An intensely scorching thermal shockwave swept across Gilang's back the moment he shoved Rania and dragged Wira through the northern sector's emergency escape hatch. The sound of collapsing concrete, roaring like midnight thunder, shook the entire commercial district of Sector 1.

"Jump!" Gilang screamed hysterically, throwing gravity and the deadly drop below to the wind as the three of them were blasted out of the tearing tower walls, slamming onto an exterior emergency evacuation pod that shot rapidly downward into the open plaza.

Behind them, the Ant Corp central tower—a monument of greed, absolute power, and occult capitalism piercing the clouds—collapsed from the inside out in a spectacular display of cyber-fire and light. Gigantic quantum tubes detonated in rapid succession, vomiting a purple aurora of millions of liberated soul essences into the night sky, illuminating the whole city before fading peacefully into the open air. Giant blocks of concrete rained down, burying the wreckage of the corporate glory into mounds of dust and lifeless iron skeletons.

Three days later, within the antiseptic-scented VIP ward of the Sector 1 General Hospital, the steady, rhythmic blip of an ECG monitor accompanied a tranquil morning atmosphere.

Rania sat on the edge of the sickbed, tightly clutching her younger brother's warm hand. Wira, a teenager who had lain comatose and unconscious for weeks, slowly blinked his eyes wide open. His gaze looked dazed, adjusting to the white glare of the hospital room.

"Sis...?" Wira's voice rasped, his throat parched. He blinked several times, looking around with a furrowed brow. "I... where am I? Why does it feel like I've been sleeping for a really long time...?"

"Wira!" Rania's sob shattered instantly. She threw her arms around her brother's frame in a fierce embrace, tears of joy spilling over to soak the hospital gown on Wira's shoulder. "You're safe, Dek! You're awake!"

Wira returned his sister's hug in confusion, though a faint smile finally touched his pale lips. "I had a bad dream, Sis... I was trapped in this really cold, dark room. But there was this warm light... a purple light that pulled me out of there."

Rania pulled back, wiping away her tears with a wide smile. She knew precisely whose purple light had saved her brother. "Yeah, Dek... we were saved by someone incredible."

In the doorway of the slightly ajar hospital room, Gilang stood alone in silence. He wore his faded bomber jacket stained with the dust of the ruins, leaning his shoulder against the hospital wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Rania turned toward the door, noticing the freelancer's presence. The girl smiled warmly, gazing at Gilang with boundless gratitude. "Boss... aren't you coming in?"

Gilang shook his head gently, offering a small smile from a distance. He gave a soft wave. "No need, Rania. Take good care of your brother. My job here is done."

"But, Boss..." Rania started to move, but Gilang had already spun on his heel, walking away down the hospital corridor, leaving the siblings to enjoy their moment of reunion undisturbed.

Outside the hospital, the external world had shifted drastically in under a week.

Headlines across every public holographic display, digital newspaper, and news channel blared the exact same topic: "The Fall of the Ant Corp Empire: Global Soul-Harvesting Scandal Exposed!"

Legally and financially, Ant Corp shattered into dust overnight. The digital evidence left behind by Nara—who had miraculously escaped the control room before the ninetieth floor collapsed completely—spread rapidly into the hands of global authorities and international law enforcement agencies. All remaining board directors, including the shadowy investors funding the cyber-immortality project, were rounded up in mass dawn raids across multiple continents.

The occult stock market suffered the greatest crash in history, and millions who had fallen victim to SoulSync woke up with full awareness, freed from the chokehold of corporate curses.

Yet, behind the celebration of external freedom, an empty space remained—one that could not be bought with money or legal victories of any kind.

A few weeks later...

The night air in the suburban district of Sector 7 grew quiet and heavy with the reek of ozone once more. Inside his cramped three-by-three-meter attic room, Gilang sat mutely in his squeaking plastic chair.

No red-glowing Ant Corp stock graphs lit up the room. No low-tier Gig-Exorcist app orders rolled in. What rested on the desk was merely a cup of lukewarm black instant coffee and a handful of memories echoing ceaselessly inside his head.

Gilang stared blankly at his old computer monitor displaying a pitch-black, empty desktop. He exhaled a long breath, mourning his loss of Renata—the sharply suited woman who had crashed into his life like a storm, leaving an indelible mark upon his heart.

"Impressive work, Madam Director," Gilang muttered to himself in the darkened room, his voice raspy and laden with longing. "You managed to tear down your own company, but you left me all by myself in this smoke-stinking room."

Suddenly—

Blink.

The worn-out monitor before him abruptly flared to life on its own without a hand or power button being touched. No mouse cursor moved. The pitch-black screen slowly filled with cascading lines of bright green code flowing swiftly from top to bottom, forming a pristine, geometric pattern.

Gilang started slightly, straightening up as his eyes widened in shock.

The cascade of green code stopped flowing, coalescing into a simple pixelated smiley face in the center of the display, followed by an automatic message typed out letter by letter:

“Good job, Freelancer. Your black coffee is getting cold.”

Gilang's breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered wildly, and for a fleeting second, time itself seemed to halt within the attic.

Instantly, the corners of Gilang's lips curved upward into the warmest, most sincere smile he had worn after weeks of numbing emptiness. He knew precisely who was greeting him from beyond the city's digital network. Renata had never truly left; she had melted into eternity, becoming the system's balance keeper, the guardian of the night's secrets—the Ghost in the Machine.

Gilang reached for his coffee cup, took a slow sip, and tapped out a brief reply on his keyboard:

"Good evening, Renata. This coffee can always be reheated."

On the computer screen, the cursor moved on its own to type out one final sentence before the display dimmed peacefully:

"There's still a cheap poltergeist case in Sector 7 you need to take care of, Gilang."