2026-04-08 07:57:21Raka woke up with a stiff neck and a back that felt like it had been run over by a cement truck. Pale morning light filtered through the dusty window curtains, illuminating dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. He groaned, trying to remember why he’d spent the night on a thin rug that smelled like a mix of stale cheese and old sweat.
Then, last night’s memories hit him like a freight train.
The hologram. The black rose. The woman from the future. The toxic marriage.
Raka scrambled up, his head throbbing. It had to be a dream—a caffeine-induced fever dream, he muttered, rubbing his temples. But as his eyes drifted toward his bed, which was usually a disaster zone of tangled sheets, he froze.
The bed was perfectly made. It was so neat that the sheets didn’t have a single wrinkle. His desk, previously a graveyard of soda cans, now held only a glass of water and the small silver device he had seen the night before.
Luna was standing in his cramped kitchenette. She had ditched the trench coat and was now wearing one of Raka’s oversized white button-downs. Somehow, the worn-out fabric looked like high-fashion on her. Her dark hair was pinned up in a messy bun, exposing the graceful line of her pale neck.
You’re ten minutes late, Luna said without looking back. Her voice was cold, flat, and absolute.
Raka gaped at her. I’m sleeping on the floor because of you, and the first thing you bring up is the time? Besides, that’s my shirt! That’s my lucky meeting shirt!
Luna turned slowly, brandishing a wooden spatula she had found somewhere—Raka had actually forgotten he even owned cooking utensils. Luck won’t save you from a miserable future, Raka. And this shirt smelled like desperation, so I cleaned it with the instant-wash tech I brought with me. Now, sit down.
Raka wanted to protest. He really wanted to scream and kick this woman out. But when Luna looked at him, he saw a flash in her eyes—the same look from the night before. It was an authority born from deep, jagged wounds. Raka finally gave in, sitting at his desk, which felt alien now that the room was so clean.
We begin the First Curriculum today, Luna said, sliding a plate of burnt toast in front of him. Topic: Failed Conflict Management, or The Art of Heartless War.
Raka stared at the charred bread with a frown. Luna—or whoever you are—I don’t get it. You said you came here to fix me so I don’t become a jerk in the future. So why are you teaching me about toxic marriages? Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to be a sweet husband, or how to buy flowers, or something?
Luna pulled up another chair and sat directly across from him. They were so close that Raka could smell the faint scent of black roses mingling with the aroma of burnt toast.
Being sweet is easy, Raka. Anyone can fake kindness when they’re falling in love. Luna leaned back, studying him with a sharp, calculating gaze. But in the future, you didn’t destroy me because you couldn't give me flowers. You destroyed me because you didn’t know how to handle your own anger. You used silence as a weapon and words as a blade. So, we’re going to simulate that right now. I’m going to make you angry, and you have to learn not to become the monster I knew.
Luna picked up her glass of water and, with a calm and deliberately provocative motion, poured it directly onto Raka’s laptop while it was still powered on.
Crap! What the hell are you doing?! Raka bolted upright, his heart nearly stopping. He lunged for the laptop, flipping it over to drain the water. That’s my work! I have client revisions on there! Are you insane?! You’re out of your mind!
Luna remained seated, unblinking. Your reaction is still too raw. In the future, when I’d make a small mistake like dropping your files, you wouldn’t scream like this. You would stare at me with such condescension for three hours without saying a word, making me feel like dirt beneath your boots.
I don’t care about the future! My laptop is trashed, Luna! Raka shouted, his face flushed with rage. His hands were shaking. You barge in here, upend my life, and now you destroy my livelihood? Get out! Get out right now!
Luna stood up, stepping closer until the tips of her shoes touched Raka’s bare feet. She wasn’t afraid. If anything, she looked disappointed.
Look at your hands, she whispered.
Raka looked down. His hands, still clutching the laptop, were shaking violently—but not just from anger. There was a flicker of fear there too.
Your anger is your weakness, Luna said, touching Raka’s wrist right over his racing pulse. In the future, success turns this fear into arrogance. You start feeling entitled to hurt others because you think you’re the strongest one in the room. You think this laptop is important? In ten years, you’ll break a human heart with the same cold indifference I showed when I poured that water.
Raka went silent. The anger was still there, smoldering in his chest, but Luna’s words felt like ice water forcing the flames out. He looked at his dead laptop, then back at Luna.
Why does it have to be this painful? Raka asked, his voice raw. If you want me to be a good person, why not start with kindness?
Luna looked away for a moment. For the first time, Raka saw her defenses crack. There was a shimmer of tears she was fighting to hold back.
