The silence inside the air-conditioned office hung so heavy that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like the countdown of a time bomb. Pak Malik collapsed into his executive leather chair. The face that usually glowed with arrogant flush now looked ashen, starkly contrasting with his expensive silk shirt. His eyes stared blankly at the pocket camera on the desk and the tiny microphone clipped to Arif's shirt collar.

He, the corporate predator who had ruthlessly crushed dozens of administrative staffers, now sat limp like prey locked tight within an invisible trap.

Arif retrieved his pocket camera with a calm, highly calculated movement. His confidence was absolute. Every nuance of emotion in this room remained under his control—a control he had paid for with dozens of failures and simulations in previous loops. On his finger, the Frost Circle ring felt cool, as if channeling an icy fortitude that locked the focus of his soul.

"So, Pak Malik," Arif broke the silence, his voice steady without a shred of hesitation. "Do we still need to discuss the matter of my 'restructuring' and 'sluggish performance'? Or would you like me to press send right now, dispatching all these corruption files straight to the board of commissioners and the corporate police division?"

Pak Malik swallowed hard with great difficulty. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. The remaining arrogance inside him tried to crawl up for one final gasping breath. "Arif... you know this, your stunt is extortion? I can countersue you for data theft and blackmailing a superior!"

Instead, Arif let out a soft chuckle—a cold laugh that made the hairs on Pak Malik's arms stand on end. "Sue me? Go ahead, sir. But let's run the logical math. If you sue me, the entire contents of your right desk drawer will be ripped open by investigators. The illicit ties between the central logistics division and PT Garuda Nusantara Logistik under your wife's name will become public fodder. How many years of prison time for embezzling four point two billion rupiah plus forging authentic documents?"

Arif leaned forward, fixing a razor-sharp glare directly into his trembling boss's pupils. "As for me? At worst, I'm only accused of snapping photos of documents in a room whose door wasn't locked. Your loss is the total destruction of your life, your reputation, and your wife's freedom. My loss is practically zero. So, please, call the legal team right now. I'll wait right here."

Pak Malik's counter-bluff collapsed completely. The old fox knew he wasn't dealing with a low-level clerk who could be cowed by legal threats. The man standing before him acted like an executioner who knew the exact pulse point of his victim. The fear of losing everything—wealth, status, and socialite prestige in Jakarta's elite circles—finally crushed Pak Malik's ego entirely.

"What... what do you want, Arif?" Pak Malik asked, his voice now raspy, barely above a whisper. His arrogance had evaporated, replaced by the utter desperation of a cornered criminal.

Arif leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with the poise of a true ruler. "Simple. I want my rights paid in full, plus hush money for every secret I'm holding onto today."

"How much?"

Arif raised three fingers. "Three hundred million rupiah. Net. As severance, tenure bonus, and a guarantee that the data in my head will never reach the commissioners' desk."

"Three hundred million?!" Pak Malik jolted upright, his face flushing crimson once more. "That's insane! The division's emergency cash transfer limit is only fifty million! I can't release that kind of money without the finance director's sign-off!"

Arif shook his head slowly, wearing a faked expression of disappointment. "Don't lie to the man who holds the contents of your laptop, sir. I know you maintain a personal tactical account in an international bank off the corporate audit books. An account you frequently use to launder money skimmed from northern logistics. Your active balance there as of this morning is seven hundred fifty million rupiah. So, three hundred million is a small price to buy your freedom."

Pak Malik panted heavily, staring at Arif with overwhelming horror. How could this guy possibly know down to my personal account number and balance? Pak Malik thought hysterically. He felt as though Arif were some supernatural entity capable of reading the entire ledger of his life.

"Transfer it now, sir. To my personal account number," Arif ordered, sliding his phone to the center of the desk. "I'll give you three minutes. If my balance doesn't change in three minutes, I imagine the board of commissioners will be thrilled to read an email from me over lunch today."

With no other choice, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped his device, Pak Malik opened his private banking app. His fingers tapped the digital screen frantically, punching in the account number displayed on Arif's phone. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, dampening the polished mahogany desk.

Click.

Seconds later, Arif's phone on the table buzzed softly. A short text notification arrived from the receiving bank.

Arif grabbed his phone and read the message:

"Incoming transfer from Account XXX amounting to Rp 300,000,000.00 successful."

The string of zero digits glowing on the phone screen gleamed with pure reality. A fantastic sum, one Arif had never laid eyes on in his entire life, now sat inside his personal account. Money that could clear every boarding bill, credit card debt, and even buy his mother a brand-new house back in the village without ever worrying about a leaking kitchen roof again.

Pak Malik put his phone down limply, gazing at Arif with a pleading expression. "It's... it's transferred. Now, delete those photos and hand over your voice recorder!"

Arif rose from his chair, casually slipping his phone and pocket camera into his trouser pockets. He looked at Pak Malik for the final time that day, flashing a triumphant smile dripping with irony.

"My employment contract ends today, Pak Malik. Thank you for this fantastic severance package," Arif said calmly. He didn't delete the photos or hand over the recorder. "Don't worry, as long as this money stays in my hands, your secret is safe... for today."

Arif turned on his heel, pushed open the glass door of the executive suite, and stepped out with his head held high. In the logistics lobby, his coworkers, including Dani, stared at him with intense curiosity. They had expected Arif to walk out in tears or blind rage, yet the man strode with the aura of a newly minted billionaire who had just won life's lottery.

Arif ignored all those stares. He walked toward the elevators with steps as light as a feather. An overwhelming sense of satisfaction swelled in his chest. He had rewritten his destiny. He was no longer a trampled loser in this cruel city.

Yet as the elevator doors slid shut and the silver shimmer of the Frost Circle ring on his finger once again radiated a biting chill, an odd tremor suddenly overtook Arif's consciousness. A fundamental question that had been buried beneath his lust for revenge suddenly bubbled to the surface, sending a strange, hollow loneliness straight through the heart of his victory.