Nathan took out his phone again. "And about Ahmad. Your ex-husband."
Ratna gasped. "You know him?"
"His location is here," Nathan said, showing his phone screen displaying an address in another city. "And this," he swiped the screen, revealing evidence of fraudulent transfers, scam emails, and a list of other victims, "is proof that he is a scammer. The police will be very interested in this. He will spend the rest of his life in prison."
Ratna staggered, leaning on the cashier's counter to support herself. Her child, who had stopped crying, looked at Nathan with curious eyes.
"You... you did all this... for me?" Ratna whispered, her tears flowing even more heavily.
"For a place that gave me good memories, and someone here who once made me smile," Nathan replied. But his eyes said something else.
---
That night, after the restaurant closed, after the police came to collect evidence and promised to apprehend Ahmad, Nathan and Ratna sat in the same booth. Ratna's child was already fast asleep in the bedroom.
"I don't know how to repay you," Ratna whispered, her hand holding Nathan's. "The money... I'll return it, I promise—"
"No need," Nathan cut her off. "Consider it... an investment in my old memories."
Ratna looked at him, and in the silence of the empty restaurant, something old reawakened. An attraction that might have existed since their high school days.
"Are you... still single?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Nathan nodded. "Almost got married. Luckily, I hadn't yet when I found out she was a cheater and con artist."
"You're lucky. Not like me. But I'm still grateful to have my child. But, his father will never again be in my life or my child's life."
"Good."
Ratna took a deep breath. "I... I haven't been... with anyone since separating from Ahmad. I'm traumatized. But tonight... you make me feel safe. Like... like before."
She stood, her hand still holding Nathan's, and led him to a small room in the back—a small office that also functioned as a storage room. There was a small sofa there.
"Please," she whispered, her eyes pleading, full of vulnerability and need. "Make me feel... that there are good people in this world. Please, Nathan."
Nathan looked into her eyes and saw pain, loneliness, and a pure hope. He nodded, and guided Ratna to the sofa.
What happened next was not a wild, passionate intimacy, but a healing.
Nathan treated Ratna with incredible tenderness, every touch a promise that not all men were like Ahmad.
Every kiss was a comfort. When Nathan entered her, he did so very slowly, very carefully, ensuring that she was in control, that she felt safe.
Ratna cried during the act, but it was a cleansing cry. She reached for Nathan's back, pulling him closer, as if to merge herself with the goodness she found in Nathan.
As they reached their peak, it was a release—from Ratna's pain, from Nathan's memories as a helpless young man. They lay embracing on the narrow sofa, the silence broken only by their still-gasping breaths.
"So this is the reward," Nathan thought, holding the woman sleeping in his arms.
He didn't need money from the system. Helping Ratna, giving her justice, and restoring her hope—that was a far more valuable reward. And for the first time, the system gave him a mission that felt... meaningful.
---
Today, while riding his motorcycle, he heard something.
This made Nathan pull his motorcycle to the shoulder of the road, its large engine purring softly.
His phone rang, and his face immediately broke into a smile when he saw the name displayed: Rendra, his comrade-in-arms from high school, the one who was there during his difficult times back then.
"Ren! Long time no hear, bro!" he greeted, his voice cheerful.
"Nat! You rascal! Became a millionaire and disappeared, huh? When are you treating me to a fancy meal?" Rendra retorted from the other end, his voice full of laughter.
Nathan laughed, enjoying the immediate familiarity. They were engrossed in conversation, reminiscing about old memories, when a fragmented, anxious voice interrupted their talk.
"Excuse me, sir... is this... is this the Grab motorcycle order? I'm Joice, ordered to Jalan Sudirman..."
Nathan looked up. A young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, stood beside his motorcycle.
She wore a simple office uniform—a white shirt and black skirt—but her beautiful face was marred by deep exhaustion. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she had been crying, and her gaze was empty, like someone walking in a nightmare.
Nathan immediately shook his head, his smile disappearing. "No, ma'am. I'm not an ojol. Just stopped to take a call."
The woman—Joice—blinked, as if coming out of a trance. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Oh... sorry, sir. Wrong person." She said it in a flat voice, almost robotic, before turning and stepping back a few paces, returning to the roadside, her eyes continuously scanning traffic for the ojol she had ordered.
Nathan sighed, trying to return to his conversation with Rendra. "Sorry, Ren, someone just—"
But he stopped. Joice's empty gaze... there was something there. Something more than just embarrassment or exhaustion. It was the look of someone desperate, on the verge of giving up.
[Ding!]
[Humanitarian mission detected.]
[Target: Joice (23 years old), administrative staff, single mother of two). Emotional status: Acute distress, on the verge of breakdown. Source of pressure: Systematic sexual harassment in the workplace.]
Nathan froze. "Ren, I'll call you back," he said quickly, without waiting for a reply, and hung up. All his attention was now on Joice.
"System, what happened to her?" he thought, his eyes fixed on the woman who looked increasingly fragile and vulnerable on the roadside.
[Scanning public memory and related databases... Analysis complete.]
[Target works as an administrative staff at PT. Maju Jaya, a distribution company. Her direct boss, Mr. Anton Wijaya (45 years old), has a long history of sexually harassing his attractive and economically vulnerable female subordinates.]
Nathan growled. "Pervert."
[Precisely. Modus operandi: Targets new female employees from less affluent families or single parents, even wives. Starts with 'special attention', then if not tempted, begins physical coercion. Many victims choose to resign without reporting. Some who reported to higher-ups or the police were not processed.]
