2026-04-08 10:42:16There was no scent of black roses that morning. No sarcastic remarks about his sleeping habits greeted him, and no laundry had been magically cleaned and folded.
Raka was jolted awake by the obnoxious blare of his phone alarm—a sound he usually detested, but today it felt ten times more grating because it signaled a return to his grim reality. He glanced at the other side of the bed. It was empty. The sheets were cold, looking as though they hadn't been touched in a decade.
Luna? Raka called out, his voice thick and raspy with sleep.
Silence. The only sound was the steady drip of a leaky kitchen faucet—tick... tick... tick—counting down the seconds as a creeping loneliness began to set in.
Raka sat up and rubbed his eyes, disoriented. He walked into the kitchen, half-hoping to find a plate of burnt toast or even a cold glare from her. Instead, the dining table was coated in a thin layer of dust, save for a single empty plastic cup from the night before. On his desk, Luna’s silver devices were gone. No holograms, no flashing red numbers.
Oh, right. The Loss simulation, Raka muttered to himself.
He remembered her warning: Do not come looking for me. If you do, our time together will be cut short by one week.
One week. That was a price he couldn't afford to pay just to soothe his anxiety. Raka took a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with the air of an apartment that now felt hollow. He had to prove he could do this. He had to show her he wasn't the weak man destined to become a manipulative monster.
He decided to throw himself into his work. He opened his laptop, but the catering logo he’d been neglecting yesterday suddenly seemed trivial. His mind kept drifting back to the previous simulation. One billion rupiah. Designer suits. Power. He remembered how terrifyingly easy it had been to lose himself in just a matter of minutes.
I have to fix this, he said firmly.
He began redesigning the logo from scratch. He didn't use any of the futuristic assets Luna had slipped him; he used his own hands. He poured his frustration into every line and color. But every time he reached for his coffee, he remembered the way Luna had looked at him in that office—the look of a wife heartbroken because her husband was losing his soul.
By noon, his stomach began to growl. Normally, he would have just made instant noodles or grabbed the cheapest takeout nearby. Instead, he found himself standing at the stove, looking at the leftover rice and eggs from the night before.
The Raka with dreams, the sincere Raka, the Raka who actually took the time to cook savory porridge...
Luna’s words played in his head like a song on repeat. Raka started cooking for himself. This time, he was careful with the salt. He tried to make something decent, a small reminder that he could take care of himself without being a burden.
But just as he was stirring the pot, a loud knock echoed through the door.
Raka’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest. Was it Luna? Had she come back early to test him?
He ran to the door, his hand hovering over the handle, ready to swing it open in a burst of excitement. Then, he froze. He remembered the rules. Do not come looking for me.
Did opening the door count as "looking"?
He pressed his ear against the wood. There was no scent of roses. No sudden chill in the air to signal Gema’s presence. Instead, he heard heavy breathing and the faint scent of a cheap, masculine cologne he knew all too well.
Raka! Open up, man! I know you're in there!
It wasn't Luna. It was Gani, an old friend with a habit of "borrowing" money and dragging Raka to places that did nothing but waste his time and drain his savings. In the past, Gani was the kind of friend who made Raka feel "alive" for all the wrong reasons—small parties, sports betting, and endless venting about how unfair the world was.
Gani? Raka cracked the door open slightly.
Gani stood there with a wide grin, the smell of cigarettes hitting Raka instantly. Damn, man, where have you been? You’re ghosting my texts and calls. Did you finally land some huge contract or what?
Gani pushed his way inside without an invite, much like Luna had done, but his presence brought an aura of chaotic filth. He plopped down on the sofa, right where Luna usually curled up.
Since when is your place this clean, Rak? Did you hire a maid? Or is there a girl staying here? Gani asked, his eyes darting around suspiciously.
It’s nothing, Gan. I just felt like tidying up, Raka replied coldly. He felt a sharp pang of discomfort seeing Gani sitting in Luna’s spot.
Gani pulled a flyer from his pocket. Look, there’s a new club opening in Kemang tonight. My buddy owns it. We can get free drinks if we show up early. Come on, you look stressed out. Stop locking yourself in here like a prisoner.
In the past, Raka would have jumped at the offer. Escaping his miserable reality was his specialty. But now, he saw Gani and that offer as a fork in the road leading straight toward his future self. The cold Raka, the one who sought external pleasures to mask an internal void.
I can't, Gan. I’ve got too much work, Raka said curtly.
Give me a break. What work? Some fifty-buck logo? Rak, you need to network. Who knows, you might meet some big shots there. You gotta start thinking rich, bro. Don’t settle for being broke. Gani’s voice was a persuasive hum, sounding eerily similar to the "easy way out" Luna had warned him about.
