PROJECT: HIGH COUNCIL

Main Characters

• Fakhri

  • Personality: Determined, rebellious, and fiercely justice-driven. Fakhri enters KUDRAT with a bold mission to tear down the oppressive High Council. However, as he plunges deeper into the school's power struggles, he battles his own internal demons and the gradual temptation of corruption.

• Kahar

  • Personality: Ruthless, charismatic, authoritative, and deeply insecure underneath. As the main antagonist and the formidable KAPLA, Kahar rules with an iron fist, driven by a desperate need to live up to his father's harsh expectations and maintain absolute control over the student body through fear.

• Naim / Nor Naim Firdaus Ismet

  • Personality: Strategic, conflicted, protective, and cynical. Fakhri’s older brother has adapted to survive the harsh realities of KUDRAT. He often walks a dangerous moral tightrope, putting him directly at odds with Fakhri’s radical crusade.

• Ayam

  • Personality: Soft-spoken, sensitive, empathetic, and fragile. Ayam stands in stark contrast to the aggressive, hyper-masculine culture of KUDRAT. His gentle nature makes him a tragic target within the school's punishing environment.

• Mia

  • Personality: Independent, compassionate, and grounded. As the canteen operator's daughter and Naim’s romantic interest, Mia provides an empathetic outsider's view into the toxic ecosystem of the school.

Supporting Characters

• Amirr

  • Personality: Loyal, observant, and deeply scarred. Naim's close confidant who carries the heavy psychological weight of the school's dark history.

• Prakash

  • Personality: Cautious, pragmatic, and level-headed. He tries to navigate the treacherous school dynamics safely while acting as a voice of reason for Fakhri.

• Ariz

  • Personality: Aggressive, hot-headed, and sadistic. A junior enforcer who takes pleasure in bullying weaker students and upholding the cruelest traditions of the senior hierarchy.

• Hakeem

  • Personality: Strict, duty-bound, and pragmatic. Serving as the KAPLA Interim, he tries to balance institutional order with the chaotic politics of the dorms.

• Jayden

  • Personality: Analytical, composed, and quietly observant of the school's shifting social power structures.

• Fahmi

  • Personality: Supportive and peer-oriented, caught up in the collective pressure of the student body.

• Zahrin

  • Personality: Conformist and easily swayed by the dominant factions within the dormitories.

• Black (played by Nik Rifaie)

  • Personality: Stoic, intimidating, and fiercely loyal to the senior faction's enforcement wing.

Authority Figures & Family

• Mr. Sin

  • Personality: Suspicious, strict, and stern. The school warden who tries to keep order, though much of the school's worst underground activities slip right past him.

• Puan Faniza

  • Personality: Perceptive, caring, and deeply concerned Form 4 English teacher who senses the profound distress among the students.

• Sir Yusof

  • Personality: Authoritative, uncompromising, and old-school. The principal of KUDRAT who maintains a reputation for strict institutional discipline.

• Dato' Abu Yamin

  • Personality: Demanding, cold, and imposing. Kahar’s strict father whose immense pressure heavily fuels Kahar's toxic need for absolute power.

The ceiling fans hummed weakly overhead, slicing through the sticky afternoon heat that swirled around Class 5-Alfa. Sunlight streamed through the dirty glass louvers, illuminating motes of chalk dust suspended in the air.

At the front of the room, the teacher’s desk stood empty. Puan Faniza had been called away to an emergency staff meeting with Sir Yusof twenty minutes ago, leaving behind a simple instruction: Finish page 42 of the English workbook in silence.

Instead, the moment her footsteps faded down the stairwell, the room belonged to the High Council.

Kahar stood at the front, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the black cord of his necklace. He tossed a heavy piece of chalk into the air, catching it lazily before turning his sharp, predator-like gaze onto the frightened Form 4 juniors sitting in the middle rows. Beside him, Ariz leaned against the whiteboard, arms crossed, a cruel, mocking smirk playing on his lips.

"Look at them, Kahar," Ariz sneered, kicking the corner of a nearby desk. "Working so hard. You think Puan Faniza is gonna give you a medal? You think good grades mean anything when you're crying in the shower block at 2:00 AM?"

A few Form 4 students flinched, keeping their heads pressed low against their workbooks, their knuckles white as they gripped their pens. Among them sat Prakash, his breath steady but his eyes darting cautiously toward the back door.

At the very rear of the classroom, Fakhri leaned back in his chair, his feet resting casually on the metal frame of the desk ahead of him. His eyes were cold, tracking Kahar’s every movement.

