The city was slipping into the color of late afternoon—warm gold fading into bruised purple—when Ahmad Andra Pratama stepped out of the crowded bus and stared up at the tall iron gates of University. The gates were old, imposing, and decorated with swirling patterns that looked like something an ancient emperor would put on a sword.
To Andra, they looked like opportunity.
Or doom.
Possibly both.
His backpack strap slipped off his shoulder for the third time, the cloth already thinning from years of use. He shoved it back up and exhaled as if releasing the entire pressure of the universe from his lungs.
"So… this is it," he muttered under his breath.
The place where his mother promised beautiful girls would rain from the sky.
His mother had stood in the kitchen last year, arms crossed, insisting.
"College is important, Andra. You'll meet pretty girls, rich girls, smart girls… I'm sure you'll be popular!"
Andra hadn't believed her.
Then he did.
Then he failed the university entrance exam.
Then he tried again.
And now—here he was, at a prestigious university where supposedly students sparkled like diamonds and had IQs high enough to power a small city.
He took a hesitant step past the gates.
The campus was huge. Freshmen buzzed everywhere like confused bees, dragging luggage, holding maps, or looking dramatically lost. Some already looked like they were regretting their life choices.
Andra clutched the campus layout paper in his hand and began scanning the bulletin boards pinned with faculty lists and building directions.
And that was when he saw her.
A girl standing slightly apart from the crowd—not by much, but enough to make her feel like the center of the universe without even trying. Sunlight hit her hair just right, turning the dark brown strands into shimmering copper waves. A soft breeze moved through the courtyard, catching her ponytail and making it sway like it was filmed in slow motion.
Her face—somehow effortlessly bright.
Her posture—relaxed but confident.
Her smile—small, curious, directed at the layout map in her hands.
Andra felt the universe freeze.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for the dumbest, most impulsive thought to form.
That one.
I'm going to marry that one.
He didn't say it aloud, of course. His face remained flat, deadpan, emotionless—like a robot discovering love for the first time. But inside, fireworks exploded with dramatic orchestral music.
He didn't know her name yet.
He didn't know anything about her.
But destiny, fate, divine intervention—whatever—was screaming in his head: That girl.
He swallowed, blinked twice, then cleared his throat.
"Focus, Andra. You're here to study," he whispered to himself.
And yet… his eyes drifted to her again.
A group of male students near her were whispering excitedly.
"She's gorgeous."
"Who is she?"
"Maybe she's a model?"
"Bro, she smiled—did you see that? I think I died."
Andra wanted to scoff. They were exaggerating.
But also… not wrong.
He looked back at his map. Then at her. Then back at his map.
This continued for thirty seconds.
Eventually, he forced himself to move toward the lecture building.
He took only ten steps before turning slightly, just enough for one last glance.
And still—she was there.
Standing like the highlight of the campus.
Her eyes lifted for a moment.
Their gazes didn't meet.
But it was enough for him to do the mental equivalent of collapsing dramatically.
Okay. Okay. Calm down. Maybe she'll be in another faculty. Maybe you'll never see her again.
A part of him felt relief.
A part of him felt devastation.
He did not expect fate to laugh in his face later.
---
Four Months Later
The autumn sun was less forgiving now. Midterms were approaching, schedules were chaos, and Andra had memorized every single bench on campus that was comfortable enough to nap on.
And he had also learned something else:
The girl from orientation day…
Her name was Nafisa Elvaretta Kusuma.
She was in his same program.
Business Management.
Same year.
Same classes.
He had spent the first week denying it.
The second week pretending she didn't exist.
The third week trying not to stare accidentally-on-purpose whenever she walked into class with her bright smile and tired eyes or when her ponytail bounced behind her because she always walked just a little faster than everyone else.
And on the fourth week… he found out the final blow.
"She's dating a senior," whispered Budi beside him, leaning forward like a gossip auntie. "Dani Mahendra. Rich. Popular. Drives a red car. Probably uses perfume that costs more than our semester tuition."
Udin nodded seriously. "Yeah. They've been together for months before the semester even started. Apparently he chased her aggressively. Very aggressively."
Andra wanted to throw his textbook across the room.
Of course she was taken.
Of course her boyfriend was rich, handsome, older, and had a car that didn't rattle every time the engine started.
He leaned back in his seat, stared at the ceiling, and sighed so deeply that Budi patted his shoulder in pity.
"Life is unfair, man," Udin said, shaking his head.
"You don't say."
Andra groaned dramatically.
He was certain even the clouds outside felt sorry for him.
He pressed his palms to his face.
His inner monologue began spiraling—loud, messy, theatrical.
Why? Why does the universe hate me? I'm smart, I'm decent-looking—okay maybe not in the morning—but still! I studied so hard, sacrificed my sleep, cried blood, failed once, tried again, passed… all because my mom said girls at campus would like me!
WHERE ARE THEY?
He lowered his hands and stared at the students around him.
Everyone was chatting, laughing, or flirting.
Some couples even studied together, heads close, smiles sweet.
Meanwhile he…?
Single.
Unapproached.
Unnoticed.
Invisible — like a ghost who paid tuition.
It filled him with tragic, unnecessary despair.
Even my purpose for coming here was a scam, he thought. Mother lied. I've been deceived. Betrayed. Emotionally robbed.
Budi and Udin burst into laughter.
"Bro, your face is killing me," Budi wheezed.
"Stop suffering like a K-drama protagonist," Udin added.
Andra glared.
"Shut up."
But his misery only made them laugh harder.
