Novels by Naravell

Chapter 15"They're selling forty-kilogram sacks of sugar for twenty thousand rupiahs less than us," Bu Endah said, slamming the ledger onto the wooden counter with enough force to rattle the glass display jars. Her weathered face was tight with frustration. "The rival shop from the next village brought a truckload in this morning. People are already lining up down the lane."Raka leaned against the shelf of canned sardines, his hand coming up to press briefly against his ribs as a dull, persistent ache flared in his side. He didn't look at the book. Beneath the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescent tube, his skin carried a faint, sallow undertone, the edges of his eyes tinged with a distinct yellowish cast that he disguised by keeping his gaze lowered."Let them line up," Raka said, his voice smooth and unhurried.Bu Endah stared at him, her eyebrows drawing together in disbelief. "Let them? Raka, we’ll lose half our weekly profit by tomorrow if we don’t match their price. How are

Chapter 14"Who are you, Raka?" Mbah Darmo asked, the blackened scrap trembling slightly between his calloused fingers.Raka kept his eyes shut, the cold bamboo post pressing hard against his skull. "Just a driver, Darmo. Put it in the stove.""A driver who writes out instructions for his personal savings before dawn while coughing up blood?" Mbah Darmo didn't move. He held the fragment closer to the dim glow of the embers. "That's not truck-driver business. That's executive business. The kind I see on the district office television when the conglomerates collapse."Before Raka could answer, a violent gust of wind slammed against the back wall of Toko Endah, followed immediately by a sharp, rhythmic drumming sound.Clatter-drop. Plip-plop."The low shed," Raka rasped, pushing himself up from the floor with a wince as a sharp stitch hit his side. "The new crates of cooking oil just arrived.""Stay down, boy," Mbah Darmo growled, but Raka was already staggering toward the back door, his

Chapter 13"Is this a joke, Bimo?"Wulan slammed her leather handbag onto the mahogany surface of the desk. Dust, thin and grey, kicked up into the sterile fluorescent light of the office.Bimo didn’t look up from his tablet, though his thumb swiped the screen with unnecessary force. "I don't have time for your theatrics, Wulan. I’m trying to reroute three shipping containers blocked at the port.""I am not talking about the port," Wulan snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the empty desk. "Look at this room. Where are his files? Where is his planner? Where are the logistics ledgers for the entire southern corridor?""Raka cleared them," Bimo said, his voice tight. "He’s trying to sabotage us. He probably uploaded them to a private cloud before he walked out.""He didn't have time to sabotage anything!" Wulan stepped closer, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "You had security escort him out within ten minutes of the board meeting. I watched them walk him to the e

Chapter 12"Close your eyes," Raka said."Why? If I keep them closed, how am I supposed to spot the weevils?" Ajeng complained, her small shoulders slumping as she leaned over the massive wooden rice bins of Toko Endah."Your eyes lie when you’re in a hurry," Raka replied, his voice a calm, steady anchor against the humid morning heat. "Your fingers don't. Close them."Ajeng let out a dramatic, winded sigh but shut her eyelids tight. "Fine. They’re closed. Now what?""Reach in. Grasp a handful from the first bin. Tell me what your skin feels."The young girl plunged her hand into the cool, dense mass of grain. She let the kernels slip through her fingers, her brow furrowing in deep concentration. "It’s rough. Sharp at the edges. Feels like tiny, cold pebbles.""That’s IR 64," Raka said, his tone patient, almost reverent. "It’s our standard local grade. High starch, quick to dry, but the outer shell is brittle. If the millers are careless with their rollers, the grain fractures. Now, m

Chapter 10"Close it," Bu Endah said, her voice dry as she leaned over the worn wooden counter. "If I look at those red lines for another minute, I’ll start seeing them in my sleep."Raka didn’t close the ledger. His finger, slightly pale at the knuckle, remained pressed against a row of uneven, hand-written figures. "Pak Joko owes three hundred and fifty thousand rupiah. Ibu Siti is at two hundred and eighty thousand. If you cut them off, Bu Endah, they don't eat.""And if I don't cut them off, my wholesale distributor cuts me off," Bu Endah snapped, though there was no real venom in her eyes, only the deep, dragging exhaustion of a village merchant trying to keep her head above water. "I run a grocery store, Raka. Not a cooperative. I can't pay my bills with neighborly goodwill.""You don't have to," Raka said softly. He pulled a cheap black ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket—the only tool he had kept from his old life—and drew a neat, vertical line down the margin of the page. "We

Chapter 10"Close it," Bu Endah said, her voice dry as she leaned over the worn wooden counter. "If I look at those red lines for another minute, I’ll start seeing them in my sleep."Raka didn’t close the ledger. His finger, slightly pale at the knuckle, remained pressed against a row of uneven, hand-written figures. "Pak Joko owes three hundred and fifty thousand rupiah. Ibu Siti is at two hundred and eighty thousand. If you cut them off, Bu Endah, they don't eat.""And if I don't cut them off, my wholesale distributor cuts me off," Bu Endah snapped, though there was no real venom in her eyes, only the deep, dragging exhaustion of a village merchant trying to keep her head above water. "I run a grocery store, Raka. Not a cooperative. I can't pay my bills with neighborly goodwill.""You don't have to," Raka said softly. He pulled a cheap black ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket—the only tool he had kept from his old life—and drew a neat, vertical line down the margin of the page. "We