Raka looked Gani dead in the eye. Being rich isn't just about the balance in your bank account, Gan. I’m learning something a lot more important than that.
Gani burst out laughing. Holy shit, since when did you become a philosopher? Did you join a cult? Gani stood up and slapped Raka hard on the shoulder. Fine, whatever. If you change your mind, hit me up. But seriously, you’re acting weird today. You’re not the Raka I know.
I'm not, Raka muttered after Gani walked out.
Raka shut the door and locked it tight. He leaned against the wood, his breathing heavy. Rejecting Gani felt like cutting away a piece of his old skin. He looked at the clock. Only six hours had passed. Eighteen more to go.
As evening approached, a massive storm rolled over Jakarta. Thunder shook the building, and lightning flashed violently outside the window. Suddenly, the power in the apartment cut out.
Total darkness swallowed the room.
Raka fumbled in his pocket for his phone to use as a flashlight, but it was dead—he’d forgotten to charge it. In the pitch black, his hearing became razor-sharp.
Scritch... scritch...
There it was again. The sound of nails scratching against the outer wall.
Raka stood paralyzed in the center of the room. A cold chill began to creep in from the window, sharper and more biting than before. He could feel a presence in the corner—a shadow darker than the darkness itself.
Gema.
The entity had returned. Without Luna there to guide him, Raka felt like cornered prey. The shadow began to take shape near his desk. The faceless silhouette approached slowly, its movements jerky and distorted, accompanied by a sound like broken radio static.
Raka... Satya... a voice whispered inside his head. It wasn't Luna's voice, nor Adrian's. It was his own voice—but older, heavier, and dripping with bitterness. Stop fighting. You know how this ends. You will end up alone. You will be successful, and you will hate every second of it.
No! Raka screamed into the void. I’m not going to be you!
The shadow stopped right in front of him. Raka could smell the stench of rotting roses. The entity raised a hand made of black smoke, reaching out to touch Raka’s forehead.
Why are you protecting her? She is nothing but your painful past.
She has come to destroy you before you can become what I am. Kill those feelings, Raka. Let her fade away.
Raka clenched his fists. His fear began to shift into a disciplined, controlled anger—a lesson he had taken to heart from Chapter 2. He didn't lash out; instead, he drew a long, steady breath. He remembered the plate of salty porridge Luna had eaten so hungrily. He remembered the single tear she had let fall onto his hand.
She isn't some painful memory from my past, Raka said, his voice low but unwavering. She is the future I failed to protect. And I am not making the same mistake twice.
Raka closed his eyes, centering his thoughts on a single memory: the moment he caught Luna as she collapsed yesterday. It wasn't about his jealousy toward Adrian, or the hollow pride of having a billion rupiahs; it was a pure, raw instinct to protect her.
Get out, Raka said. I don’t need an Echo from a monster like you.
A warm pulse radiated from Raka’s chest. It wasn’t a blinding explosion of light like the day before, but a calm, steady aura that slowly filled the room. The dark shadow seemed to tremble as if struck by a current. Slowly, the entity began to shrink and fade, finally vanishing entirely as a crack of thunder roared outside.
The power surged back on. The overhead bulb flickered for a moment before illuminating the room, which was now empty once again.
Raka slumped to the floor, cold sweat drenching his brow. He glanced at the clock. 11:55 PM.
Five minutes left.
Raka stood by the door, motionless. He waited, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every second felt like an hour.
11:58. 11:59. 12:00.
Right as the numbers shifted, the scent of black roses and fresh rain drifted back into the room. The door never opened, but suddenly, Luna was standing in the center of the apartment.
She looked even paler than she had the day before, but her eyes searched for Raka with a frantic intensity she couldn’t quite hide. When she saw him standing there, safe and sound, her tense shoulders finally relaxed.
You didn't come looking for me, Luna said, her voice slightly raspy.
I promised, didn't I? Raka tried to smile, though his legs were still weak. Besides, if I went looking for you, we would have lost a week. I wasn't going to let that happen.
Luna stepped closer, studying him intently. She caught the lingering scent in the air around him, then glanced at the wall where the Echo had left its mark.
Did the Echo return? she asked.
Yeah. But I handled it. Without your help, Raka replied with a hint of pride.
Luna fell silent for a long moment. She looked at Raka’s laptop, which was still open to a hand-drawn logo design. She noticed the empty porridge bowl in the kitchen, washed and put away.
You’re learning faster than I expected, Luna murmured. She tapped a button on her wrist, and the red digits there flashed green for a moment. 22:12:30:00.
