Ring! Ring! Ring!

6:00 AM. The pages of time spun backward to the starting point one final time. Arif opened his eyes without a shred of lingering doubt, fear, or anger. All those negative emotions had melted away alongside his pride in the previous loop. This morning's scenario was about one thing: absolute efficiency.

Arif bolted from his thin mattress with Swiss-watch precision. He wasted no time brooding. He showered quickly, straightened his faded blue work shirt meticulously, and stepped out of his boarding alleyway precisely at 6:30 AM.

Inside the TransJakarta bus, Arif no longer gazed at the robotic humans around him with cynicism. Instead, he looked upon them with deep reverence, realizing that very soon he would rejoin the flow of time marching forward together with them. On his ring finger, the Frost Circle ring no longer radiated a bone-chilling frost; the ancient silver metal felt warm, pulsing softly in rhythm with his steady heartbeat.

At precisely 7:45 AM, Arif stepped into the fourth-floor corridor of the logistics division. The office atmosphere remained quiet. Only the first wafts of coffee steam from the pantry table and the echoing footsteps of the cleaning crew broke the silence. Arif walked straight past empty cubicles, heading toward Pak Malik's dark glass office.

He knew, based on the hundreds of repetitions he had endured, that Pak Malik always arrived at his cubicle right at 7:50 AM after stepping off the executive elevator.

Click.

The glass door opened. Pak Malik stepped inside while adjusting his silk tie, but his steps slammed to a halt the moment he saw Arif sitting calmly in the chair across from his desk.

"Arif? What... why are you already inside my office this early?" Pak Malik frowned, his hand instinctively reaching toward the lower-right desk drawer holding his criminal ace card.

Arif glanced at the wall clock hovering above Pak Malik's head. 7:52 AM.

"Pak Malik, let's save time. We have exactly fifteen minutes before your secretary, Siska, walks in with coffee and the intercom outside starts buzzing," Arif stated, his voice flat, cold, and heavy with absolute control.

Pak Malik snorted loudly, trying to reconstruct his wall of authoritarianism. "Don't be insolent, Arif! Get out of my office or—"

"PT Garuda Nusantara Logistik," Arif interrupted without shifting his vocal intonation an octave. "Tactical fund flows totaling four point two billion rupiah over the past six months transferred to a shadow account under your wife's name, Mrs. Miranda. And my forged signature document inside your lower-right desk drawer bearing a 10,000-rupiah stamp duty with document serial number LN-2026-09."

Every word slipping from Arif's mouth launched like a guided missile zeroing in on a vital target. Pak Malik froze instantly. His entire face turned ashen, his eyes widening in horror as he stared at the administrative staffer he had always dismissed as a tiny cockroach.

"You... how the hell do you know that document's serial number?!" Pak Malik hissed, his voice shaking violently.

Arif ignored the rhetorical question. He checked his watch. 7:55 AM. Three minutes gone.

"I have memorized every single habit of yours by heart, sir. I know you'll try calling the legal team by minute seven, and you'll attempt to wipe your computer's digital footprint by minute nine. So don't waste your energy," Arif said, sliding forward an official HR draft letter he had pre-prepared back at his room.

"This is the official payout draft for my severance, tenure award, and a formal declaration clearing my name legally and officially from the northern logistics audit system. Sign this right now through your digital authority account, then call Bu Sarah from HR to process it instantly," Arif commanded with undeniable authority.

Pak Malik shook. Beneath Arif's clear, razor-sharp gaze, he felt his entire life and rotten secrets laid completely bare. Without daring to utter a single objection, Pak Malik unlocked his laptop with trembling fingers. He punched in his password—which Arif also knew by heart—and executed the digital authorization for the severance draft.

8:02 AM. Arif's phone on the desk buzzed briefly. An official corporate banking notification popped up.

"Official & legal severance transfer from HR Division amounting to Rp 300,000,000.00 successful."

The money had now arrived not through Pak Malik's illegal black shadow account, but through legitimate corporate channels valid under the law, completely immune to any future legal challenges.

Pak Malik slumped into his leather chair, his breathing ragged like a man who had barely escaped death's grip. "It's... I've done it all, Arif. Now, please don't report me..."

Arif stood from his chair, smoothed his shirt, and fixed his boss with a final look that Thursday. "Our business is concluded, Pak Malik. Have a good day."

8:07 AM. The negotiation scenario wrapped up precisely in fifteen minutes—an absolute efficiency born from hundreds of hours of suffering inside the time cage.

Arif strode out of the glass office with his head held high. As he walked past the row of cubicles, Dani had just settled into his chair, clutching his coffee mug.

"Hey, Rif! Just got in? You look unusually cheerful, like you just won the lottery?" Dani asked, repeating their standard daily dialogue.

Arif halted his steps for a second, gazing at his cubicle buddy with eyes brimming with profound emotion. "I'm heading out, Dan. Thanks for everything. Take good care of yourself."

"Huh? Where are you going, Rif? Work just started!" Dani shouted in confusion.

Arif didn't look back. He kept walking straight through the office lobby, pushed past the skyscraper's glass revolving doors, and stepped out onto the Jakarta streets. Outside, the grand metropolis remained busy with blaring traffic, gleaming luxury cars, and towering billboards advertising international designer goods.

Yet all that urban glamour could no longer captivate Arif's heart. He walked right past the sports car rental agency, passing the five-star hotel where he once staged his fake masquerade without throwing a single glance behind. The three hundred million rupiah now safely secured in his legal account was no longer a tool to feed his urban ego or greed.

That money had transformed into genuine sustenance—a valid ticket primed to carry him home to the place where his heart truly belonged.

Arif stepped firmly toward the nearest station, no longer caring about the chaotic hum of a frozen Jakarta around him, because his soul was now fully prepared to welcome a true homecoming.