Right next to him, Naim stood by the louvers, his arms folded across his chest, staring out at the courtyard while keeping a vigilant ear out for the warden, Mr. Sin.

"Hey! Little rat," Kahar roared suddenly, pointing the piece of chalk straight at a small, trembling Form 4 student sitting near the window—Ayam. Ayam froze, his heart pounding against his ribs. "Y-yes, Bang Kahar?"

"Stand up," Kahar commanded, his voice dripping with smooth, terrifying authority.

Ayam scrambled to his feet, his knees knocking against the underside of his desk, sending his pencil rolling onto the linoleum floor with a sharp, clattering echo. "I... I was just doing the homework, bang."

"Did I ask you what you were doing?" Kahar stepped closer, invading Ayam's space until he was inches from the younger boy's face. He reached out, slowly adjusting the collar of Ayam's uniform with terrifying calm. "I asked if you remembered the rules of KUDRAT. When a senior speaks, you don't look at your book. You look at him. Or did your batch forget who keeps this school running when the teachers go home?"

Ariz chuckled from the side. "Maybe he needs a little refresher tonight at the court, Kapla." Ayam swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "No, bang. I'm sorry. I remember."

"Leave him alone, Kahar," Fakhri’s voice sliced through the heavy air, flat and sharp as a blade. The entire classroom went dead silent. Even the soft scraping of pens ceased. Ariz stopped smirking, turning his head toward the back row in shock.

Kahar slowly turned around, his eyes locking onto Fakhri. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face as he took a few deliberate steps down the center aisle, stopping right beside Fakhri's desk.

"What did you say, Fakhri?" Kahar asked quietly, leaning in. "Did I hear you talking back to the Kapla?"

Fakhri didn't flinch. He slowly dropped his feet from the desk, leaning forward so his face was inches from Kahar's. "I said leave him alone. You want to flex your power? Do it on someone who can actually hit back."

"Fakhri, shut up," Naim warned sharply from the back corner, his voice low and tense. Naim stepped forward, placing himself between the two boys, his eyes scanning Fakhri with warning. "Don't start this here."

"Stay out of this, Naim!" Kahar snapped, his eyes never leaving Fakhri. "Your little brother thinks because he survived one round with the seniors, he owns this school now."

"I don't own the school," Fakhri said, his jaw tightening as he stood up, towering over his chair. "I just don't take orders from a bully who hides behind a title."

Ariz stepped forward aggressively, "Watch your mouth, Fakhri!"

"You watch yours, Ariz!" Prakash suddenly barked from his seat, standing up to back Fakhri, though his hands trembled slightly at his sides. The room was a powder keg, the air thick with tension as the line between the High Council and the rebels was drawn right down the middle of Class 5-Alfa. Kahar raised his hand, stopping Ariz from stepping in, his grin darkening into pure malice.

"You think you're a hero, Fakhri?" Kahar whispered sinisterly. "Let's see how brave you are when the sun goes down."

Before Fakhri could respond, Naim's hand shot out, gripping the edge of the window frame as he caught sight of a white shirt crossing the courtyard below.

"Heads up!" Naim called out sharply, his voice commanding instant obedience. "Mr. Sin is at the bottom of the block. Ten seconds."

The spell snapped instantly.

Kahar held Fakhri’s gaze for one last agonizing second before turning on his heel and gliding smoothly back to his seat near the front. Ariz quickly ducked into his chair, pulling his English textbook open. Ayam sank back into his desk, letting out a shaky, desperate breath as he pulled his knees to his chest.

Fakhri slowly sat down, his heart racing with adrenaline, his fists clenched tight under the wooden desk. Next to him, Naim slid into his seat, leaning over slightly toward his brother.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Naim muttered under his breath, keeping his eyes glued to the blackboard. "This isn't a game, Fakhri." "It's not a game," Fakhri whispered back, his gaze fixed on the back of Kahar's head. "It's a war."

Heavy leather shoes clacked down the hallway outside. A moment later, the door creaked open, and Mr. Sin peered inside, his stern eyes sweeping over the quiet classroom. Every single student sat straight, pens moving across paper in flawless, silent discipline.

Satisfied, the warden grunted and closed the door, his footsteps fading back down the hall. But in Class 5-Alfa, beneath the quiet facade of hardworking students, the battle lines for control of KUDRAT had officially been drawn.

