30 Days to Unmake a Monster

Chapter 5: The Poison of Convenience

The rapid-fire pinging of phone notifications shattered the morning silence in Raka’s apartment. It wasn’t that annoying default alarm, but the distinct chime of mobile banking alerts—the kind he usually only heard once a month when a payment for some cut-rate logo design finally cleared.

Raka blinked, his hand fumbling across the floor for his phone. When the screen lit up, he nearly threw the thing against the wall.

One... nine zeros... that is... nine zeros... Raka counted under his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. A billion? Luna! What bank did you hit?

Luna was sitting at Raka’s desk, her back to the blinding window. She wore small, futuristic sunglasses, her fingers dancing through the air as she manipulated holographic elements only she could see.

It is not stolen, she replied without looking back. It is interest from an investment you made in the future. I simply shifted the timeline a bit into your current account. Think of it as your allowance for today’s simulation.

Raka scrambled to his feet, all traces of sleep gone. He stared at the balance on his phone as if it were a ticking time bomb. Allowance? A billion could buy this apartment ten times over, Luna! I could quit being a mediocre freelancer right this second!

Luna turned around, sliding her glasses off. Her sharp eyes fixed on him, making him feel completely exposed. Exactly. That is the first step toward your future ruin. You stop being creative because you start believing everything has a price tag. Now, put this on.

She tossed a black box onto the bed. Inside was a charcoal suit that looked hand-tailored, leather shoes burnished to a mirror shine, and a watch that likely cost more than one of Raka's kidneys.

Today, the corporate titan Indra Jaya Group will contact you. They are looking for a total rebranding. You will be going in as the CEO of your own design firm, Luna commanded.

A firm? Luna, I am a one-man show! My team consists of me and a bottle of hot sauce in the kitchen!

I will be your assistant, Luna said, standing up and walking toward him. She straightened the collar of his dingy undershirt with a look of mild disgust. Your task is simple: do not let the money change the way you look at people. Especially me.

Raka’s phone rang. It was an unknown number, but the caller ID displayed Indra Jaya Group. His heart thudded against his ribs. He looked at Luna, then at the luxury suit.

Three hours later, Raka stood in the lobby of a skyscraper in the heart of Sudirman. The sweltering Jakarta heat did not touch him; the suit’s fabric was incredibly cool—some kind of future textile technology, he figured. Beside him, Luna looked every bit the professional in a black blazer and pencil skirt, her hair pinned in a neat bun. She looked like a world-class executive assistant.

Remember, Raka, Luna whispered as they entered the glass elevator, hurtling toward the 50th floor. The world treats the wealthy differently. And the wealthy treat the world even more differently.

The meeting felt like a dream. Raka, who usually had to beg for his revisions to be accepted, was greeted by a board of directors with respectful bows. They did not see the loser freelancer; they saw a man wearing a billion-rupiah watch with a goddess for an assistant.

We are very impressed with the portfolio you emailed us this morning, Mr. Raka, said Mr. Indra, the owner, as he slid a two-billion-rupiah contract across the table for the first phase of the project.

Raka swallowed hard. Portfolio? He knew it was Luna’s doing. She must have slipped his future designs into their system. He glanced at Luna, who stood silently behind him holding a digital tablet.

Well, Mr. Raka? Are there any additional terms? Mr. Indra asked in a fawning tone.

A strange sensation began to crawl up Raka’s spine. Power. He leaned back into the plush leather chair, crossing his legs with the same arrogance he’d seen Adrian display in the simulation.

I suppose... Raka cleared his throat, his voice sounding deeper, more authoritative. My schedule is quite packed. I will need my assistant to review the technical details. Luna, get me a black coffee. No sugar.

The room went dead silent. Raka could feel the shift in the air. Mr. Indra offered a stiff smile, while Luna remained motionless.

Raka turned to look at her, wanting to see her reaction. But when their eyes met, he froze. It was not anger; it was a profound, deep-seated pain. A flash of memory from the first simulation hit him: the future version of himself screaming at Luna at a party, calling her nothing but an ornament.

Luna did not argue. She lowered her head slightly. Of course, Mr. Raka. I will get that for you immediately.

She turned and walked out. Her back looked incredibly fragile under the harsh office lights.

Ah, your assistant is so obedient, Mr. Raka. It is rare to find young people with that kind of work ethic these days, Mr. Indra said with a breezy laugh.

Raka did not laugh. The pride that had been blooming in his chest suddenly soured into a violent wave of nausea. The billion in his bank, the luxury suit, the contract—it all felt like a chain tightening around his throat. He had just made the same mistake. He had treated Luna—the woman he had shared a simple meal with the night before—like a tool.

Wait, Raka stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. I have changed my mind.

I am sorry, sir? Mr. Indra was bewildered.

This contract... these designs... I cannot take them, Raka ripped off the luxury watch and slammed it onto the table. I am sorry, I have an emergency.

He sprinted out, ignoring Mr. Indra’s confused shouts. He found Luna in the office pantry, staring blankly at the dark stream of coffee filling a cup.