Because kindness won't make you remember, Raka, her voice trembled. Only pain leaves a deep enough scar to change destiny. The debt of happiness you borrowed from me in the future has to be paid with tears today. It’s the only way the version of you that becomes that man is never born.
Luna pulled her hand away and reverted to her cold, professional demeanor. She pressed a button on her wrist. Suddenly, a small indicator light on Raka’s laptop glowed green.
Your laptop isn't broken. That was just a non-conductive insulating fluid that looks like water. I’m not stupid enough to destroy your only source of pathetic income, she said flatly.
Raka exhaled a long breath, nearly collapsing into his chair. Man... you really almost gave me a heart attack.
That was just the warm-up, Luna said, walking toward the window and looking down at the busy city streets below. Tomorrow, we move to the second simulation: The Infidelity Drama. I’m going to introduce you to someone who will pretend to be my lover. You need to learn how it feels to be betrayed before you decide to betray me in the future.
Raka stared at Luna’s back. She looked so formidable, yet so fragile at the same time. He remembered the holographic projection from the night before—himself in an expensive suit, cruelly berating her. Raka clenched his fists.
Am I really going to become that heartless? he wondered.
Suddenly, Luna stumbled. She gripped her head and leaned against the window frame. The digital watch on her wrist flashed red, blinking faster than before. The numbers on the display read: 31:14:22:05.
Luna? You okay? Raka instinctively stood up and grabbed her shoulder.
As soon as their skin touched, a sharp jolt of static electricity made them both flinch. Raka saw a flash of imagery in his head—a memory that wasn't his. He saw himself and Luna dancing in a garden of roses, laughing together under the rain. It was a beautiful moment, a staggering contrast to the chaos of the present.
Luna immediately shoved Raka’s hand away, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her face was deathly pale.
Don’t, she whispered, her voice barely audible. Don't touch me.
I told you—don't touch me with those kinds of feelings.
I was just trying to help! Raka protested, his voice thick with confusion.
Your sincerity is exactly what's accelerating the timeline synchronization, you idiot! Luna snapped, though her eyes were wide with a deep-seated fear. The closer we get now, the faster that Tragedy will arrive. The future doesn't want us fixing things with love. It only understands loss.
Raka stood frozen. You mean... if I start to care about you, it actually puts us in danger?
Luna didn't answer. She simply slumped toward the bed and curled into a ball, turning her back on him.
Raka stood in the middle of his pristine apartment, which suddenly felt colder than it ever had. He glanced at his laptop, now functional again, and then at the red digits steadily ticking down on Luna’s arm.
It hit him then: this wasn't some simple marriage simulation. This was a high-stakes race against time, where every moment of happiness only brought them one step closer to an inevitable collapse.
Toxic marriage... Raka muttered, staring down at his burnt toast. It’s a lot more bitter than I ever imagined.
Outside, the clouds began to bank together once more, as if the universe were bracing for the next storm the woman from the future would bring in her wake.
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Chapter 100: Last Memory: The End of the Beginning
The hiss of the steam wand was the only heartbeat Raka Satya cared about this morning. It was a rhythmic, mechanical sigh that cut through the humid stillness of Tebet, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand silenced paradoxes. He watched the white micro-foam vortex inside the stainless steel pitcher, the temperature rising until the metal bit sharply into the palm of his hand. It was a clean pain, a human pain, devoid of the cold, clinical sting of the void. Here, in the heart of South Jakarta, the only "severing" taking place was the crisp snap of a fresh pastry being pulled from the oven.The Last Memory cafe was bathed in the soft, honeyed glow of a sun that had finally decided to stay in its own lane. Outside the large glass windows, the city was a chaotic, beautiful mess. Motorcycle taxi drivers in their faded green jackets laughed over clove cigarettes near the intersection, the scent of their smoke drifting through the open door like a familiar ghost. The
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,
Chapter 98: Final Fragmentation
The rainbow sky of the garden was the first thing to die. It didn’t fade; it shattered like a gargantuan stained-glass window struck by a celestial sledgehammer. Shards of prismatic light, each containing the ghost of a choice Raka Satya had never made, fell through the grey air like lethal confetti. Beneath his boots, the emerald grass—the peace his mother’s sacrifice had bought them—was being liquidated back into the monochromatic ash of Timeline Zero.The iron cage of the freight elevator shrieked, a sound like a million rusted violins being snapped at once. It was a jagged, ugly sound that vibrated through Raka’s teeth and into the marrow of his aching bones. The elevator wasn't just a machine; it was the only needle capable of stitching him back into the fabric of the reality he called home."Dad! The tree... it's chasing us!" Maya screamed, her small voice nearly swallowed by the tectonic grinding of the dimension.
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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