The time increased? Raka’s eyes widened. I thought it could only go down!
Time is added when you prove you can choose a different path without my interference, Luna said, turning away to hide the flicker of emotion in her eyes. But don’t get ahead of yourself, Raka. The real simulation is only just beginning.
Luna walked toward the bed, but before she lay down, she paused. The porridge... did you make it again this afternoon?
Yeah. But it wasn't salty this time, Raka said softly.
That’s a shame, Luna whispered, so quietly that Raka almost missed it. I was starting to get used to the salt.
Luna lay down and closed her eyes. Raka stood in the darkness, which no longer felt cold. He realized something then: he hadn’t just missed her presence; he missed the pain she brought with her. Because that pain was proof that he still had a heart left to feel.
Goodnight, Luna, Raka said.
There was no reply, but for the first time, Raka saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward before she finally drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Outside, the storm had passed, leaving the Jakarta sky crisp and clear—a brief reprieve before the next phase of this insane marriage training began.
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Chapter 100: Last Memory: The End of the Beginning
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Chapter 99: Dialogue at the Edge of Nothingness
The transition from the roar of the collapsing Timeline Zero to the silence of the void felt like a sudden plunge into a frozen lake. One second, Raka Satya was screaming into the prismatic storm, his fingers clawing at the golden thread of Maya’s life; the next, he was drifting in a sea of absolute, soundless white. The pressure in his chest, the frantic thrumming of the True Master Key, and the searing heat of the gold light—all of it vanished, replaced by an agonizingly hollow lightness. It was as if his very molecules had been scrubbed of their history, leaving him as nothing more than a singular, flickering thought in the dark.Raka blinked, his vision slowly adjusting to a world that was not white, but a thick, pearlescent fog. He felt something solid beneath him. He was sitting on a bench—the kind of weathered, wooden slats one might find at an old commuter rail station in the outskirts of Jakarta. The wood felt cold and damp against his palms,
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Chapter 97: The Mother's Sacrifice
The absolute grey did not just occupy the space; it felt like it was erasing the very concept of a heartbeat. Raka Satya stood in the center of a hollowed-out eternity, his white hair no longer a symbol of sacrifice but a flag of surrender against the encroaching nothingness. The golden gear of the Reality Core had dissolved beneath his boots, leaving him suspended in a pressurized vacuum where the scent of roasted coffee was a hallucination and the warmth of Maya’s hand was a fading ghost. Across from him, the Archivist was a flickering silhouette of static, his tattered grey suit shedding pixels like flakes of dead skin, his silver scissors lying broken on the nonexistent floor like the discarded toys of a failed god."This is the end, Satya," the Archivist whispered, his voice no longer a resonant boom but a dry, rattling wheeze that sounded like wind through a ribcage. "You got what you wanted. Balance. But the price... the price is nothingness. No Jakarta. No
Chapter 96: Battle at the Core of Reality
The vibration beneath Raka Satya’s boots was no longer the rhythmic thrum of a city or the hum of a machine; it was the tectonic grinding of existence itself. Standing upon the gargantuan, golden-obsidian gear that served as the Core of Reality, Raka felt the sheer, crushing weight of every choice he had ever made. Above them, the nebula of glowing destiny threads—billions of silver and gold filaments—swirled in a panicked, kaleidoscopic vortex, reacting to the black roots of the Tree of Life Debt that were currently devouring the foundations of the void.The Archivist stood twenty paces away, his grey suit tattered, his clinical mask of boredom long since shattered into a million jagged shards of desperation. He no longer looked like a god of the archives. He looked like a man who had forgotten how to breathe, his skin the color of parched ash, his fingers twitching as they clutched the remains of his silver scissors."You have no idea wh
Chapter 95: Labyrinth of Regret
The prismatic radiance of the collapsing garden didn’t simply fade; it curdled. As the massive black roots of the Tree of Life Debt tore through the emerald grass of Timeline Zero, the world Raka Satya had just begun to hope for was swallowed by a brutalist, shifting architecture of shadow. The vibrant colors of unwritten futures were sucked into the dark wood of the tree, leaving behind a claustrophobic maze of charcoal-grey walls that felt less like stone and more like solidified grief.Raka stood in a narrow corridor that hadn't existed seconds ago. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur, stale coffee, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Beside him, Maya’s astral form flickered dangerously, her school blazer looking grey in the dim, pulsing light. Her psychometric aura, usually a steady white flame, was now a frantic, jagged spark, reacting to the tectonic weight of the memories embedded in the very walls around them."Dad... this plac
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