Luna! he panted.

Luna turned, her face a mask of neutrality. Your coffee is being prepared, Mr. Raka. Please wait a moment.

Stop calling me that! Raka stepped closer, reaching for her shoulder before remembering the time-sync issue. He stopped just inches away. I am sorry. I... I just got caught up in the moment. I did not mean to treat you like a servant.

Luna gave him a faint smile—one that hurt more than a slap. That is exactly what you said the first time in the future, Raka. When the first real money hit your pockets. I just got caught up in the moment. But eventually, the moment becomes your identity. You start to believe everyone in the world is an object to be ordered around, provided the price is right.

Luna pressed a button on her wrist. Suddenly, the luxury office view shuddered. The walls began to crack and bleed away like wet paint in the rain. The people around them dissolved into frozen grey shadows.

Simulation over, Luna said coldly.

In an instant, they were back in Raka’s cramped, stuffy apartment. Raka was still in the expensive suit, but Luna was back in her everyday clothes.

His phone buzzed. He checked it. The billion-rupiah balance was gone, replaced by a pathetic two hundred and fifty thousand.

That money was a momentary temptation to see how strong your moral foundation actually was, Luna said, sitting on the sofa, looking exhausted. And today, you failed completely within the first thirty minutes.

Raka tore off the suit, throwing it to the floor as if it were made of thorns. I am human, Luna! You give me that kind of money and treat me like royalty, of course I am going to be shocked! But I realized it, did not I? I came looking for you!

You realized it too late, Raka, Luna said, pointing to the watch on her wrist.

The red numbers there were blinking wildly. 22:12:05:40.

Two days gone? Raka’s eyes widened. But I did not even touch you!

I didn't even touch you!

Arrogance also warps time, Luna’s voice faltered. She clutched her chest, her breathing heavy. Every time you slip into your Future Raka persona, this timeline tries to merge with the original one. The universe thinks you are ready to become that monster, so it accelerates the process.

Suddenly, a soft tapping came from the door. It wasn't a human knock. It was the sound of long nails scraping against the wood. Scratch... scratch... scratch...

A chill seeped back into the room. The Echo was back. This time, it didn't just linger in the cracks. A shadowy hand began to bleed through the surface of the apartment door.

It’s... it’s coming in! Raka cried out, panic rising.

Luna tried to stand, but she collapsed back onto the sofa. It smells your pride, Raka. Use the right feelings... not anger... not a thirst for power...

Raka watched as the shadow hand elongated, reaching for Luna. He didn’t have his metal ruler this time. He only had himself.

Raka charged at the door. Without thinking, he slammed both palms against the wood where the shadow was breaking through.

I am not becoming that monster! Raka screamed, shutting his eyes tight. He tried to focus on the scent of the savory porridge from the night before. He thought about how much he wanted to see Luna give a genuine smile, just once, without a trace of sadness. I would rather be a starving designer with a conscience than a rich man who makes his wife cry! Get out! Get out of my house!

A burst of white light erupted from between Raka’s fingers. It wasn't future tech; it was a surge of pure energy fueled by raw, honest emotion. The shadow hand shrieked—a deafening, high-pitched frequency—before crumbling into black dust and vanishing.

Raka slumped to the floor, his hands burning. He gasped for air, turning his gaze toward Luna.

She stared at him, her mouth agape. The white light still left a faint, shimmering glow in the room.

What... what was that? Raka asked, his voice trembling.

Luna slowly approached Raka, kneeling before him without making contact. That... was an anomaly. Something that never happened in my future.

Luna glanced at her watch. The numbers that had been flashing red were now slowing down, even gaining a few minutes. 22:12:15:00.

You just defied the laws of time with your sincerity, Luna whispered. Her eyes were no longer cold. There was a flicker of admiration she tried to hide. Maybe... maybe there is hope. But Raka, the price will only get higher. The Echo won't stop. It will come back in a more physical form.

Raka stared at his reddened palms. He was terrified, but for the first time since Luna arrived, he felt like he actually held the reins of his own destiny.

I don't care about the price, Raka said firmly. I will pay back every debt of happiness I owe you, one by one. And I am going to start doing things the right way.

Raka stood up, grabbed the expensive suit from the floor, and folded it neatly. What is tomorrow’s simulation? I am ready.

Luna watched him for a long moment before looking away to hide the faint blush on her cheeks. Tomorrow... the Fourth Simulation: Loss. I am going to disappear from your sight for twenty-four hours. You need to learn how to live without me before you actually lose me forever.

Raka froze. Disappear? But you live here!

The world isn't fair, Raka, Luna said, walking toward the bed and pulling up the covers. Marriage isn't just about being together; it is about how you protect your heart when your partner isn't by your side. Don't look for me. If you do, we lose a week of our time.

Raka couldn't sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling, realizing that the harder he tried to be a good person, the more the universe tried to pull them apart. And then he realized something even more terrifying than the Echo of his future:

He couldn't imagine his life without the woman who claimed to be his wife.