Dion didn't remember walking out of Kiana Arcelia's office.
One moment he was standing there, staring at the golden text hovering above his own reflection like some kind of celestial spam notification. The next moment he was in the service elevator, his back pressed against the cold metal wall, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
The elevator lurched downward.
"The CEO's Savior. Or Die Trying."
The words were burned into his retinas. He squeezed his eyes shut, but they were still there, glowing faintly behind his eyelids like the afterimage of a camera flash.
This was wrong. This was all wrong.
For three months, the Fate Captions had been background noise. Annoying but harmless. Like living next to a construction site. After a while, you learned to tune out the jackhammers.
But this? This wasn't a jackhammer. This was the entire building collapsing on his head.
The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor. Dion stumbled out, his legs moving on autopilot. He pushed through the gleaming glass doors of Avaria Tower and stepped back into the suffocating embrace of Jakarta's afternoon heat.
The humidity wrapped around him like a wet blanket. Motorcycles honked. Street vendors shouted. Life went on, oblivious to the fact that Dion had just received a death sentence wrapped in golden calligraphy.
He swung his leg over his Honda Beat and just sat there for a long moment, the engine off, his helmet dangling from his hand.
Regan Adinata.
Dion pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the search bar. He typed the name slowly, as if each letter was a step closer to a cliff's edge.
The screen filled with images.
Regan Adinata was disgustingly photogenic. The kind of handsome that made you want to hate him on principle. Perfect jawline. Perfect smile. Perfect hair that looked effortlessly tousled but probably cost five million Rupiah per cut. He was always photographed at charity galas, business conferences, or on the deck of his private yacht, a glass of something expensive in his hand.
The captions under the photos painted a picture of a golden boy. "Young Philanthropist Donates Billions to Children's Education." "Regan Adinata: The Future of Indonesian Business." "Bachelor of the Year Opens Up About Finding True Love."
Dion felt sick.
Because above Kiana Arcelia's head, that same golden boy's name was written in blood red text.
"Regan Adinata's Next Prey."
Dion had seen enough true crime documentaries to know what that meant. The charming ones were always the worst. The ones who smiled for the cameras and donated to orphanages while keeping bodies buried in their basement.
He scrolled further. Past the glowing profiles. Past the press releases. He dug into the comment sections of obscure forums, the places where people whispered things they were too afraid to say out loud.
And he found them.
Buried beneath layers of praise and admiration, there were faint, flickering warnings.
"My cousin worked for his company. She quit after three months. Wouldn't say why. Just said to stay away from him."
"He was engaged once, you know. To a model named Sari. She just... disappeared from public life. No explanation."
"Three women. There were three. All of them ended up broken. One of them died. Look it up."
Dion's thumb froze over the screen.
Three women destroyed. One deceased.
It was exactly what he had seen in Kiana's flag. The same words. The same warning.
A chill ran down his spine despite the 34 degree heat.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled his helmet on with trembling hands. The engine of the Honda Beat coughed to life, and he pulled away from the curb, merging into the chaotic river of traffic without really seeing where he was going.
His mind was racing.
What was he supposed to do with this information? Walk into a police station and say, "Excuse me, officer, but I see magic floating text above people's heads, and it says Regan Adinata is a predator"?
They would lock him up in a psychiatric ward before he finished the sentence.
And even if by some miracle they believed him, what evidence did he have? Anonymous forum comments? A "feeling"?
Regan Adinata was untouchable. He had money, power, and a public image polished to a mirror shine. Dion had a Honda Beat held together with duct tape and a 4.7 star rating on a delivery app.
The math didn't add up.
He rode through the streets on autopilot, the city blurring past him in a haze of exhaust fumes and neon signs. He thought about Mrs. Kartika and her bathroom tiles. That had been easy. A small warning. A pair of slippers. Problem solved.
But this? This was a monster wearing a tailored suit and a smile that belonged on magazine covers.
By the time Dion reached his kosan, a cramped boarding house in a narrow alley off a main road, the sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. He parked his bike in its usual spot, next to a leaking water pipe and a pile of broken furniture that the landlord refused to remove.
His room was on the third floor. Three meters by four meters. A mattress on the floor. A small desk cluttered with law textbooks he couldn't bring himself to throw away. A window that looked directly into the neighbor's concrete wall.