"Why weren't they processed?" Nathan snapped in his mind, anger beginning to boil.
[Anton Wijaya's nephew is an influential police officer in this area. All reports are 'handled' internally or stopped with intimidation. The target, Joice, is the latest victim. She desperately needs her salary to support her two toddlers. She is trapped: stay and be harassed, or quit and watch her two children starve.]
Nathan felt nauseous. This world was indeed cruel. And he had seen enough cruelty.
Just then, an ojol motorcycle with its distinctive color stopped in front of Joice.
With slow movements, like someone walking to the gallows, Joice adjusted her helmet and got on the motorcycle. The ojol sped off, taking her away.
"No," Nathan muttered. He would not let this happen. He would not stand by while a criminal like Anton Wijaya acted with impunity.
"System," he thought, his inner voice cold and determined. "Take me to that office. PT. Maju Jaya. Right now."
[Coordinates downloaded. Navigation activated. Mission: Confrontation and neutralization of Anton Wijaya. Reward: Karma (and the satisfaction of eradicating societal scum).]
Nathan didn't care about the reward. He started his motorcycle with a harsh motion and sped onto the road, chasing after the ojol that had almost disappeared from view.
The navigation system in his helmet guided him through traffic with ruthless efficiency.
A few minutes later, he stood across the street from a fairly large office building.
PT. Maju Jaya was displayed on the signboard.
He watched Joice get off the ojol and walk with heavy steps into the building, her thin shoulders appearing to carry a very heavy burden.
Nathan parked his motorcycle and walked towards the building. He had no complicated plan. His strength was truth and anger—and perhaps a little help from his combat system if needed.
He entered the lobby. An old security guard approached him. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I want to meet Mr. Anton Wijaya," Nathan said, his voice flat.
"Do you have an appointment, sir?"
"No. This is a personal matter. Very personal," Nathan replied, his eyes radiating an intensity that made the security guard step back slightly.
"I... I have to make a call first—"
But Nathan had already walked past him, towards the elevator. His instinct, reinforced by the system, told him which floor Anton was on—the third floor.
He reached a door that read "Anton Wijaya, Finance Manager." He could hear voices from inside—a deep, condescending male voice, and a trembling, fearful female voice. Joice's voice.
Without knocking, Nathan opened the door.
The sight inside made his blood boil. Anton Wijaya, a fat man with a sly and greasy face, stood too close to Joice, who was cornered between him and his desk.
Anton's hand was on Joice's arm, and Joice's terrified face was wet with tears.
"What is this?" Anton growled, releasing Joice and looking at Nathan angrily. "Who are you? Get out of here!"
Joice looked at Nathan, her eyes full of astonishment and even greater fear. She recognized him—the man who wasn't an ojol earlier.
"I'm Joice's friend," Nathan said, his voice low but dangerous. "And I'm here to make sure you remember something: your hands are for working, not for touching what isn't yours."
Anton turned crimson. "You dare! You're threatening me? Security! Call security!"
"Call them," Nathan challenged, stepping further in. "Even better, call your police nephew. I want to meet him too. I have many stories to tell—about how his honorable uncle is a pervert who forces himself on helpless women."
Anton's face turned pale. "You... you can't prove anything!"
"Oh, I can," Nathan retorted. He approached Anton's desk and quickly took Anton's phone.
His hacking system, still having access from the previous mission, immediately went to work, unlocking the phone and finding a hidden folder containing vulgar photos and videos recorded without consent—clear evidence of his crimes.
"What are you doing? That's my phone!" Anton screamed, panicking.
"This is evidence," Nathan said, holding up the phone. "And this will go to the media, to your superiors at headquarters, and to every police station not under your nephew."
Anton stumbled backward, all his courage gone. "Wait... don't... we can negotiate... my family's good name is at stake here..."
"Good name?" Nathan hissed. "You have no good name. You only have a choice: resign from this company today, sign a statement that you are resigning for 'health reasons', and leave this city forever. Or, everything on this phone will become public consumption."
Anton looked around, like a trapped rat. He saw Joice, who was now standing behind Nathan, her face still full of fear but also a glimmer of hope.
"Okay... okay... I'll go," Anton mumbled, his voice weak.
"And for Joice," Nathan added. "She gets two years' severance pay, effective immediately. And a good letter of recommendation. Otherwise, the deal is off."
Anton could only nod, too terrified to argue.
Nathan looked at Joice. "Do you agree?"
Joice looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks again, but this time they were tears of relief. She nodded, speechless.
Nathan tossed the phone onto Anton's lap. "I'll keep copies. One wrong move, and everything will be exposed. Now, take care of the paperwork."
Nathan led Joice out of the office, leaving Anton shattered and terrified.
In the lobby, Joice finally spoke. "Who... who are you really? Why are you doing all this for me?"
Nathan smiled faintly. "Someone who believes that good people shouldn't be harmed. Now go home to your children. You are safe now."
Joice nodded, and before she turned away, she hugged Nathan quickly. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "You are my guardian angel."
Nathan watched her leave, a strange feeling coming over him. He hadn't used violence. He hadn't used his combat system. He had only used intelligence and courage. And it felt... quite good.
He had cleaned up another piece of garbage. And this time, his reward was not money or a woman, but something far rarer: the true satisfaction of doing the right thing. It was currency that no system could buy.