The bright white beam of the LED headlight from Firman’s heavy scooter sliced through the darkness of the narrow Tangerang alleyway. On the passenger seat behind him, Grandmother Sumarni held tightly to his leather jacket, occasionally raspiing out directions. As the scooter turned down the final block and its engine cut out, the quiet stillness of the night was shattered by violent shouting.

CRASH!

"Get out here, Rizka! Stop hiding in there like a rat!"

"Pay up your debt right now! Otherwise, I'm hauling every last piece of junk out of this house!"

Firman lowered his kickstand in total composure. His eyes, cold as ice, immediately locked onto a small, run-down rental row unit with a rusted iron gate at the end of the alley. Standing on the porch were three burly, harsh-faced men wearing black leather vests, violently pounding on the front door. One of them kicked a plastic flowerpot, shattering it into pieces across the floor.

From inside the darkened house, a woman’s terrified screech echoed alongside the hysterical sobbing of two young children. That woman's scream... even though over a decade had passed, Firman recognized it instantly. It was the voice of Rizka Amulia—his biological mother.

"Oh Merciful Lord, Firman... they're back again," Grandmother Sumarni whispered, her entire frame trembling beside the scooter.

"Stay near the scooter, Grandma. I'll handle this," Firman replied. His tone was completely flat, utterly devoid of panic, carrying the natural aura of a commander stepping onto a battlefield.

Firman stepped forward. The steady click of his premium leather dress shoes echoed against the concrete walkway. His tall, broad-shouldered frame and the intimidating presence of a successful young executive immediately drew the attention of the three collectors.

"Hey! Who the hell are you? Mind your own business!" snapped one of the collectors, a man with a heavy neck tattoo, stepping up to block Firman's path.

Firman came to a stop two paces in front of him, entirely unbothered. Casually, he slid both hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers.

"I dislike loud disturbances at night. What is the total debt owed by the woman inside?"

The three collectors exchanged glances, visibly unsettled by the absolute calm radiating from the young man before them. "Four hundred and fifty million rupiahs! What, you trying to play the hero for her? You actually got that kind of cash?!"

Firman offered no verbal response. He simply retrieved his smartphone, opened his mobile banking app, and held the screen displaying a multi-hundred-million balance directly in front of the lead collector's face.

At the sight of the long row of digits on the display, the bravado drained instantly from the three men. They realized immediately that the man standing before them was not someone to be trifled with.

"Leave your agency's account details on the porch table and leave now, before I instruct my corporate legal team to file charges for property damage and extortion," Firman said, his voice dropped to a low register yet laced with an undeniable authority that sent a chill down their spines.

Recognizing a guaranteed payout from a wealthy benefactor, the lead collector hurriedly jotted down his bank details on a scrap of paper, set it on the porch table, and signaled his men to fall back. "Alright, boss. We'll take your word for it. But if the transfer isn't cleared by tomorrow morning, we're coming right back!"

The three men hurried off into the darkness of the alley, leaving the messy porch in sudden, heavy silence.

Firman stood still on the littered porch, staring at the wooden door that remained bolted shut from within.

"Rizka Amulia. Open the door. The collectors are gone," Firman called out. He deliberately addressed her by her full name, omitting the title of "Mother." His voice sounded completely foreign, cold, and authoritative.

Hearing that the collectors had vanished, the slide bolt was slowly drawn back from inside. The wooden door cracked open slightly, revealing a thoroughly pitiful woman.

Rizka Amulia stood behind the door with disheveled hair, eyes swollen from non-stop weeping, and a face drained of color from sheer panic. Her house dress sat wrinkled and worn. Behind her, two young elementary-aged children clung to her waist, sobbing quietly.

Rizka lifted her head, looking at the handsome, impeccably dressed young man standing on her porch. For a moment, she froze. Her mind raced to match the imposing figure before her with a memory from over ten years ago. Those dark, marble-cold eyes... the sharp contour of his jawline...

"You... you..." Rizka's lips trembled violently. Her heart seemed to stop altogether. "Firman...?"

Firman didn't smile. He stared down at the woman who had brought him into the world with a completely vacant gaze, as if looking at a total stranger on the side of the road.

"Yes. It's me—the shameful mistake you abandoned when you chose the man you loved," Firman answered, a faint, razor-thin smirk appearing on his face. Over a decade of waiting and childhood tears had reached their ultimate resolution at this exact second—as he stood as the absolute master of fate over the ruin of the woman who had once destroyed his childhood.