing the moment aside, “that’s learning.”

A pause.

“You didn’t mess up the principal.”

Another beat.

“You just met a situation before your confidence caught up.”

___

He tilted his head slightly, then added, almost casually,

“Megat is like that.”

___

A faint grin.

“He looks strict from a distance… but he’s not waiting to punish you.”

“He’s watching how you recover.”

___

Faizal closed his notes, still half-smiling from earlier.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, as if continuing an unfinished thought.

A pause.

“And don’t carry Megat’s silence like it’s punishment.”

He tapped the table lightly.

“Go meet Hamizah and Isaac later. Syarah reminded you already, right?”

A casual glance.

“That’s part of your practicum, too. Not just classrooms.”

___

Nazha found Isaac in the Science Laboratory.

He looked like he belonged to two worlds at once—the science lab and the computer lab. Thick-rimmed square glasses. Braces that slightly softened his seriousness. The kind of teacher who could have drifted into computer science easily, but stayed with pure science instead.

He was arranging the apparatus when she arrived.

“Oh, Nazha, right? Faizal mentioned you’d come.”

She nodded lightly.

Her gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary—not on him, but on the way he organised things. Systematic. Structured. Repeatable.

He could be useful for PENDULUM.

The thought slipped in quietly.

Not loud.

Not spoken.

Just noted.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her folder.

PPDKB One-Stop Centre was built from scratch… but that was still raw work.

___

Isaac adjusted his glasses, unaware of the evaluation unfolding before him.

“So, what do you need from me?”

Nazha pulled out a list. I need the analysis for PPT, PASA, and UASA from 2022 to 2025.

Isaac blinked once, then nodded slowly.

“That’s… quite a range.”

He turned toward his desk.

“Give me a moment. I’ll pull what I can from the internal records.”

---

Isaac opened his laptop, typing quickly.

A few clicks later, he looked up.

“They’re in Google Drive. I’ll send you the link.”

Nazha nodded once, already preparing to log it into PENDULUM.

Isaac leaned back slightly, studying her.

“You look like someone who’s handled data entry before… even though you teach English.”

A light remark.

Half observation. Half curiosity.

___

Nazha took it as a compliment.

“I developed a skillset in data entry years ago,” she said simply.

Isaac nodded slowly, as if that explained more than it revealed.

“Ah… that makes sense then.”

He didn’t press further.

Just saved the Drive link and turned the laptop slightly toward her.

“Here. You should be able to access everything from here.”

But for a moment, his eyes lingered—not questioning, just registering that her “years ago” carried more weight than the sentence itself allowed to show.

___

Nazha continued to the Textbook Vault.

Hamizah was already there.

The keeper of SPM and trial examination analysis files—surrounded by neatly stacked documents and colour-coded folders. Yet the room refused to feel sterile. Pink ornaments lined the shelves, softening the otherwise administrative space.

Even the labels were carefully aligned to comply with EKSA standards.

Hamizah looked up the moment Nazha stepped in.

“Oh, you’re Isaac’s follow-up, right?”

___

Hamizah scanned the list Nazha handed over.

Her brows lifted slightly.

___

“You’re a practicum teacher?”

A pause.

“This doesn’t look like practicum-level work.”

She flipped a page, nodding to herself.

___

“You’re asking the right data. And in the right range.”

A faint smile.

“Most trainees don’t even know where to start.”

___

Nazha gave a small nod.

“Thank you.”

__

Her fingers adjusted the edge of the file—once, then still.

Not practicum-level.

The phrase settled somewhere deeper than it should have.

Familiar.

Uncomfortably so.

__

Not new.

Just… not supposed to be here.

___

She exhaled quietly.

Barely noticeable.

___

Meanwhile, at the administration block, Syarah stood beside Megat’s desk.

PENDULUM was open.

___

Sections shifted.

Not randomly.

Deliberately.

___

A tab renamed itself.

Another is nested under it.

Colour tags aligned—too quickly to be trial and error.

___

Syarah narrowed her eyes slightly.

“She didn’t explore this,” she said.

A pause.

“She arranged it.”

___

Megat said nothing.

___

A new section appeared.

Not added—

restored.

___

For a brief second, the structure felt older than the system itself.

Like something that had existed— before this version.

___

Syarah exhaled quietly.

“Nazha is… efficient.”

A beat.

“Beyond what a classroom trainee usually handles.”

___

Another refresh.

Clean. Precise.

Already decided.

___

“I’m wondering,” she added,

“Is she always this competent… or just highly adaptable?”

___

Megat’s gaze didn’t move.

___

“Adaptability searches,” he said.

“Competence remembers.”

___

A pause.

___

“And this doesn’t look like searching.”

___

PENDULUM

The screen refreshed.

A new dataset appeared.

Academic Records → Internal Assessments

Nazha selected the first file from Isaac’s Drive. 2022

PPT.

__

Upload.

___

The progress bar moved—brief, steady.

Then settled.

___

The table populated itself.

Rows. Names. Scores.

Unfiltered.

___

Nazha didn’t scroll.

She reorganised.

___

Columns shifted.

Subjects grouped.

Outliers isolated.

___

Then—

She added a tag.

___

PPT 2022
Tag: Baseline Pattern

Syarah leaned slightly closer to the screen.

“She started in 2022.”

___

Megat didn’t look away.

___

“Baseline first,” he said.

___

Syarah folded her arms, still looking at the entries.

“She misinterpreted your words this morning.”

 “She thought you were scolding her.”

___

 A glance toward Megat.

___

 “I saw her on the way to Bilik Sahsiah after gate duty.”

Another beat.

“She was already bracing for correction.”

___

Megat didn’t respond immediately.

“She’s reading authority too tightly,” Syarah added.

___

Megat exhaled quietly.

Then, almost under his breath—

“Should’ve skipped the garlic bun.”

___

Syarah glanced at him.

___

“You and that bread,” she said flatly.

___

He didn’t deny it.

“Too early,” he added.

“Comes out harsher than intended.”

___

A faint beat of silence.

Not quite humour.

Not quite an apology.

___

 “I didn’t correct her,” he said finally.

Not as justification.

Just a fact.

___

Syarah exhaled softly.

“Even when you didn’t say anything… she filled in the silence herself.”

___

“Silence isn’t empty,” he said.

“It gets interpreted.”

__

Megat updated his note.

Observation Note — Nazha

Subject consistently interprets non-verbal authority as corrective intent.
Incident during gate duty confirmed by secondary witness (Syarah).

___

Response is not resistance-based, but assumption-based.

___

Silence from authority figure is internalised as instruction or reprimand, affecting emotional stability in supervision contexts.

___

Linked behaviour observed in PENDULUM system interaction.
High procedural competence paired with anticipatory emotional correction.

___

A recurring pattern is noted.
Not new. Not unfamiliar.
Just… misplaced.

___

Gate duty.
The silence.
Her immediate response was to fill it.

___

Conclusion:
No correction required in action.
Only in interpretation of authority.

___

He locked the phone.

And did not look back.