Arif closed his eyes with a smile still curving perfectly across his lips. The lingering warmth of expensive liquor and the scent of rental sports-car leather still clung tightly to his senses. He drifted off to sleep on his boarding room mattress with boundless satisfaction, feeling like a victor who had just conquered the summit of the world. The luxury, the respect, and the instant revenge he had experienced all day yesterday served as the ultimate antidote to his previously shattered pride.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

That painfully familiar alarm tore through the silence once more.

Arif bolted upright, instinctively checking his body. The international designer silk shirt and the luxury chronograph watch he had worn last night were gone. He was back in his faded undershirt and standard cotton shorts. The wall fan above him whirred loudly, cycling the exact same stale air.

Arif glanced at his phone screen. 6:00 AM. The exact same Thursday date as yesterday. And all the days before.

He hurriedly opened his mobile banking app with fingers that suddenly felt ice cold. His eyes locked onto his account balance line. The three hundred million rupiah that had gleamed majestically yesterday had evaporated without a trace, reverting to its pitiful original figure: less than five hundred thousand rupiah. The branded shopping bags, the polished leather shoes, and the German sports car keys resting on his table had vanished too. In the corner of the desk, the stack of red-lined bills stared back at him with the exact same arrogance.

Arif let out a long breath, leaning against the peeling cement wall of the room. He didn't panic. He no longer felt anger or rage like he did in the early loops. After all, he had memorized by heart how to make Pak Malik grovel. If he wanted to, he could simply head to the office at eight, copy the documents, rig the voice recorder, and extort that old fox all over again to pocket a brand-new three hundred million rupiah. He could rent that sports car again, eat that truffle wagyu steak again, and command the respect of the five-star hotel staff all over again.

Yet as Arif stared down at his empty palms, a strange and dense emptiness slowly crept into the cracks of his heart.

He fell silent. The surging wave of triumph from last night abruptly receded like a low tide.

Buzz... Buzz...

At precisely 6:15 AM, his phone vibrated on the thin mattress. The screen lit up, displaying the same name.

Mom is calling...

Arif stared at the vibrating phone with an empty gaze. The ringing melody sounded like an echo from an outside world he could no longer reach. All this time, he had believed money was the answer to all his suffering. He had thought that with that fantastic severance package, he could become a king ruling over the day. But this morning, the bitter reality slapped his consciousness with absolute precision.

That wealth wasn't real.

What was the point of possessing three hundred million rupiah if every six in the morning that balance would reset to zero? What was the point of buying high-end designer clothes if tomorrow he was forced back into this thrift-store undershirt? What was the point of being respected as a billionaire by a five-star restaurant waiter if that waiter's memory would be wiped hours later, reducing Arif to a complete stranger walking in for the very first time in the next loop?

Pak Malik's severance money was merely a mirage inside this time cage. The luxuries he had bought yesterday left zero footprint on the world, changed none of his fate, and failed to move his life a single step forward. The frozen flow of time had reduced all his financial achievements to a mere flavorless, make-believe pastime.

Arif gazed down at the Frost Circle ring on his ring finger. The ancient ice crystal engravings on its surface shimmered coldly, radiating a chilly aura that seemed to mock his greed from yesterday. This object didn't grant him wealth to enjoy; it locked him inside an eternal isolation chamber where time stubbornly refused to march forward.

His mother's phone call finally stopped, leaving a suffocating silence inside the nine-square-meter boarding room.

Arif wrapped his arms around his knees, burying his face there. For the very first time amidst the hundreds of millions of phantom rupiah he could conjure, Arif felt like the poorest man on earth. Inside this frozen prison of time, the euphoria of corporate victory had died, leaving behind a soul starving for a genuine, tangible future.