In the shadowy corridors of Ungku Deramat College, power does not belong to the teachers, nor is it granted by the school principal. It is seized, forged, and maintained by the High Council—a ruthless, underground student organization that governs the school's hierarchy through strict tradition, psychological dominance, and brutal physical discipline. Born out of decades of institutional neglect and the intense pressure of boarding school life, the Council acts as the ultimate law.

Every batch of students has its representatives, but only the strongest and most cunning rise to the top as the Council's elite leaders.

They enforce order through fear, managing everything from internal squabbles to protection rackets, all while maintaining a facade of model students in front of the faculty. Breaking the Council's unspoken rules—whether by snitching to authorities, showing disrespect to seniors, or challenging the established order—invites swift, violent retribution during the dreaded "spotcheck" sessions in the quiet hours of midnight. To the younger students, the High Council is both a terrifying tyranny and an inescapable necessity; to survive in Ungku Deramat, one must either submit to their doctrine or possess the dangerous ambition to burn it all down. Class 5-Alfa: Unsupervised Territory

The afternoon heat hung thick in Class 5-Alfa, heavy with the scent of floor wax, chalk dust, and the lingering humidity of an impending monsoon storm.

Outside, the droning hum of the ceiling fans did little to stir the stagnant air, merely slicing through the oppressive quiet of the second-floor wing. Puan Rosnah had been called away to an urgent staff meeting twenty minutes ago, leaving the class with a casual warning to maintain silence and finish their History workbook exercises. The moment her heels clacked down the far end of the staircase, however, the fragile illusion of discipline vaporized into thin air.

At the front of the classroom, Fakhri leaned back in his chair, resting his canvas sneakers on the wooden frame of the teacher's desk. His eyes were cold, calculating every movement in the room as he tossed a chipped piece of chalk between his knuckles with practiced rhythmic precision.

Nearby, Kahar strolled along the narrow aisles, his school uniform unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the edge of a woven cord necklace, his gaze sharp enough to pin anyone who dared make eye contact.

The air in 5-Alfa was charged, crackling with an unspoken tension; everyone knew that when a teacher left the room, the state’s laws vanished, and the High Council took over the floor.

"Look at all of you, head down, acting like hardworking little angels the second Puan Rosnah turns her back," Kahar sneered, his voice dropping an octave as he stopped beside a trembling student's desk, casually knocking a pencil case off the edge onto the floor with a loud clatter. "You think cramming dates from a history book makes you tough? You think it earns you a place in this school? Out there, beyond these gates, nobody gives a damn about your SPM grades. You survive because someone lets you survive—remember that."

"Ease up, Kahar," Fakhri interjected, his voice quiet yet carrying an undeniable weight that brought an instant hush over the rowdy back corner of the room. He didn't raise his eyes, merely catching the chalk mid-air and gripping it tightly until it crumbled into fine white dust. "Save the speech for the midnight court. We’re not here to preach; we’re here to make sure everyone understands how things run when the authority isn't looking. Isn't that right, Naim?"

Naim, who had been leaning against the glass louvers near the back door watching the courtyard for any sign of returning prefects or teachers, turned slowly toward the group. A faint, cynical smirk played on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Teachers come and go every forty-five minutes, Fakhri. They think they own these desks, these blackboards, this whole damn compound. But the moment they step out to get their morning tea, who’s actually holding the leash? The Council doesn't need a timetable or a staff room. We are the ones who decide whether this room stays quiet or turns into chaos."

A tense silence washed over the classroom, heavy and suffocating. A few students quietly packed their notebooks away, carefully avoiding any sudden movements that might draw the attention of the senior leaders standing among them. Every rustle of paper, every creak of a wooden chair felt amplified under the watchful eyes of the Council members. Out in the hallway, the distant sound of footfalls resonated against the concrete tiles, prompting Naim to glance back through the window slats before offering a subtle nod toward the front of the room.

"Teacher's coming up the stairs," Naim announced calmly, stepping smoothly back toward his assigned desk as if he had been standing there studying the whole time.

Fakhri swung his feet off Puan Rosnah's desk with effortless grace, brushing a layer of chalk powder off his palms as he slouched back into his chair with an indifferent expression. Kahar merely kicked the fallen pencil case back toward its owner with a low chuckle, slicking his hair back with one hand before leaning against the side wall. Within seconds, Class 5-Alfa transformed back into a picture of perfect, dutiful silence, books opened and pens in hand—yet beneath the placid surface, the dark, invisible grip of the High Council remained absolute.