Dion collapsed onto the mattress and stared at the water stained ceiling.
"The CEO's Savior. Or Die Trying."
He laughed. It was a hollow, slightly unhinged sound that echoed off the cramped walls.
"I'm not a savior," he said to the empty room. "I'm a delivery guy. I failed the bar exam. Twice. I can barely save myself."
The ceiling didn't answer.
He closed his eyes and tried to will the golden text away. But it was still there, etched into the darkness behind his eyelids like a brand.
Or Die Trying.
What did that even mean? If he walked away, would the universe punish him? Would a piano fall on his head? Would he get hit by a bus? Or was it more metaphorical? Would he simply live the rest of his miserable life knowing he could have saved someone and chose not to?
The second option felt worse than the first.
Dion groaned and rolled onto his side, pulling his thin pillow over his head.
Tomorrow, he decided. He would figure it out tomorrow. Maybe the flag would disappear. Maybe this was all a glitch. Maybe his broken brain had finally short circuited completely and he was hallucinating the whole thing.
It was a nice thought.
It lasted exactly twelve hours.
---
The next morning, Dion woke to the sound of his phone buzzing insistently on the floor next to his mattress.
He groggily reached for it, squinting at the too bright screen.
News Alert: Business Mogul Regan Adinata Announces Strategic Partnership with Avaria Group.
Dion sat up so fast his head spun.
He tapped the notification with a shaking finger. The article loaded, accompanied by a glossy photo of Regan Adinata and Kiana Arcelia standing side by side at a press conference.
Regan was smiling his million dollar smile, one hand resting lightly on Kiana's shoulder. Kiana's face was perfectly composed, her Ice Queen mask firmly in place. But Dion noticed the slight tension in her jaw. The way her hands were clasped too tightly in front of her.
The headline screamed optimism. "Adinata Group Extends Lifeline to Struggling Avaria: A New Era of Collaboration."
The article painted a heartwarming picture. Regan Adinata, the benevolent young tycoon, stepping in to save Kiana Arcelia's struggling company. A strategic investment. A partnership of equals. A beautiful alliance between two of the country's most prominent families.
Dion read between the lines.
He saw the words that weren't written. Takeover. Control. Debt. Obligation.
And he remembered the flag above Kiana's head.
"Financial Ruin. Forced Marriage."
This wasn't a partnership. This was a trap closing around her throat.
Dion threw his phone across the room. It bounced off his pile of law textbooks and landed face down on the floor.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.
"I'm a delivery guy," he repeated like a mantra. "This is none of my business. I have a 4.7 rating to maintain. I have bakso to deliver."
His phone buzzed again.
Against every instinct screaming at him to ignore it, Dion crawled across the room and picked it up.
New Order.
Pickup: Sushi Tei Plaza Indonesia.
Dropoff: Avaria Tower, Floor 25.
Customer: Regan Adinata.
Dion stared at the screen.
His blood turned to ice water.
Regan Adinata was ordering lunch to Kiana Arcelia's office. To her floor. The monster was already inside the castle walls, sipping green tea and probably discussing the terms of Kiana's destruction with a pleasant smile on his face.
Every rational part of Dion's brain screamed at him to decline the order. To mark himself "unavailable" and spend the rest of the day hiding under his blanket like a sensible human being.
His thumb moved.
Order Accepted.
Dion closed his eyes and let out a long, defeated breath.
"I'm going to die," he said to the ceiling. "I'm actually going to die because I can't mind my own business."
The ceiling, as always, offered no comfort.
---
Forty five minutes later, Dion found himself walking through the gleaming lobby of Avaria Tower for the second time in two days.
Pak Budi, the security guard, raised an eyebrow as Dion approached.
"You again," Pak Budi said. It wasn't a question.
"Regan Adinata's office," Dion said, holding up the neat paper bag from Sushi Tei. "Delivery."
Something flickered in Pak Budi's eyes. A shadow. A warning. It was gone so fast Dion almost missed it.
"Twenty fifth floor," Pak Budi said, his voice carefully neutral. "Service elevator."
Dion nodded and walked toward the elevator. As he passed the security desk, he heard Pak Budi mutter something under his breath.
It sounded like, "Be careful, kid."
Dion's steps faltered, but he didn't turn around.
The service elevator ride felt longer this time. The metal box seemed to creak with every floor that passed, as if it was climbing toward something inevitable. Something final.
