2026-05-04 10:55:10The sharp scent of thinner, oil paint, and sawdust from wood carvings greeted Raditya as he stepped into the Merdeka High School Art Studio. The room was far more spacious than a regular classroom, with high ceilings and large windows that allowed the afternoon light to stream in at a dramatic angle. In the corners of the room, deformed plaster statues and failed abstract paintings were piled up like monuments to the glory of a dying creativity.
For Raditya, this place was a different kind of noise-pollution laboratory. If in the cafeteria he heard the cacophony of hunger and in the restroom he heard the echoes of libido, here he heard frequencies of "aesthetics" mixed with the students' personal obsessions.
Raditya sat in front of a blank canvas, holding a crusted wooden palette. Beside him, Tio was busy scribbling on his canvas with pitch-black paint.
"Hey, Rad. I heard you just turned down a love letter from Dini?" Tio whispered without looking away from his painting. "You've been getting colder ever since you became the prince. Did your heart freeze over because of that lightning strike yesterday?"
"I just need some peace, Yo. Nothing more," Raditya replied shortly, trying to shut down his mental receiver. However, a distance of one meter in this studio was an impossibility for Raditya's psychic walls. As soon as he glanced at Tio's painting, a chaotic mental transmission seeped into his temporal lobe.
Draw the lines to form an equilateral triangle. One eye in the center. The paint needs to spill a little so it looks like alien blood from Area 51. If Mrs. Ratna asks, I'll tell her it's a symbol of universal balance, even though this is really a code for waiting for the hollow earth theory DVD delivery tomorrow morning at the motorcycle taxi stand, Tio thought with a fast and paranoid internal voice.
Raditya snorted. To his left, Luna was painting a night sky sprinkled with shimmering stars using cheap glitter. Luna's mind was much gentler, but no less strange.
"Virgo is currently in transition to Mars. I need to include more navy blue elements. Maybe if Raditya sees my painting, he'll realize that our zodiac signs are a perfect match. His aura right now is radiating an explosive masculine Jupiter energy. Ugh, I really want to have my fortune told with him in a dark room using only a dim nightlight..."
Raditya massaged his temples. The beauty of art in this room was merely a cover for a million endless hallucinations. "Art really is absurd," he murmured softly.
"What is absurd, Raditya?"
A heavy, raspy feminine voice—the voice of a smoker trying to be masked by expensive floral perfume—sounded right behind Raditya's ear. Mrs. Ratna stood there. The art teacher wore a stylish, somewhat tight batik dress that accentuated her mature curves as a "blossoming widow" who was still very attractive to the male students at the school.
"Oh, Mrs. Ratna. Uh... this blank canvas, Ma'am. In my opinion, emptiness is the most honest art," Raditya deflected, trying to look at Mrs. Ratna's face politely.
However, as soon as his eyes met Mrs. Ratna's, which were framed by stylish glasses, a powerful sensory assault hit Raditya. Physical touch was not necessary this time. Mrs. Ratna's strong sexual attraction to Raditya's "new face" became a fiber optic cable that flowed the teacher's most hidden fantasies directly into Raditya's central nervous system.
Instantly, the dusty Art Studio vanished. Raditya choked on the cold air in a 4K visualization forcibly projected by Mrs. Ratna's mind.
In that highly explicit and wild mental projection, Raditya saw himself in Mrs. Ratna's luxury apartment in the city center. The room was illuminated only by maroon neon lights. Mrs. Ratna, in that imagination, was not wearing her teacher's clothes. She wore only a thin, transparent, buttonless shirt that hung wide open, revealing her large, ripe white breasts with dark nipples that had hardened, defying the air.
"Paint me with your hands, Raditya. Don't use a brush," Mrs. Ratna's inner voice sighed inside Raditya's head. The voice was so clear, heavy, and full of stifling passion.
Raditya saw himself—his wild alter-ego version—pushing Mrs. Ratna onto a glass table covered with wine bottles. In Mrs. Ratna's lewd fantasy, Raditya squeezed those two supple mounds of flesh with his strong, now-veined hands. Mrs. Ratna groaned loudly within that mental thought, scratching Raditya's back while her transparent shirt was forcibly pulled until it tore.
Raditya saw how his lips in the projection devoured Mrs. Ratna's breasts, sucking her flushed red nipples with primitive greed. Mrs. Ratna's internal passion flowed heavily into Raditya's nervous system. He felt as if he could feel the warmth of Mrs. Ratna's skin, moist with the sweat of lust. Raditya lifted Mrs. Ratna's legs high, separating her smooth white thighs and spreading them across the shimmering glass table.
The visualization grew more violent. Raditya saw himself lunging into Mrs. Ratna with one powerful, no-nonsense thrust. Slap, slap, slap! the sound of wet skin friction echoed in Mrs. Ratna's mental space, accompanied by wild screams from the art teacher who had always appeared calm in front of the class. Mrs. Ratna imagined Raditya flipping her over like a canvas, impaling her from behind, squeezing her hips until he left hot red marks, while sweat joined their bodies in a fast and merciless rhythm of sex.
The abundant fluids of passion and the demanding moans within that mind felt so real that they made Raditya's penis under the studio table suddenly go stiff, hard, and throb violently against the tight fabric of his uniform trousers.
"Raditya? Why is your face so pale?" Mrs. Ratna touched Raditya's hand, which was holding a brush.
That warm skin contact was like a detonator trigger. The mental transmission exploded once more with a climactic fragment where Mrs. Ratna imagined Raditya's hot semen spraying onto her face as they reached the peak of pleasure in that fictitious apartment.
