NO SINGING! BECOME AN ACTOR OR DIE

The roar of the jet engines. The sound of turbulence. The violent shaking in the VIP seat of his private jet. It felt terrifying, like being dragged down a narrow, aimless corridor.

Dirga Wijaya, forty years old. A legendary pop superstar with five platinum albums. He was en route to the highest stage of the Grammys, an honour he had just secured after twenty-seven years of relentless hard work.

Now he felt the sensation of inverted gravity, embraced by the shriek of grinding metal and the wail of shattering glass. The cabin alarm blared in the distance, or perhaps it was blaring inside his own skull. The bitter scent of burning fuselage stung his nostrils, accompanying the shuddering of the dying engine.

Dirga’s heart hammered against his ribs, demanding a release he couldn't grant. Panic haunted him, yet decades in the industry had instilled a professional instinct: *don't panic*. But how could he not panic when it felt certain he was about to die?

Dying in a jet crash while flying to Los Angeles? A cruelly immense irony for a man who had dedicated his life to his craft. His eyes responded sluggishly. He saw a flash of blue flame licking at the cracked cabin window, promising instant agony.

All his dreams. The Grammy, the reunion tour, the luxurious retirement. All of it melted away in the heat.

A massive explosion echoed, shaking him, erasing everything—sound, light, scent. All five of his senses felt brutally ripped away. Only total darkness and absolute silence remained.

****

Dirga awoke amidst the smell of baby porridge, *minyak telon* (a traditional Indonesian balm), and cheap, fragrant detergent. Not the smell of leather or burning jet fuel. His sharp mind filtered the surrounding sensory data.

Coarse flannel fabric lay beneath him, and the orange glow of the afternoon sun enveloped the familiar ivory-yellow walls of this room. This was his bedroom. His childhood bedroom, in the small house that had been destroyed by the financial crisis nearly thirty years ago.

Wait. Thirty years?

Dirga forced his gaze down, turning to his hands. Small, chubby palms, untrimmed nails, and skin texture as smooth as milk. He stared at the mirror covered in 80s band stickers on the far side of the room. The reflection showed a face with thick, straight hair haphazardly cut, chubby cheeks, and brown eyes.

"Good heavens."

Dirga sat up in horror, dropping the thin bolster pillow that felt strange and alien. Was this the afterlife? Was his hell to be reborn into the childhood body he missed the most?

That was when the silence broke. Not by the echo of his thoughts, but by a notification. Suddenly, like a mirage injected directly into his retina, a light-blue interactive window appeared, hovering right in front of his nose, at eye level.

Thick, arrogant digital font filled his entire view, as if implanted directly by some advanced nanotechnology.

WELCOME, USER NO. 76.

Dirga squeezed the warm flannel bolster and started to panic, but his adult consciousness quickly overcame his childish instincts. He tried blinking rapidly, then reaching out to touch it. Nothing. The object existed, yet it was like an untouchable phantom, only seen and perceived by his brain.

[Incarnation Process complete. Synchronisation Year: 1990.]

[User Status: Dirga Wijaya.]

[Chronological Age: 7 years.]

[Accumulated Knowledge: Asian Pop Superstar (Level 99, Locked).]

[Acting Potential (Current): C-]

The window briefly shuddered before updating itself, displaying a map of the future and a sharp warning.

[External Conditions: Threat of Family Financial Ruin detected within 1 year (Perpetrator: Rendra). Sibling Accident Risk: Moderate. Family Betrayal Risk: High.]

Rendra. A name he could never forget. The name of the bastard who created the Ponzi scheme that destroyed his father’s career and triggered his family’s downfall all those years ago.

That fear now mingled with cold, calculated anger. He didn't need this mystical device to tell him about the danger Rendra posed.

"Who are you? What is the meaning of all this?" Dirga hissed sharply. A stark contrast to the soft, childish voice that emerged.

The status window narrowed, leaving only the main text.

[Main Quest Initiated.]

Dirga felt a sharp headache, as if needles were being woven into his left temple, as the entire system loaded and forced an unwanted focus upon him.

[The obligation of User No. 76 is to Accumulate Destiny Credits through High-Risk Professional Paths.]

