There's Always a Reason

The days in Salatiga were calm again, but not for Arum.

For some reason, her thoughts began to stop at one point: Mas Dion.

At first it was just because her car often had problems.

Then because the workshop felt comfortable. Then because... Dion's thin smile that always appeared without being fake. And now, even when her car had no problems, Arum started... looking for excuses.

“Mas Dion,” said Arum one afternoon, pulling her car over in front of the repair shop.

Dion, who was washing the oil filter, turned his head, wiping his hands on his work pants as usual. “Can I help you, Miss Arum? What’s wrong with the car?”

Arum smiled awkwardly. "Um... I think... the steering wheel is a bit dragging. Or maybe it's just a feeling..."

Dion stared at Arum's car for a while, then approached and checked. Less than two minutes later, he stood back up.

“Still normal, Miss. Maybe the front tire is a little underinflated. I’ll add a little more.”

Arum nodded quickly.

Even though she knew... her steering wheel was fine.

Since that day, Arum began to appear more often. Sometimes in the morning when going to school, sometimes in the afternoon with the excuse of buying snacks from Bu Sri's stall but "happening to pass by" the repair shop.

Sometimes just delivering cookies. Sometimes bringing sweet tea. Sometimes just... sitting and chatting.

And Dion? As usual — relaxed, calm, and accepting without question. He kept his distance, polite and friendly, but never opened up too deeply.

“Mas Dion never told me about his family, huh?” Arum asked one afternoon, trying to dig slowly.

Dion just chuckled, took the screwdriver and went back to tidying up his shelves. “It’s no fun, Miss. My family is… far away.”

Arum stared at him silently. Not because Dion didn't answer, but because his answer... sounded like a wound that had long since hardened.

On the other hand, residents began to notice.

"Arum is a beautiful new teacher, why are you hanging out in the workshop?" whispered Mbak Yuni to Bu Sri.

"Signs of a soulmate cannot be predicted," Mrs. Sri answered with a meaningful smile.

But for Arum, it’s not about a soulmate — not yet.

It’s about curiosity. About a mysterious figure named Mas Dion, who hides a great light behind simple shadows.

And the more often he stopped by the workshop, the deeper his curiosity grew.

That day, Dion's workshop seemed to be closed early. The wooden door was half-slid, a "TEMPORARY HOLIDAY" sign was hung haphazardly, and there was no activity in the yard as usual.

But inside, the sound of work tools clanked softly.

Behind a gray plastic curtain that covers the back of the workshop, Dion is hunched over a shiny black classic car — a 1967 Chevrolet Impala , a rare model that would be impossible to drive on the streets of Salatiga without attracting attention.

The car was covered in dust when it arrived two nights ago, unloaded from the transport truck without much ado. The truck driver only said, “A request from an old acquaintance. He said, only Mas Dion can make this car run again.”

Dion didn't answer at that time. He just stared at the old car with a gaze that was... not just professional. There was nostalgia. There was honor.

Today is the fourth day he works in silence.

No assistants, no fancy diagnostic tools, no sound. Just him, a wounded classic car, and the memory of a past he wants to bury .

Dion's hands groped the underside of the engine, then reassembled the components with a combination of old techniques and cutting-edge modification approaches — something that wasn't even in any manual. He replaced the carburetor system with his own hybrid version, re-soldered the corroded electrical lines, and refined the cooling system like he was treating a work of art, not just a machine.

Nobody knows it, but that night, in the back room of a small workshop, something extraordinary happened.

With one turn of the key, the classic car starts to fire up .

It doesn’t just start up — the engine roars in a perfect low register. As smooth as a modern engine, as powerful as a street monster.

Dion looked at his work. He didn't smile proudly. He just nodded slightly.

"Not bad... for a hand that hasn't been used seriously for a long time," he muttered softly.

He turned off the engine and gently closed the hood. The car would be picked up in a few days, and would never be associated with this shop. As usual — no evidence, no trace.

However, what Dion didn't realize...

From the gap in the plastic curtain, someone was peeking secretly .

Arum, who came that afternoon carrying fried bread, accidentally saw the shiny classic car — and Dion working with the calm of a maestro.

He didn't come in. He didn't speak.

But in his heart, curiosity grew deeper.

Who exactly is Mas Dion?

And why does he hide his skills so well?

In a small town like Salatiga, word spreads faster than the wind. In no time, stories about the “great mechanic” in a suburban workshop began circulating — from shop to shop, from neighborhood WhatsApp groups to the ears of local rich people.

And one of those ears…

belongs to Aditya Mahardika .