"Aa-ah!" Raditya let out a soft cry, his hands trembling violently. He immediately pulled his hand away from Mrs. Ratna's touch. His breath hitched as if the oxygen in the art studio had been sucked out by the heated visualization just now. Cold sweat the size of corn kernels poured down his forehead.
"Are you sick? Why is your body temperature so hot?"
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Chapter 22
The wooden door on the fourth floor of the old west wing groaned loudly as Raditya pushed it open. The air inside the room felt much heavier, as if the oxygen particles there had blended with the dust of ancient books, incense smoke masked by jasmine perfume, and the scent of overheated electronic circuits.The Absurd Paranormal Club’s meeting room was a systematic aesthetic mess. Flying saucer posters clashed with star constellation maps, several old tube monitors flickered with static noise, and a large round table with a cracked crystal ball placed in its center served as the room's center of gravity.Leo was sitting there, lighting a herbal cigarette that smelled like burning dry grass. Beside him, Tio was typing rapidly on a laptop covered in Illuminati stickers, while Luna sat cross-legged on a chair, her fingers busy twirling the ends of her hair as she stared at Raditya with an intensity that was almost predatory."Finally, Subject X arrives," Leo said, his voice husky yet fil
Chapter 21
The scent of stale hallway dust and lemon-scented floor cleaner provided a dull backdrop for Raditya as he shut his locker door with a soft thud. His head was still buzzing—a static symphony of the shallow thoughts of passing students. Some were thinking about discounts on running shoes, others were anxious about a pimple on their backside, and of course, the majority of the female students who crossed his path radiated waves of admiration for his new face that bordered on aggressive."Hey, Thunder Prince."The deep, raspy voice broke Raditya's concentration. He turned to find Leo, the President of the Absurd Paranormal Club, leaning against the wall in a self-consciously mysterious pose. His oversized trench coat—worn despite Jakarta's sweltering heat—made him look like a failed detective character from a 90s noir film."Leo," Raditya replied curtly, tightening his backpack straps. "What is it now?"Raditya tried to focus his "antennas." He strained his brain's circuitry to pierce th
Chapter 20
Raditya rested his forehead against the cold metal door of his locker, trying to dampen the throbbing in his temples. His encounter with Bianca in the library had truly drained his energy. The girl's silence wasn't just an absence of sound, but a vacuum that seemed to suck away his entire telepathic life force. However, just as he intended to step toward the school gate to go home, his mental radio crackled violently again.The signal came from the direction of the Chemistry lab hallway. It wasn't one, but three inner frequencies intersecting with a very serious, almost conspiratorial tone.Three o'clock. Behind the heavy equipment shed. Don't be late, or the portal will close before the negative emotions of the other students can fuel it, a heavy, vibrating inner voice entered Raditya's head. It belonged to Leo, the president of the school's strangest club, whose reputation was nothing more than an urban myth.Raditya frowned. His curiosity—or perhaps the absurd detective instinct th
Chapter 19
The wooden floor of the Merdeka High School library creaked softly under the sneakers Raditya was wearing—which now looked expensive, though they were actually just thrifted goods that suddenly looked classy when paired with his sturdy posture. The library was quiet that afternoon, save for the hum of an old AC struggling against the insane Jakarta heat.Raditya hid behind the "Flora & Fauna Encyclopedia" shelf, his eyes fixed on the desk in the corner near the large window covered by thin curtains. Bianca was sitting upright there. Her straight black hair partially covered her face as she looked down, engrossed in writing something in an antique-looking dark brown leather-bound journal.Since their last meeting, Raditya's curiosity about Bianca had turned into a tormenting obsession. Bianca was the only "blind spot" in his radar. Everyone else in this school was just a pile of dirty noise and transparent lust, but Bianca? She was an absolute void. A silence
Chapter 18
The lights of the Sky-Light rooftop cafe glowed dimly, reflecting off the cold glass table surface. Raditya sat with his black shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing arm muscles that were now veiny and solid. Ever since that bolt of lightning, his body no longer belonged to the frail nerd he once was. Across from him, Siska—a girl with shoulder-length hair and a shy smile—kept fidgeting with the end of her straw."You... you’ve really changed, Rad," Siska murmured, her face flushing under the orange glow of the lights. "Back then, I only ever dared to watch you from a distance in the library. Sitting across from you like this feels like a dream."Raditya gave a thin smile, a prince-like grin capable of paralyzing logic. However, behind that smile, his brain was screaming. The "mind-radio" inside his head was tuning into Siska's inner frequency at maximum volume."Oh my god, he is so hot! Look at that jawline, I just want to bite it. Does he use skin whitener? But how does he
Chapter 17
"Raditya? Why is your face so pale?" Mrs. Ratna touched Raditya's hand, which was holding a brush.That warm skin contact was like a detonator trigger. The mental transmission exploded once more with a climactic fragment where Mrs. Ratna imagined Raditya's hot semen spraying onto her face as they reached the peak of pleasure in that fictitious apartment."Aa-ah!" Raditya let out a soft cry, his hands trembling violently. He immediately pulled his hand away from Mrs. Ratna's touch. His breath hitched as if the oxygen in the art studio had been sucked out by the heated visualization just now. Cold sweat the size of corn kernels poured down his forehead."Are you sick? Why is your body temperature so hot?" Mrs. Ratna asked, her voice remaining physically soft, but inside her brain: "My God, his eyes! His gaze is so wild after I touched him just now! Could he actually be sensitive? My chest is pounding seeing him this close. If only this class were empty, I'd pull him into the painting eq
