2026-05-04 11:01:36"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 equipment room in the back and let him do whatever he wanted to my body..."
"I-I'm fine, Ma'am. Just... need some expression," Raditya stammered. To distract his mind, which was nearly driven insane by his exploding libido from the remnants of Mrs. Ratna's mental broadcast, he began dipping his brush into bright red paint and slashing it brutally across the canvas.
He moved without a plan. He poured black, red, and dark blue colors randomly. He tried to depict the "mind-radio" that had been haunting him all day. His strokes were wild, coarse, full of distortion. He no longer cared about proportions or technique. He just wanted to throw away all the trashy voices from Mrs. Ratna, Joni, Mr. Johan, and everyone else in his head.
For ten minutes, he was submerged in a fury of paint on the canvas. All the other students in the class began to glance over, their minds commenting once again.
What is Raditya doing? Is he throwing a tantrum at the canvas? But why does it look so aesthetic? Like a world-class artist who's high on drugs, thought one of the popular girls.
Is he crazy? Like a kindergartner throwing a fit with paint. There's nothing good about it, Tio's mind sneered.
Finally, Raditya stopped.
He stood panting, the brush in his hand still dripping red paint that looked like fresh blood. On his canvas, a dark, abstract vortex was on display, with thousands of "ears" that seemed to be screaming, surrounding a single empty white dot in the middle—Bianca's figure.
Mrs. Ratna approached, her glasses sliding slightly down her nose. She stared at the painting with a deep frown. Raditya held his breath, waiting for the psychological blow from his usually perfectionist teacher.
However, the radio in Raditya's head once again provided a dual, contradictory broadcast.
Verbally, Mrs. Ratna said: "Raditya, this is extraordinary. The strokes... they are so bold. Very expressive. I can feel the suffering and at the same time... the hidden passion here. You have a natural talent."
The whole class gaped. Mrs. Ratna, the art critic who usually wouldn't hesitate to rip a student's painting to shreds if it didn't suit her taste, was now praising Raditya's heap of abstract colors.
But inside Mrs. Ratna's mind: Good god, what even is this?! It is a total mess! No aesthetics at all! Like colorful paint thrown onto food scraps in a trash can. This boy has such weird taste, doesn't he? But whatever, I'll just praise him; maybe after this he'll soften up and want to come over to my apartment. It would be such a waste to give those handsome looks only to a canvas—better to give them to my bed!
Raditya smirked thinly, a sense of disgust crawling through his chest. This was the adult world around him. Hypocrisy wrapped in professional praise. His trash painting was being praised to the heavens simply because he had the "thighs and jawline" that fit his teacher's fantasies.
"Thank you, Mrs. Ratna. I am glad you can 'see' the honesty in my painting," Raditya remarked sharply, which Mrs. Ratna only answered with a flirtatious wink.
He sat back down, ignoring his classmates who were now joining in with fake admiration just to look smart. Raditya realized that this art class was actually teaching him the most real art theory of all: Aesthetics do not reside on the canvas, but in the lies of whoever looks at it.
There were many beautiful paintings in this room, but all of them hid disgusting, ridiculous, and shameful thoughts. Raditya turned toward the corner, looking for Bianca. Bianca was there too, painting a landscape of a dry tree against a backdrop of calm, gray clouds.
Raditya tried to focus his remaining energy on Bianca.
Zzzzzzzt.
Still silent. Amidst the mental noise of Mrs. Ratna, who was still busy imagining the size of Raditya's penis, Bianca was an escape that was impossible to penetrate. Yet, as Raditya stared at Bianca's simple painting, he felt something far more valuable than all the fake praise in the room.
Bianca... is there an answer to the madness in my head behind that dry tree of yours? Raditya asked within his own mind, a message in a bottle thrown into an ocean of silence.
The art lesson ended with a long ring of the bell. The students immediately packed up their equipment. As Mrs. Ratna passed his desk again, the teacher intentionally leaned lower until her cleavage was clearly visible to Raditya, while her mind leaked the final message of the day: I put my phone number on the back of your attendance sheet. Don't forget to text me, sweetie. Apartment 302 is waiting for your big 'brush' tonight...
Raditya just stared at the floor, his face flat. He felt a suffocating irony. This new handsomeness had given him power, but the radio in his mind gave him the clarity that such power stood upon an endless mire of hypocrisy.
He picked up his "blood and screams" canvas and walked out of the studio without a word, leaving Mrs. Ratna still smiling with a thirsty lust at the front of the class. Tonight, he wouldn't be going to any apartment.
He just wanted to go home, lock himself away, and ask his reflection in the mirror: If the world is as beautiful as everyone says, why must the inside of his head be this bitter and noisy?
Raditya stepped out of the art studio, accompanied by the dance of absurd voices from the people around him, which now sounded more like mocking laughter than words.
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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
