Life 404: Success Not Found

Chapter 3: The King of Healing

"I need a healing, Sat. My soul is like a motorcycle tire forced to climb the hills to Puncak during the Eid holiday. It’s thin, hot, and just waiting for the moment to explode."

Freza leaned his head against the wall of his boarding house, where the peeling paint formed a map of an unknown continent. In front of him, Satya—his brother-in-arms from his old "Breath" office who, for some reason, still visited often—was busy scraping the leftover seasoning from an instant noodle wrapper.

"Explode because of what now? You're unemployed, Fre. What’s making you burnout? Too much sleep?" Satya asked without looking up.

"You don't understand. Being unemployed in this era of constant 'achievement content' is an extraordinary mental feat. I have to watch people flex their five-figure salaries, show off vacations to Switzerland, and brag about marrying the children of conglomerates. It’s emotionally exhausting! I work hard just to restrain myself from smashing my phone every time I open I*******m!" Freza defended himself in a high-pitched tone, as if he had just finished a 20-hour shift in a coal mine.

"And then?"

"I need Bali. I need the sound of the waves, the smell of incense, and a photo in front of that temple with the water reflection—you know, the one that’s actually just a mirror held under the camera? I need to find my lost self among this pile of bills."

"And the money?" Satya finally looked up, giving Freza a 'do-you-realize-you’re-broke' stare.

Freza smiled mysteriously. He pulled out his phone and showed an app with a neon green flying bird logo. The name: "Cheerful Funds No Questions Asked."

"A predatory loan, Fre? Are you serious?"

"This isn't just a loan, Sat. This is an investment in my mental health. Besides, my limit hit ten million. That’s enough for a week in Bali, flashpacker style. I’ll pay it back later once I’m 'healed' and come up with a business idea more brilliant than selling bottled air."

"The last time you had a brilliant idea, you almost went to jail for a bathroom air tax," Satya reminded him.

"That was because the universe wasn't supporting me yet. In Bali, my vibrations will be in sync with nature. Trust me."

Three days later, Freza landed at Ngurah Rai Airport. He wore a Monstera-patterned beach shirt he bought at a flea market and sunglasses with one slightly loose arm. He felt like a character in a coming-of-age movie, ready to embrace enlightenment.

However, the first reality that greeted him wasn't the scent of freedom, but an extraordinary traffic jam heading toward Canggu.

"Sir, is the traffic always like this?" Freza asked the ride-hailing driver, whose face looked even more stressed than Freza’s.

"This is normal, Mas. If it’s not jammed, it means you’re in a graveyard, not Bali," the driver replied curtly.

After two hours of being tossed around in a car where the AC only blew a lukewarm breeze, Freza arrived at a lodging advertised as an "Eco-Friendly Spiritual Retreat." As it turned out, "Eco-Friendly" was code for "lots of mosquitoes and no AC," while "Spiritual" meant "you’ll be doing a lot of praying so you don't faint from the heat."

His first night in Bali was spent scratching welts on his legs while calculating the interest on his loan, which had already started running. The daily interest rate, it turned out, was higher than the air temperature in Bali.

The next day, Freza decided to join a yoga session that was viral on TikTok. Its name: "The Cosmic Rebirth of the Inner Child." The cost? One million rupiah for a single session. Freza winced, but he convinced himself that this was the price for a "pure soul."

The yoga studio was incredibly aesthetic. Everything was made of wood, white fabrics fluttered in the breeze, and there was a scent of essential oils so strong that Freza felt his lungs were being coated in lavender. The participants were a collection of people who looked so happy it felt fake. They all wore branded athletic gear and held crystal-infused water bottles.

"Good morning, Lost but Beautiful Souls," the instructor greeted.

His name was Master Boma. He was a local man, but he spoke with a forced English accent. His long hair was tied in a man-bun, and he wore bead necklaces the size of marbles.

"Today, we will not just move our bodies. We will release the toxins of consumerism and the social expectations that chain us," Master Boma said in a deep, affected voice.

Freza nodded solemnly. Yes, exactly, Master. Those toxins are making my head spin, he thought, conveniently forgetting that he was there using money from a predatory loan—the absolute peak of consumerism.

The yoga session began. Instead of doing a normal downward dog, Master Boma instructed them to do a movement called "The Earthworm Seeking Light," which required Freza to crawl across the wooden floor while making a rhythmic "Hoooooo" sound.

"Feel the earth's energy entering your pores! Ignore the shame! Shame is a social construct!" Master Boma shouted.

Freza crawled with total sincerity. Beside him, a beautiful woman in full makeup—who seemingly came only for the content—was busy positioning her phone to record this "spiritual" moment.

After three hours of crawling, jumping like a macaque, and hugging strangers while crying (Freza actually cried because he remembered his loan was due the day after tomorrow), the session ended.

Master Boma approached Freza. "You... you have a very dark aura, young man."

Freza was startled. "Huh? Really, Master?"

"There is a great burden on your back. Like thousands of digital hands pulling you down."

Those are the hands of the debt collectors, Master, Freza answered internally.

"You need a private session. 'The Galactic Core Cleansing.' Just for you. I don't usually do this, but the universe whispered your name in my ear last night," Master Boma whispered mysteriously.

Freza felt special. He felt chosen. "How much does it cost, Master?"

"Only five million rupiah. Consider it an alms to the universe through me as a medium."

