The massive Jakarta storm that had just exploded with a thunderous lightning strike gave Mira zero time to lament her fate or offer up a quick prayer for survival. Rain poured down in maximum intensity, transforming the back parking lot of Balai Sudirman into a sudden, fast-flowing flash-flood pool within seconds.

Remember, earlier that morning before setting off to war, Mira had tucked a small backpack containing a pair of spare flat sandals and a folding umbrella into the venue's official luggage check-in counter, knowing full well her stiletto heels wouldn't survive the real world.

With a lopsided limp that grew increasingly pitiful, Mira braved the heavy downpour along the building's side corridor, breaking into a frantic jog (or rather, a one-legged skip-hop) toward the luggage check-in post, which was already emptying out as people scrambled for cover.

"Excuse me, mister! I need to pick up my checked bag under the name Mira Anastasya, check-in ticket number forty-two!" Mira gasped for air behind the glass window of the cloakroom, her clothes half-soaked and reeking of a strange mix of sate peanut sauce and lemon dish soap.

The attendant, who looked to be in a rush packing up cardboard souvenir boxes, shoved a large black plastic bag right out to Mira without asking too many questions. "Here you go, miss, check the contents yourself, we're closing the post because the roof's starting to leak!"

Mira snatched the plastic bag, immediately tearing it open under the narrow shelter of the cloakroom roof. She planned to swap out her crippled footwear for comfortable flat sandals so she could walk home in peace.

Yet, the moment that black plastic bag ripped open and its contents spilled across the counter...

Mira's eyes bugged out in absolute shock.

Resting on the wooden counter was not her small backpack containing spare socks and cat-patterned flat sandals, but rather a dusty, synthetic-brown duffel bag that reeked intensely of a motorcycle repair shop's engine oil. Beside it sat a pair of pitch-black, jumbo-sized men's formal dress shoes—size 13—complete with thick rubber soles and the distinct, potent aroma of a grueling field laborer's tired feet.

Mira froze solid.

She stared blankly at the size-13 men's dress shoes with a hollow, horrified gaze before slowly lifting her eyes to the cloakroom attendant.

"Mister... esteemed mister cloakroom attendant, what on earth is this? Why did my backpack mutate into a construction boss's heavy-duty footwear?" Mira protested in a panic.

The attendant scratched his head blankly. "Ah, looks like a ticket mix-up, miss! A building AC repairman rushed out of here earlier terrified of running into a chick with a giant updo, maybe ticket number forty-two belonged to him!"

"Then where on earth is my bag with the cat sandals?!" Mira screamed hysterically, her voice nearly swallowed whole by the roaring thunderstorm raging outside.

"How should I know, miss! The guy rode his motorbike tearing down the main road ten minutes ago!" the attendant replied casually, slamming the glass window shut right in her face.

Mira stood entirely alone on the narrow cloakroom porch. With despair having officially breached the top of her skull, she had no choice but to shove her tiny feet straight into the size-13 men's dress shoes. Predictably, the outcome was comical: Mira’s feet completely 'swam' inside the cavernous footwear, leaving her toes floating inches away from the front tips. She was forced to shuffle forward, dragging the massive shoes along like heavy wooden prisoner blocks from ancient history.

"Perfect... my life's misery tonight is officially complete," Mira mumbled in total defeat, brooding in the shadows of the porch.

And as if fate hadn't finished torturing her yet, right at the precise second Mira stepped off the porch to brave the storm-swept streets toward the nearest bus stop, a supreme technological catastrophe struck.

She pulled her budget smartphone out of her souvenir bag to order an emergency ride-hailing motorbike. The screen flickered to life dimly before flashing a stark red notification across the top: No Service... Total Signal Loss.

Right alongside that warning, the screen blinked one last time before flatlining permanently as the battery completely gave up the ghost under the brutal weather conditions.

The torrential downpour lashed down with maximum fury, flooding the city streets, permanently severing Mira's cell service, and stranding her completely alone in the middle of a stormy night wearing size-13 men's shoes, a sate-scented gown, and a melting Super Saiyan concrete updo.