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 12: Memory Fragmentation
The violet light that had filled the room didn't so much fade as it was sucked back into a singular point on Luna’s wrist, leaving behind a silence so heavy it felt physical. The air tasted of ozone and burnt copper, the acrid scent of a short-circuited reality. Raka stood frozen, his hand still clutching the crinkled photograph of a future he had inadvertently helped build. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm that matched the erratic flickering of the single overhead bulb."Luna?" Raka’s voice was a ragged whisper. She was sprawled on the floor, her body unnervingly still. The expensive trench coat she had arrived in was scorched at the hems, and her skin—usually the color of pale porcelain—now possessed a terrifying translucency. He could almost see the faint, glowing lattice of blue veins beneath her temples, pulsing with a light that shouldn't exist in human biology.Raka scrambled across the debris of his shattered life, his knees hitting th
Chapter 11: Remnants of Humanity
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
Chapter 10: The Price of a Cold Victory
That morning, it wasn’t the sunlight that roused Raka, but the sharp, rhythmic pulse of pain at the tip of his finger. He opened his eyes to find a pristine white bandage wrapped around the wound—far too meticulous to be his own handiwork. He glanced at the empty side of the bed; Luna was already gone. The apartment was deathly quiet, though the atmosphere had shifted. The lingering stench of neglected trash had been purged, replaced by the sterile scent of disinfectant and the heavy, bitter aroma of dark coffee. Raka sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at his bandaged hand. The memories of the previous night came flooding back: the shattered remains of his mother’s glass, and the raw, suffocating urge he’d felt to scream in Luna’s face.Stop staring at that bandage as if it’s a medal of honor, Luna’s voice drifted from the direction of the desk.Raka turned. She was sitting there, clad in a sharp, formal charcoal-gray blazer, her hair pulled back into a severe, polished style. T
Chapter 9: The Curriculum of Hate and the Fracturing of Hope
The silence in the apartment this morning felt like a dull blade being dragged slowly across skin. The warm aroma of fried rice was gone, replaced by the stinging, sterile odor of chemical cleaners. It felt as though Luna were trying to scrub away every lingering trace of humanity from the room.Raka sat on the edge of his seat, watching Luna’s rigid silhouette against the window. She hadn't looked at him once since they returned from the park. The clock on her wrist had stopped its frantic blinking, now settled on a chilling 12:15:30:45. They had gained fifteen hours, but the cost was an atmosphere so thick it was suffocating.Luna, Raka said, his voice a dry rasp. We don’t have to do this. There has to be another way besides making me despise you.Luna turned slowly. Her eyes, which had briefly flickered with warmth the night before, were once again two impenetrable blocks of ice. She held a thick red folder—some relic summoned from her future.Another way? She let out a short, acer
Chapter 8: A Date on the Brink of Ruin
The morning light filtered through the cracks in the tattered curtains, casting long golden streaks across the floor of Raka’s apartment. The place felt wider now, not because the square footage had changed, but because Raka had finally started clearing out the towers of instant noodle cups and moldy design magazines. He realized that if he wanted to fix his heart, he had to start with the space he lived in.In the corner of the room, Luna was still fast asleep. It was the first time Raka had seen her sleep past her usual hour. She was curled into a small ball, arms wrapped tightly around a flattened pillow. Her face, usually so guarded and masked in secrets, looked remarkably innocent, though the deep circles under her eyes betrayed a hidden exhaustion. Raka approached her with feather-light steps, practically holding his breath. He caught a glimpse of the watch on her wrist, which lay resting against the blanket. 22:11:55:00. The numbers were motionless. Static.Is that a good sign
Chapter 7: Past Baggage and the Cracked Mirror
The pungent aroma of dark roast coffee cut through the air, overpowering the familiar scent of dust and old paper that usually clung to Raka’s studio apartment. This morning felt different. There was no aggressive pounding on the door, no water splashed over his laptop. Instead, there was only a gentler, more inviting silence, punctuated by the soft clink of a silver spoon against porcelain.Luna sat perched on the windowsill, the morning sun highlighting her sharp yet achingly soft features. She had swapped her usual attire for something more contemporary—a black turtleneck and tailored trousers that gave her the effortless air of a successful architect on a weekend break. On her wrist, the crimson digits of the timer continued their steady, relentless countdown: 22:11:45:02.Raka took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes still a bit puffy from sleep. Did you make this?Luna turned her head slowly. I used the beans you kept on the top shelf. They were nearly expired, but they still had
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