That morning, the Central Jakarta District Court was surrounded by media crews, activists, students, and curious citizens. Banners waved at the iron fences:
"Justice for Ratna!""Courtroom or Circus?"
Behind the camera flashes, Ratna's face was calm but weary. She walked into the courtroom under heavy guard, as protesters' chants echoed through the streets.
Inside, the atmosphere was colder. The prosecutor had yet to arrive. The judge tapped his gavel and spoke:
"As scheduled, we will begin with the reading of charges. However, as the lead prosecutor is not yet present, the session will be delayed ten minutes."
Ari sat at the back, disguised as an observer. Next to him, Sekar was busy taking notes—especially on one man sitting alone on the right side, wearing a gray batik shirt and a gold lion pin. That man had appeared in Bungas's files.
"Who is he?" Sekar whispered.
Ari narrowed his eyes. "He's not just an observer."
Before they could move, a side door opened. A man entered, dressed in a sharp suit and carrying a black folder.
The lead prosecutor had arrived. But what froze the room wasn't his presence—it was his name, spoken by the judge:
"The lead prosecutor for this case is… Mr. Mahendra Pratomo."
Ari's world paused. Sekar turned to him.
"Mahendra…" she murmured."Your last name?"
Ari didn't answer.
Before everyone's eyes, the man he once called Father now stood as the lead prosecutor—possibly covering up the very filth this case was meant to expose.
Outside the courthouse, the crowd was swelling into chaos. Protesters sat cross-legged at the gate, reciting poems, singing protest songs, and raising posters of Ratna's face with captions: "Victim or Scapegoat?"
National TV reporters speculated live on air:
"This trial is no longer just about Ratna. It's about how the state handles women's voices and digital truth…"
Online, hashtags like #RatnaCriminalized and #JusticeForWhom climbed to the top of the trends.
Meanwhile, in the newsroom of a major outlet, an editor received a call from a hidden number.
"Drop the story about Prosecutor Mahendra's past. Focus only on Ratna's background," said a deep voice on the line.
The editor paused. "We have records of campaign funds funneled into Mahendra's old firm—"
"If that story runs," the voice interrupted, "your biggest sponsor might walk."
Click.
Call ended.
Across town, Sekar uploaded protest footage to her independent channel. "If mainstream media stays silent, we won't," she said.
Ari stood behind her, watching her phone flood with comments:
"We need lawyers like Ari.""Ratna is innocent.""If the evidence is manipulated, the law is a lie."
He looked up at the cloudy Jakarta sky.The courtroom hadn't seen the war yet—But public trust was already on fire.
And Ari knew… sometimes pressure from the outside was the only way to crack what was hidden within.
Two hours before the trial resumed, Ari and Sekar arrived at Ratna's legal office to retrieve one critical item: a flash drive containing the original CCTV footage from the night of Ratna's arrest.
The footage was different from the one shown on the news. This version showed Ratna being dragged away without a warrant, and one uniformed figure… wasn't even a real police officer.
"Guard this with your life," Ratna's senior lawyer told Ari. "If this goes missing, Ratna will be the only witness left—and no one believes her voice anymore."
Ari nodded, slipping the flash drive into the inside pocket of his suit.
But as they stepped out of the building, a black car with no license plate screeched to a halt in front of them.
Two masked men jumped out.
"SEKAR, RUN!" Ari shouted, pushing her toward a side alley.
One attacker grabbed Ari's bag. Ari kicked him off, but the flash drive fell to the ground. The second man drew a machete.
Just as he swung, a gunshot rang out into the air. Everyone froze.
From the left, a large man in a motorcycle jacket stepped out, holding a pistol.
"Drop it. Now."
The attackers scrambled back into their car and sped away.
Ari gasped for air. Sekar rushed back, her knee bleeding from the fall. Ari retrieved the flash drive, now scratched and dented.
"Who was that?" Sekar asked, pointing toward the man who vanished into a side street.
"I don't know," Ari replied. "But he's not one of them."
One thing was clear:Someone wanted the evidence erased.And someone else… wanted Ari to stay alive long enough to use it.
The trial resumed at 1:00 PM.
The courtroom atmosphere hadn't changed—cold, tense, full of murmurs. But outside, the crowd had grown louder. The judge's gavel could barely drown out the chants from the street: "Ratna is not alone!"
Prosecutor Mahendra Pratomo stood at the podium. His face was blank, professional, nearly emotionless. He began reading the charges in a long, lifeless tone—reciting legal codes, digital violation laws, and scripted accusations.
Ratna sat quietly, her head down. She said nothing.
When Mahendra finished, the judge called for the defense.
All eyes turned to the defense bench. But Ratna's appointed counsel was still trapped outside—blocked by the unrest.
The room stirred. The judge looked around, ready to adjourn.
Then… Ari stood up.
Silence fell like a wave.
He stepped forward with calm, measured steps. His black suit was worn and dusty—still marked from the earlier attack. Mahendra narrowed his eyes.
Ari opened a folder and spoke:
"Your Honor,
I, Muhammad Ari Pratomo, request to stand as amicus curiae—a friend of the court—bringing forward evidence critical to the integrity of this case.
And I will not stay silent while the law is twisted for political convenience.
If justice must speak, then today… let me be that voice."
Ari's voice was not loud. But it carried weight like thunder. Even Mahendra shifted in discomfort.
The judge raised an eyebrow. "What evidence do you claim to have?"
Ari stepped closer. He pulled a flash drive from his jacket pocket and placed it on the judge's table—his hand trembling, yet firm.
"The recording of Ratna's arrest. The version that was never aired.The version… they couldn't silence."
The courtroom exploded.
Mahendra clenched his fist beneath the table.
Outside, the crowd's chant shifted:
"ARI! ARI! ARI!"
That day, the public didn't just see a lawyer…They saw a man who dared to challenge the system with the only weapon he had left: the truth.