The scent of lavender air freshener mixed with the metallic stench of dried blood was the worst combination Elian’s nose had ever encountered. The Grand Menteng Hotel, which was supposed to be a luxurious resting place for officials and businessmen, looked more like a five-star dumpster this morning. Elian sat on a red velvet sofa in the Presidential Suite, staring blankly at the marble table in front of him. On that table, instead of an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, there was a pile of instant coffee packets, a few bags of *kacang atom* (crispy coated peanuts) from the minibar, and two dented cans of sardines. "Seriously, this is all we have?" Elian asked, his tone flat but cutting. Pak Hendra, who stood across the table holding a clipboard (now taped up in three places because it was cracked), nodded wearily. The middle-aged man looked five years older than he had yesterday. "Morning audi

Two o'clock in the morning. The time when normal people sleep, ghosts wander, and a convenience store manager stuck in the apocalypse does something stupid. Elian stood on the balcony of the Presidential Suite on the 8th floor. The Jakarta night wind slapped his face, carrying the metallic smell from the flooded hotel lobby below. He tightened the laces of his boots (looted from a hotel guest who was now a corpse), then rechecked his gear. One conductive iron pipe.Two kitchen knives tucked into his waist.One roll of emergency bandage in his jacket pocket.And zero common sense. "3,800 XP," Elian whispered to himself. "That’s equivalent to a hundred regular *Hollows* or ten *Elites*. I’m not going to get that much by sitting in my room snacking on sardines." He glanced back inside the room. The Panic Room door was still tightly shut. Agus was still sleeping. On the s

8:00 AM. 7th Floor Emergency Stair Barricade. Rico stood behind the stack of tables and chairs blocking stair access, holding a fiber broom with a white cloth tied to the end, a former pillowcase. He waved the "white flag" through the barricade gap toward the darkness of the 6th-floor stairs. "Hey! Residents of the lower floor! Package delivery!" Rico yelled, his voice echoing in the concrete hallway. Silence for a moment. Then, the sound of heavy footsteps. Jono, the dragon-tattooed Enforcer, emerged from the shadows. In his hand was a homemade pistol, its muzzle ugly but deadly. "What are you doing, Clown?" Jono growled, pointing the pistol at Rico’s face. Rico swallowed hard, but his grin remained fixed. "Relax, Big Shot. I’m just the courier. My boss, Mr. Elian, invites your boss, Mr. Darius, for morning tea in the Penthouse. A Board Meeting." "A meeting?

While Darius and Elian, Rico and Vara were clearing the zombie-infested lower floors, a Housekeeping Manager’s room on the 7th Floor of the Grand Menteng Hotel now smelled like a burning electronics workshop. Thin smoke smelling of solder filled the cramped room, stinging the eyes. "Sir, I swear, if this thing explodes, my hair, which I just washed this morning, will be singed," Lina complained, holding the end of a copper wire with trembling pliers. Mr. Hendra, wearing his cracked reading glasses and a headlamp he’d found in a guest’s hiking bag, didn't look up. He was busy poking a dusty green circuit board with a hot soldering iron. "Relax, Lina. This is according to the emergency repair SOP, page 45," Mr. Hendra muttered, his eyes narrowed in focus. "According to the Basic Electronics for Vocational Schools book I found in this desk drawer, if this capacitor is connected to an external antenna... we

Night swallowed the Grand Menteng Hotel in a thick, deceptive silence. The wind howled fiercely on the ninth-floor roof, roaring past the now-silent and rusted radio transmission towers. Here, at the highest point of this man-made hell, Elian sat alone. Not in the comfortable Presidential Suite. Not in the warm corridor. He chose the most uncomfortable and isolated spot: a backup generator control room in the corner of the roof, behind a massive water tank. The room was small, smelling of diesel and dust, lit only by the blinking red indicator light on the machine panel. Elian sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, his eyes closed. His denim jacket was placed beside him. He wore only a thin black T-shirt, revealing his bandaged arms and tense muscles. He wasn't sleeping. He was working. In his mind, he forced the remnants of his Mana to cycle in a painful loop. He pushed the energy through every cell of his body, t