The only child of a well-known property entrepreneur in Salatiga. He is only in his thirties, but his mouth is sharp, his style is arrogant, and his life is full of prestige.

"A village mechanic can fix classic cars? Huh!" Aditya laughed out loud in his own expensive cafe. "A small workshop in a narrow alley? That doesn't make sense."

He doesn’t like it when something — or someone — steals the public’s attention beyond his control. Especially when some of his friends started asking about Dion’s workshop, one of them even canceled a service at Aditya’s workshop to try the “magic workshop.”

"Insolent," he muttered angrily. "How dare you disturb my market."

So, that morning, Aditya showed up in front of Dion's workshop. His Japanese sports car — modified more for style than performance — came to a stop with a loud exhaust note that rattled the windows of neighboring shops.

Dion, who was preparing the tools to clean the carburetor, turned his head calmly.

From inside the car, Aditya came out wearing sunglasses and a half-sneering smile.

"This workshop... which is said to be great?" he asked sarcastically, his eyes sweeping over the dull walls, old shelves, and dusty floor.

"Good morning, sir," Dion answered calmly. "Anything I can help?"

Aditya laughed shortly. "You're the mechanic? Hmm... I thought it would be more... professional. At least there's a uniform, electronic equipment, a tuning computer..."

Dion just nodded. Didn't defend himself. Didn't respond to the belittling tone.

Aditya stepped in uninvited, his eyes still roaming with disgust. "I'm curious. How can a garage like this make people excited?"

Dion shrugged lightly. "I just help as much as I can, sir. Maybe people are compatible."

“Suitable?” Aditya snorted. “Or just because it’s cheap?”

He patted the hood of his sports car proudly. "If you can fix my car smoother than my own shop... then I will believe you are great."

Dion stared at the car for a moment. A typical racing machine, with lots of decoration but poor balance. Dion knew the problem just by hearing the sound of the engine.

But he didn't react.

He just said briefly, "Please park, sir. If you really want to check, I'll help you. But if you just want to compare... I don't entertain debates."

Aditya was silent for a moment. He didn't expect Dion's reply to be so calm — not arrogant, but firm. Then he smiled lopsidedly.

"You're brave, little mechanic."

And as Aditya walked away to “wait in the car”, several local residents who were passing by could only exchange glances.

This was the first time they had seen Mas Dion’s face… look serious.

The next day, Aditya came to Dion's workshop again — not alone, but with two of his friends and a cameraman from a small local media outlet that usually covered automotive community events. With a friendly attitude, he got out of his sports car while laughing loudly.

"Let's cover it, who knows, it might go viral!" he said while pointing to Dion's workshop which looked simple as usual.

Local residents began to arrive, curious. Some stopped at Bu Sri's stall, others pretended to pass by while watching from afar. Arum, who happened to be coming home from school, also pulled over, feeling that something was wrong.

Dion came out of the workshop, wearing a shabby shirt and oil-stained pants. He looked at Aditya's group calmly.

"Wow, our genius mechanic is out too!" Aditya exclaimed loudly. "Look, guys... this is the mechanic who can fix a classic car in one night!"

His friends burst out laughing. The cameraman raised his camera, recording the atmosphere as if this was morning entertainment.

Dion didn't speak. He just stared, didn't smile, didn't back down.

Aditya approached, then shouted louder so that the residents could hear.

"Salatiga is getting funnier. The workshop looks like a chicken coop, the mechanic looks like a vagrant, eh... he's said to be a hero. There are always people who believe him!"

Some residents chuckled — not because they agreed, but because they felt bad about arguing. But uncomfortable faces began to appear.

Arum stepped forward, standing beside Dion.

"Mr. Aditya, this is too much," she said firmly. "If you want to serve, go ahead. If you just want to show off and belittle, you better go home."

Aditya chuckled sarcastically. "Wow, defended by a beautiful teacher apparently... it's a good match. We both like acting in drama."

Dion finally spoke. Quietly. But his voice was firm, enough to silence everyone.

"Mr. Aditya. I'm not looking for fame, not looking for sensation. If you feel this workshop is small and unworthy, there's no need to come twice. But if you come again... maybe, secretly, you're admitting something."

Aditya was silent for a moment. His face turned red, not used to having his words turned on him.

“If you want me to check your car, go ahead. If not, please don’t disturb my work,” Dion continued calmly. “I’m working, not playing with the camera.”

The atmosphere was silent for a few seconds.

The cameraman lowered his camera slowly. The residents began to whisper to each other.

Arum looked at Dion with new admiration.

And Aditya... silently gritted his teeth. Behind his smile, his eyes held fire.

That day, everyone knew:

A new hostilities had begun.

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