The cool evening breeze swept across the deserted rooftop garden of the municipal hospital, rustling the leaves of the small potted palms. Below them, the city lights buzzed softly, but up here, under the quiet expanse of the night sky, it felt like an isolated sanctuary.​Gatot leaned against the waist-high concrete balustrade, looking out over the skyline. Silvia stood beside him, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her trench coat, her gaze fixed on his side profile.​"Yasmin is down there making sure your mother eats her dinner," Silvia said softly, breaking the silence. "She kept looking at me like I was a ghost."​Gatot let out a short, quiet chuckle. "Can you blame her? The most famous Rank-S hunter in the country was kissing her brother in a public ward."​A faint blush touched Silvia’s cheeks, but she didn't look away. Her expression grew serious as she stepped closer. "Gatot... down in that room, when you stepped out of that black rift... the aura coming off you wasn't

Seven days had felt like seven grueling years on Earth.​Inside Room 304 of the municipal hospital, the afternoon light was weak, filtered through drawn plastic blinds. Silvia sat in the stiff wooden chair beside Ibu Rahmi’s bed. She looked exhausted. The polished, untouchable mask of the Ice Queen was cracked around the edges; dark shadows bruised the skin beneath her pale blue eyes, and her tailored executive suit looked slightly worn.​Over the past week, she had barely slept. Between fending off the Hunter Association’s relentless inquiries about Jean’s disappearance and personally shielding Gatot’s family from rogue remnants of Jean’s underground syndicate, Silvia had been fighting a silent war on multiple fronts.​"Nona Silvia," Ibu Rahmi spoke softly, her fragile voice breaking the quiet hum of the heart monitor. "You look so tired, child. Please... go home and rest. Gatot will be back soon. I know my boy."​Silvia swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small, reassuring s

The air inside the Dimensional Prison Tower didn't smell of earth or sulfur; it reeked of ancient copper, ozone, and stagnant time. The sky above Floor 1 was a swirling vortex of pitch-black clouds and bruised purple light, illuminated only by towering obsidian monoliths that stretched endlessly into the void.​Gatot hit the cold stone floor, his boots skidding across the polished dark marble. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, his breathing heavy as the disorienting spatial energy faded.​Tring!​[Welcome to the Dimensional Prison Tower - Floor 1][Environment: The Astral Dungeon][Objective: Survive and Ascent.][Warning: Entities within this tower are convicts erased from historical records by the System.]​"Erased from history..." Gatot muttered, flexing his hands covered by Asura's Vow.​His Perception of 33 flared instantly. He didn't hear a monster's growl or the heavy thud of an approaching beast. Instead, he felt a calm, suffocating aura stepping out from behind one of

The private executive lounge on the top floor of the Ksatria Garuda skyscraper was quiet, bathed in the soft gold of the late afternoon sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Down below, the media circus surrounding Jean’s sudden disappearance was still in full swing, but inside, the heavy double doors kept the chaos at bay.​Silvia poured two glasses of iced water, her hands steady, though her eyes showed the strain of the day's political maneuverings. She walked across the plush carpet and handed one glass to Gatot, who was standing near the edge of the window, looking out over the city skyline.​"The board voted unanimously," Silvia said softy, standing beside him. The faint scent of frost magic and wild orchids lingered around her. "Jean’s assets are frozen. The official statement releases in an hour, framing his exit as a quiet retirement due to health concerns. No panic, no suspicion."​Gatot took the glass, his fingers briefly brushing against hers. "And my family?"

The private executive lounge on the top floor of the Ksatria Garuda skyscraper was quiet, bathed in the soft gold of the late afternoon sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Down below, the media circus surrounding Jean’s sudden disappearance was still in full swing, but inside, the heavy double doors kept the chaos at bay.Silvia poured two glasses of iced water, her hands steady, though her eyes showed the strain of the day's political maneuverings. She walked across the plush carpet and handed one glass to Gatot, who was standing near the edge of the window, looking out over the city skyline."The board voted unanimously," Silvia said softy, standing beside him. The faint scent of frost magic and wild orchids lingered around her. "Jean’s assets are frozen. The official statement releases in an hour, framing his exit as a quiet retirement due to health concerns. No panic, no suspicion."Gatot took the glass, his fingers briefly brushing against hers. "And my family?""Al

The ambient glow of a streetlamp flickered against the damp brick wall of a deserted alleyway as Gatot leaned back into the shadows. He pulled a black burner phone from his jacket pocket—one of the untraceable devices Gery had procured for him—and dialed a memorized number.It rang twice before a familiar, cool voice answered."Speaking," Silvia said, her tone cautious, backdrop noise hinting she was inside a private vehicle."The trash in the industrial district has been cleared," Gatot said flatly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Marcus and his three enforcers won't be returning to headquarters."There was a sharp, distinct intake of breath on the other end of the line. Even for someone as composed as Silvia, hearing that Jean’s top executioner—a feared Rank-S assassin—and three Rank-A veterans had been wiped out in a single evening was a massive pill to swallow."Marcus... is dead?" Silvia asked quietly, her fingers tightening around her phone. "All four of them?""They tried to