The two hundred million rupiahs sitting in Raka’s bank account felt less like a windfall and more like a bag of lead tied around his neck. Every time his phone vibrated with a notification, he didn't see numbers; he saw the face of the old man in the tattered clothes, his eyes wide with a terror so primal it felt as if Raka had already reached through time and snatched the breath from his lungs."Stop it, Raka," Luna’s voice cut through the humid afternoon air, sharp as a glass shard. She was leaning against the cool marble of a storefront, her arms crossed, watching him with a detached, clinical intensity. "You’re spiraling over a ghost. He’s gone.""He isn't a ghost!" Raka snapped, his chest heaving as he loosened the tie that felt like a noose. "You heard him, Luna. He called me 'Honorable Mr. Raka.' He begged me not to tear down his home. That man isn't from my past—he’s a casualty of the man you’re trying to prevent me from becoming. And I just let him run away!"Without waiting