Ring! Ring! Ring!

The grim 6:00 AM chimed once again inside Arif's boarding room. To anyone else, waking up to the exact same day dozens of times over would be an endless madness. Yet for Arif, every alarm ring now sounded like the opening bell in a gladiatorial arena. The cramped room, the whirring fan, and the stack of bills in the corner were no longer symbols of his degradation, but the starting line for a sharpening espionage mission.

In this 42nd loop, Arif no longer needed to waste time hunting for folders or eavesdropping in the pantry. Sheet by sheet, the secrets he had gathered in previous loops were neatly filed inside his brain like a criminal case file ready for trial. Today, he needed one final puzzle piece: the primary financial reconciliation document signed by Pak Malik with a wet ink stamp—the physical document serving as the legal anchor for all his crimes.

Arif arrived at the office precisely at 8:00 AM with a calm expression—far too calm for a man who knew he was about to be fired two minutes later.

Buzz... The cubicle intercom vibrated right on schedule. "Arif, my office. Now."

Arif stood up, straightened his faded shirt, and strode with steady steps. Inside the cold, dark glass-paneled office, the eviction scenario played out according to Pak Malik's eternal script. The white envelope landed on the mahogany desk, the word restructuring was delivered with an arrogant tone, and the threats of the corporate legal team were tossed out flawlessly.

Yet in this loop, Arif chose a different line of dialogue to provoke the predator's reaction.

"Pak Malik," Arif interrupted softly, locking eyes with his boss's pupils. "I know this isn't about my sluggish performance. It's about the missing tactical funds from the northern branch logistics project totaling 4.2 billion rupiah over the past six months, isn't it?"

Pak Malik's hand, moving to light a cigarette, froze mid-air. His eyes narrowed, betraying a shock he quickly tried to suppress with his massive ego.

"What nonsense are you spewing, Arif? Get out of my office before I call security!" Pak Malik snapped, his voice rising an octave—a sign that Arif's verbal bullet had hit the mark.

"I am not spewing nonsense," Arif replied with a cold, thin smile. He leaned forward over the desk. "Twenty-ished-five premium electronics units vanish from the manifest every single week. They're all funneled to PT Garuda Nusantara Logistik—a dummy vendor established just eight months ago. Guess who owns the primary shares? Mrs. Miranda Malik. Your own wife."

The air-conditioned room suddenly turned sub-zero. Pak Malik's face morphed from angry crimson to stark pale. He put down his lighter with a slightly trembling hand. The bossy intimidation he usually wielded collapsed in an instant before the low-level administrative staffer he had always dismissed.

"Where... where did you find all of that?" Pak Malik hissed, his voice raspy, his eyes darting restlessly toward the glass door, terrified an outside employee might overhear.

"In this city, no secret stays frozen forever, Pak," Arif said, brushing the surface of the Frost Circle ring on his finger, which shimmered faintly. "And what's most disgusting is this termination letter you shoved in front of me. You're pressuring me to sign it without proper severance because, within the internal system, you've already registered my digital account as the sole party responsible for those forged manifests. If the shareholders' internal audit rolls down next week, I'll be the one dragged off to prison as your scapegoat while you walk away scot-free with those four billion rupiah."

Pak Malik fell silent. The suffocating stillness hung heavy between them. The boss realized the man sitting before him was no longer a docile sheep who could be bullied with lawyer threats or poverty. Arif held his ace card. Every single corruption scandal, document forgery, and setup tactic lay stark naked before his junior staffer.

Pak Malik's expression shifted rapidly. The fear on his face slowly morphed into the cunning smirk of a cornered criminal. He leaned back into his leather chair, took a deep breath, and let out a low chuckle—a bizarre, intrigue-laden laugh.

"Brilliant. Amazing, Arif. I underestimated you all this time," Pak Malik said, his tone shifting to casual yet dripping with poison. "You're smart. You managed to dig everything up. But... so what?"

Pak Malik tapped the right-hand drawer of his desk—the drawer he always glanced at in every single repetition. He unlocked it with a small key from his pocket, then pulled out a thick, wet-stamped document. The original reconciliation paper Arif had been hunting for.

"You see this? This is physical evidence with a wet signature over a stamp duty stating that all warehouse outflow authority for the northern branch was handed over to you six months ago. I forged your signature exceptionally well, Arif. Even a handwriting analyst would struggle to tell the difference," Pak Malik said, waving the paper arrogantly.

"You have no physical proof to dispute this, Arif," Pak Malik continued, his eyes flashing cruelly. "You only have theories and stories. If you walk out that door and scream to the world, people will only see a stressed, poor employee who got fired and tried to frame his boss. A flash drive? Voice recordings? My IT team can wipe them in seconds or accuse you of digital tampering. In the real world, money and position dictate who the law believes."

Pak Malik stood up, smoothed his expensive suit, and fixed Arif with a gaze of absolute, triumphant victory.

"Today remains your last day here, Arif. You lost. You know my secret, but you can't use it to touch me."

Arif stared at the document in Pak Malik's hand. Instead of panicking or flying into a rage over the counter-bluff, Arif simply leaned back into his chair. He gazed at the Frost Circle ring on his finger, feeling a calming, chilling pulse soothe his soul.

In a normal, real world, Pak Malik might have been right. Power, money, and structured fabricated evidence could crush a small fry like Arif in a heartbeat. But Pak Malik didn't know one thing: they weren't in a normal, real world. They were inside Arif's time cage.

"You're right, Pak Malik. Physical evidence is crucial," Arif said quietly. He stood up, fixing a razor-sharp, photographic gaze upon the wet-stamped document, memorizing its serial number, date, and forged signature layout down to the tiniest detail within his mind.

"Thank you for showing me where you keep your ace card," Arif said with a relaxed, almost cheerful tone.

Pak Malik furrowed his brow, bewildered by Arif's complete lack of fear. "What do you mean? You've already lost!"

"I might lose today," Arif said as he walked toward the exit door. He glanced back, flashing Pak Malik the most mysterious smile the man had ever seen. "But luckily for me... I have infinite opportunities to refine my strategy. See you again in the next loop, Pak Malik. Let's see just how often you can protect that paper from me."

Arif stepped out of the glass office, leaving Pak Malik standing frozen in confusion amidst the chill of the air-conditioned room. Arif walked past the office cubicles with steps as light as a breeze. He didn't need the physical document right now. He only needed to know where it was kept, how Pak Malik locked it away, and what his psychological reactions were.

That evening, beneath the familiar drench of Jakarta's rain, Arif sat at a busway shelter with a heart burning with battle fervor.

The information-gathering phase had concluded to perfection. The opponent's ace card was exposed. In the next loop, true exploitation and negotiation would begin.