The roar of the jet engines. The sound of turbulence. The violent shaking in the VIP seat of his private jet. It felt terrifying, like being dragged down a narrow, aimless corridor.Dirga Wijaya, forty years old. A legendary pop superstar with five platinum albums. He was en route to the highest stage of the Grammys, an honour he had just secured after twenty-seven years of relentless hard work.Now he felt the sensation of inverted gravity, embraced by the shriek of grinding metal and the wail of shattering glass. The cabin alarm blared in the distance, or perhaps it was blaring inside his own skull. The bitter scent of burning fuselage stung his nostrils, accompanying the shuddering of the dying engine.Dirga’s heart hammered against his ribs, demanding a release he couldn't grant. Panic haunted him, yet decades in the industry had instilled a professional instinct: *don't panic*. But how could he not panic when it felt certain he was about to die?Dying in a jet crash while flying

The audition venue was a small studio filled with ten boys of similar height, hair, and energy. Nine of them carried real potato chips (their own props), enthusiastic and cheerful, exactly as the script described. Dirga sat quietly. Dina wasn't accompanying him. She was outside, taking a call, arranging another small deal. Only his Mother sat beside him, feeling guilty for bringing her son into this world. A boy, having finished his silly and endearing performance, exited the audition room with a joyful shout. Dirga observed the commotion with a cold, internal silence. Ridiculous, Dirga thought. "I'll give them an anomaly. Sadness amidst all this cheerfulness," he murmured softly. Queue number fifteen. His name was called. Dirga glanced at his Mother before entering the audition room. His Mother's gaze trembled nervously, but the smile Dirga offered made her anxiety dissipate. He stepped into the audition room. The aroma of damp carpet mixed with perfume. Facing him was

Filming resumed. Dirga no longer sought private moments. He acted with abandon, driven by a new motivation: Anya’s future death. That fear forged him into an actor employing a method cruel to himself.Director Ical noticed the new intensity. The speed at which Dirga learned the script left the entire crew speechless. In the following weeks, his popularity as the ‘child genius’ soared on set. Everyone praised his professionalism.Dina was always present, but Dirga’s mother grew increasingly distressed watching her son act like a madman, as if something unknown were chasing him.“Dina, be honest. Dirga never rests. He needs to come home and play outside, not just study these depressing scripts,” his mother urged one afternoon after Dirga had successfully completed a scene requiring perfect silence.Dina rubbed her temples. “Mum, that’s just an actor’s job. The set is designed according to the script’s scene. And honestly, your son is an absolute genius. Mr Ical has even promised to prom

Dirga stepped back. He spent the remainder of the week immersed in filming his new Fantasy Film (Double Glass), burying his financial anxiety within the new role.Yet, every morning upon waking, his primary mission—to save the family's money from the Ponzi scheme—reverberated louder than the Director’s shouts of praise. 240 days were left, and financial ruin could strike at any moment.He had to find information without asking his Father directly.Dirga observed his Father’s routine for three consecutive days. Every day after dawn, his Father would sit at the small living room table, sipping coffee and compiling a small report which he always stored beneath a stack of documents. Dirga knew this report concerned Rendra’s 200% project.That afternoon, Dirga went home early. Mother and Anya were at the market. Father wouldn't be home until six o’clock. He had 45 minutes before his Father arrived.The role of the junior detective began. Dirga quickly walked over to the small cabinet in th