Freza’s cynical brain momentarily screamed SCAM!, but his ego, hungry for validation and "healing," silenced that voice. When else would he get a private session with a viral Master? This was a soul investment!

Freza swiped the remaining limit of his loan.

The private session took place in a hut on the edge of a cliff at sunset. Master Boma told Freza to drink a green concoction that tasted like grass juice mixed with sewer water.

"Drink this. This is the essence of the root of life that only grows on the peak of Mount Agung during an eclipse," Master Boma said.

After drinking it, Freza’s head began to spin. The world looked more colorful, or maybe that was just the effect of dehydration and wild plant poisoning. He felt very light. He felt... healed.

"Now, hand over all your metal and digital objects to me. They are inhibitors of your energy flow," Master Boma instructed.

Freza handed over his phone and wallet without hesitation. He felt so free. He sat meditating on the edge of the cliff, staring at the sea, while Master Boma promised to perform a "cleansing ritual" on the items in the next room.

One hour passed. Two hours passed. The sun was gone, replaced by darkness and the sound of crickets.

Freza began to feel cold. The effect of the green potion was wearing off, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of nausea. He stood up and walked toward the hut Master Boma had entered.

The hut was empty. His phone was gone. His wallet was gone. Master Boma was gone.

Even the motorcycle that had been parked in front of the hut was gone.

Freza stood alone on the edge of the cliff, wearing only tight yoga pants and a Monstera shirt with three buttons missing. He tried to scream, but his voice was hoarse. He tried to run, but his legs were weak.

Suddenly, blue and red lights flickered in the distance. Several police cars approached. Freza felt a wave of relief. Police! I’m saved!

Several officers stepped out with full gear. They immediately surrounded the hut.

"Don't move! Hands up!" one of the policemen shouted.

"Officer! Help me! I was robbed by Master Boma!" Freza cried out, raising his hands high.

A detective approached Freza, shining a flashlight on his haggard face. "Master Boma? You mean Junaedi, alias 'The Mouse Deer'?"

"Junaedi?"

"He's a fugitive involved in fraudulent investment scams and money laundering that we've been tracking for two years. Are you one of his followers?"

"I... I just wanted a healing, sir."

"Healing what? We just raided his headquarters at the bottom of the cliff. He escaped on a speedboat. And you... who are you?"

"I'm Freza, sir. A tourist looking for his identity."

The police searched the area and found Freza's empty bag in the bushes. "Your ID is here. But your money and phone are clearly gone with him. You're lucky he didn't throw you into the sea."

Freza slumped to the ground. The enlightenment he had been searching for finally arrived, but not in the form of divine light. It came in the form of a bitter reality that hit his face as hard as a judge's gavel.

He was taken to the police station to give a statement. There, he met other victims of Master Boma. There was a businessman who lost hundreds of millions, an influencer who lost a bag worth as much as a car, and there was Freza... who lost loan money he hadn't even made the first installment on.

"How did you get scammed?" asked the influencer who had been doing yoga next to Freza. Her face was now puffy, her makeup smeared by real tears.

"I thought he could actually cure my burnout," Freza replied flatly.

"Me too. Turns out he only cured my bank balance until it hit zero," the influencer sobbed.

Freza left the police station as dawn broke. He didn't have a single cent. He was forced to call Satya using the police station's phone—the only number he knew by heart.

"Hello, Sat..."

"Fre? Where are you? Why is this a Bali police station number?"

"Sat, can you lend me some money for a ticket home? I'll pay you back... eventually."

Silence on the other end. "I thought you were healing, Fre. How did it go? Did you get the natural vibrations?"

Freza looked up at the Bali sky, which was starting to turn blue. It was beautiful. But to him, the color of the sky now looked exactly like the color of the loan app that would soon be terrorizing every contact in his phone.

"I learned one valuable lesson, Sat."

"What?"

"Turns out, the most effective way to stop worrying about your life's problems is to get a much bigger problem. Now I'm not thinking about prestige or content anymore. I'm just thinking about how to get home without having to sell a kidney at the Gilimanuk harbor."

One week later.

Freza was back in his boarding house. The status quo had returned. He was still broke, still unemployed, and still confused. The difference was that now he had a ten-million-rupiah debt plus ballooning interest, and he had no phone because "Master Boma" had taken it to parts unknown.

He sat on his thin mattress, staring at the same continental wall.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Freza! Pay your debt! Don't play dead!" a voice shouted from outside. It wasn't the landlady, but a debt collector who had somehow found his address.

Freza took a deep breath. He took a piece of paper and a pen, then wrote something to hang on his door:

"HEALING IN PROGRESS. DO NOT DISTURB. UNDERGOING INNER CHILD REBIRTH. PLEASE CONTACT THE UNIVERSE TO SCHEDULE AN APPOINTMENT."

He then climbed into his wardrobe, curled up in the darkness, and attempted to perform "The Earthworm Seeking Light" in silence.

It turns out what people say is true: Bali is magical. He went there to find his identity, and he came home realizing his identity was a debtor who was very skilled at running away from reality.

Inside that stuffy wardrobe, Freza finally felt truly "healed." Healed from the desire to look happy for the sake of content, because now, he didn't even have the tools to create content.

"Hoooooo..." Freza whispered softly. "Hoooooo..."

The world might be cruel, but at least inside the closet, no one was taxing his air or asking him to crawl in front of a camera. For now, that was more than enough.