[DESTINY CREDITS ARE CRITICAL to protect threatened critical life paths. Failure to achieve the Quest potentially results in the Removal of System Protection.]

"I don't need this. I know how to make money," Dirga retorted cynically.

Decades of singing had given him expertise beyond his wildest dreams.

"I just need to start singing again. I'm the best singer in Asia."

The System replayed his words. The status window now displayed a solid red bar with provocative text.

[IMPORTANT: POP SINGER CAREER PATH IS FORBIDDEN! The System deems the Pop Path to be Low-Impact Legacy and Fails to Provide You with Rapid Destiny Credits.]

"Damn it!" Dirga cursed. He clenched his small hands. The emotions of a forty-year-old man were warring with the frame of a seven-year-old child.

The System, as if answering the deepest question of his soul, loaded the Quest requirements in the bottom column. A command that slapped his spirit, ruining his desire for life in this new world.

[MAIN QUEST S1: REINCARNATION 76]

[Target: Become a Professional Actor.]

[Critical Objective: Secure a leading role in a film (rating at least B) OR win a prestigious award in a film/TV career before the age of 8.]

[Success Reward: Financial Protection Option & Updated Status System.]

[Time Limit: 365 Days (Critical Period for Your Family's Protection).]

ACTOR. The word burned in his throat. If there was one thing Dirga hated more than a Ponzi scheme, it was Acting. He had always equated acting with hypocrisy, a professional lie that made him uncomfortable backstage. In his entire life as a musician, he had never once considered becoming an Actor.

Dirga fell back onto the bed. His eyes stared blankly at the bedroom ceiling. The universe seemed to possess a truly wicked sense of humour, trapping him here. At the age of seven. And he only had 365 days. Just one year before his father invested all their money with Rendra and went bankrupt.

He had to succeed in obtaining Destiny Credits, whatever they were, as quickly as possible. He rolled over, took a breath, and stared at the bedroom wall. Well, at least there was still time.

For Father. For Mother. For Anya.

"Fine. I accept," he whispered resignedly. His dark eyes, dense with misplaced wisdom, were now filled with burning determination.

Dirga, the former superstar, sat up straight and snarled at the void before him, demanding, "Show me the best scripts available right now!"

The System reacted immediately, ending the lengthy presentation and displaying a final notification that determined the first step of his new life chapter. The digital window now appeared minimalist, resembling a game menu board.

[Script Options available. Professional Actor (Child): 0% achieved.]

[Final Warning: Begin taking your first professional role now!]

[Remaining Challenge: Time (365 Days) is Extremely Pressing. Utilise your unlocked musical knowledge, Sir, in the Visual arts.]

Dirga got up from the small bed and walked towards his study desk. The window in front of him slowly faded, leaving only one notification hanging in the vibrating air.

[MAIN QUEST: Secure Lead Role or Award.]

[Progress: 0% Achieved.]

[Time Limit: 365 Days.]

Dirga felt a burning urgency in his gut. There was no time. He had to disguise himself and run to any agent's office right now, as quickly as possible.

*Creak...* The sound of the bedroom door opening, and a middle-aged woman walked in, carrying a tray of warm porridge.

Dirga stared at the woman—his mother. This time, he truly believed the reality he saw. The woman who had died decades ago stood before him.

Dirga desperately wanted to hug her, but he restrained himself with all his might. He was afraid she would become suspicious.

"Oh, Dirga darling. Why are you already awake?" Mother smiled gently, the warm aroma of the steaming porridge spreading through the room.

"I just had a dream, Mum," Dirga said in the innocent voice he had long forgotten.

He swallowed back the bitter urge to destroy Rendra right now, directly. He realised he was only a seven-year-old child who needed to start earning money to prevent future ruin.

"Mum, I..." Dirga paused, looking at his reflection in the mirror again. The child looked passionate and bright-eyed.

"I want to try becoming a famous actor."

His mother fell silent, the porridge tray nearly slipping from her hands, stunned by her son's absurd and dramatic transformation.

Dirga didn't give his Mother time to reply. He knew that if he wanted to gain credit from this system, he had to do it. He had no choice but to do the one thing he hated the most.

He took the porridge. "It must be fun to be on TV," he said.

He took his spoon and fed the porridge into his mouth. He had to act quickly, or everything would be lost again.