The doors opened onto the twenty fifth floor.
The same polished marble. The same frigid air conditioning. The same receptionist with the K drama skin.
"Delivery for Mr. Adinata," Dion said.
The receptionist pointed toward the same corner office. Kiana's office. "He's in a meeting with Ms. Arcelia. You can leave it with her assistant."
Dion walked down the hallway, his worn sneakers squeaking on the pristine floor. Through the glass walls of Kiana's office, he could see them.
Kiana sat behind her desk, her posture rigid, her face a mask of cold professionalism. And across from her, leaning back in his chair with the casual confidence of a man who owned every room he entered, was Regan Adinata.
He was even more handsome in person. Tall. Broad shouldered. His suit probably cost more than Dion's entire year of rent. He was laughing at something, his smile warm and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He looked like the nicest man in the world.
And above his perfectly styled head, floating in that jagged, malevolent red font, were the words:
*"Acute NPD. Pathological Possessive. 3 Women Destroyed. 1 Deceased. Next Target: Kiana Arcelia." *
Dion's blood ran cold.
He didn't know why. He had never met this man before. Never even seen him except in magazine photos and television interviews. But somewhere deep in his chest, in a place older than memory, something ancient and wounded screamed in recognition. The name Adinata echoed in his skull like a curse he had heard before. In another voice. In another life.
Like a scar that remembered the blade.
And then, as if sensing he was being watched, Regan Adinata turned his head and looked directly at Dion through the glass wall.
Their eyes met.
Regan's smile widened. It was a pleasant smile. A welcoming smile. The smile of a man who had nothing to hide.
But his eyes were different.
His eyes were flat. Empty. Like looking into a beautifully decorated room and realizing there was nothing behind the furniture. No warmth. No soul. Just endless, hungry void.
Regan raised a hand and beckoned Dion into the office.
Dion's feet moved forward on their own, carrying him toward the glass door. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
The air in the room was thick with tension, though only Dion seemed to feel it. Kiana glanced at him, her dark eyes flickering with the briefest hint of recognition before her mask slid back into place.
"Ah, the food," Regan said, his voice smooth as silk. "Excellent. I'm starving. Business negotiations really work up an appetite, don't they, Kiana?"
Kiana didn't answer. She just gave a small, tight nod.
Dion set the bag down on the corner of her desk, his movements mechanical. He kept his eyes down, afraid that if he looked at Regan again, the man would see the horror written all over his face.
"Thank you," Regan said warmly. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a crisp one hundred thousand Rupiah note. He held it out to Dion. "Keep the change. You delivery fellows work so hard in this heat."
Dion stared at the money. One hundred thousand. More than triple the cost of the sushi. A generous tip. A kind gesture.
From a man whose flag marked him as a predator who had destroyed three women and killed one.
Dion's hand moved. He took the money. His fingers brushed against Regan's for the briefest instant.
And in that instant, the flag above Regan's head flickered and shifted.
New text appeared, smaller and tighter, written in a font that looked like it was trying to hide.
*"Interested in the delivery boy. Observing. Threat Level: Unknown. Proceed with caution." *
Regan's smile didn't waver. "You deliver here often?" he asked, his tone light and conversational. "What a coincidence, seeing you twice in two days."
Dion's mouth was dry. "Just... doing my job, sir."
"Of course. Of course." Regan tilted his head slightly, studying Dion with those flat, empty eyes. "Well, keep up the good work. I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other."
The words hung in the air like a noose.
Dion bowed quickly and retreated toward the door. As he stepped out of the office, he risked one last glance back.
Kiana was staring at him. Her mask had slipped, just for a second. Beneath the ice, beneath the polished CEO exterior, he saw something raw and desperate.
A woman drowning.
And she knew it.
The glass door swung shut behind Dion. He walked down the hallway on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. He passed the receptionist. He stepped into the service elevator.
The doors closed.
And as the elevator began its slow descent toward the real world, Dion looked at his reflection in the polished metal wall.
The golden text was still there, hovering above his head.
But it had changed.
*"The CEO's Savior. Or Die Trying." *
And now, below it, in a smaller but equally golden font:
*"Regan Adinata knows you're watching. Be careful what you look for." *
Dion closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the elevator wall.
He really, really should have studied harder for the bar exam.