Still — he wasn't actually heartbroken about Nafisa dating.
Because he had never even spoken to her.
It was more like… the death of a comedic daydream.
Andra touched his chest dramatically.
His pride hurt more than his heart.
That day, after class ended, the three of them were packing their bags when Budi nudged him aggressively.
"Ndra. Come on. Let's go to the entertainment district tonight."
"District… what?"
Udin grinned.
"You know. The fun one."
Andra blinked.
"Why would I go there?"
"To cure your tragedy," Budi declared. "To remind you that you're loved. By society. Somewhere. Maybe."
"To lift your spirit," Udin added.
"To make you stop looking like a divorced thirty-year-old," Budi finished.
Andra slumped.
He didn't want to go.
He wanted to go home and mourn his nonexistent love life in peace.
But they grabbed his arms anyway—one on each side—dragging him out of the classroom like two overexcited kidnappers.
"Andra, accept your fate!" Budi shouted.
"Tonight, your life changes!" Udin added proudly.
Andra sighed.
The hallway lights flickered above them.
The air felt cooler than usual.
And for just a second… he felt something shift.
Like the universe inhaled sharply.
Like something unexpected was waiting for him just beyond the campus gates.
Something that would begin… tonight.
And then—
The entertainment district looked nothing like Andra expected.
Bright neon lights flickered in mismatched colors; music thumped from every direction; food carts smoked along the sidewalks; laughter spilled out of every alleyway. The whole place was loud, messy, chaotic—exactly the kind of environment that should've warned Andra that nothing good ever happens here.
He squinted at the sign above the small bar Budi had excitedly dragged him into.
"Why does it look like it hasn't been cleaned since the 90s?" Andra muttered.
"That's how you know it's cheap," Udin said proudly.
"And bad," Andra corrected.
"Cheap and bad," Budi said, grinning. "Perfect combo for people like us."
Andra looked at the two of them.
He already regretted everything.
They entered the bar, which smelled like spilled beer, wood polish, and broken dreams. There were only eight tables inside, all sticky. The bartender didn't even look up.
Andra frowned.
"Guys… what exactly are we doing here?"
Budi and Udin exchanged a look.
A suspicious look.
A "we planned something" look.
"Well…" Udin rubbed the back of his neck.
"It's simple, really…"
"We're here to drink!" Budi announced triumphantly.
Andra blinked.
Just blinked.
"Drink?" he repeated slowly.
"Yes, drink," Udin said. "What did you think we brought you here for?"
Andra stared at them.
Hard.
Budi leaned in, one brow raised. "Seriously, Ndra… what did you THINK this place was?"
Andra's face went blank. His soul momentarily left his body.
"Oh my God," Budi gasped dramatically, "Don't tell me—did you think we were taking you to a place where you could—"
"No," Andra snapped quickly.
Udin slammed the table. "You totally thought that!"
"I did NOT—!"
"You totally did," Budi insisted. "It's really a pity that your love life has gone to shit."
Andra groaned. "Okay, I get it, stop—"
"Bro, listen," Udin said, wiping fake tears. "We're broke. We can't even afford extra sambal at the cafeteria. Do you think we could pay for a woman to entertain you?"
Budi pointed at himself. "Look at us. Look at our clothes. Look at our wallets. Look at our faces that scream rabble."
"Please stop talking," Andra begged.
But they didn't stop.
"Seriously," Udin added, "even if we wanted to bring you to a place like that, the bouncer would take one look at us and say 'No.'"
"Actually," Budi said, "they'd probably charge us extra for breathing near the building."
"I SAID STOP! ARGH!"
The two burst into loud laughter.
Andra rubbed his temples.
He could feel a headache forming.
This was humiliation.
Absolute humiliation.
Great. Amazing. Fantastic.
First, I get rejected by fate. Now I get bullied by my own friends.
Is this the life of a future business manager? This suffering?
Still—he stayed.
Partly because he had nothing else to do, and partly because Budi had already ordered the cheapest beer in existence.
And so they drank.
The first glass tasted horrible.
The second tasted like bad decisions.
The third tasted… okay?
The fourth tasted like someone poured hope back into him.
Andra wasn't drunk.
Not yet.
Just a little warm. A little dizzy. A little dramatic.
He glanced at Budi and Udin.
Both were slumped over the table…
Completely motionless.
Andra froze.
"…Guys?"
No response.
He poked Budi's arm.
Nothing.
He poked Udin's cheek.
Still nothing.
Then he shook both their shoulders.
Still nothing.
His jaw dropped.
"You're kidding me."
He leaned closer.
Budi's mouth was slightly open.
Udin was snoring softly.
Andra pressed both hands on the table and whispered with absolute, overflowing betrayal:
"You two brought me here…
…and YOU passed out FIRST?"
It felt like being stabbed with a plastic spoon—painful, pathetic, useless.
Wow. Amazing. They dragged me here, bullied me, insulted my poverty, laughed at my singlehood, and then died before me. Great friends. Amazing friends. I want a refund.
He nudged them again.
"Wake up. WAKE UP! Don't sleep here like expired dumplings!"
But nothing worked.
His irritation grew.
Annoyance seeped into his bones.
This wasn't what he signed up for.
He looked around the bar.
Everyone else was either playing cards, staring at their phones, or drunker than his friends.
No one cared.
Andra inhaled sharply and muttered to himself:
"Fine. FINE. I will leave you here. I hope the bartender adopts you. I hope you wake up without your wallets. This is payback."
He stood up, wobbling slightly because the alcohol was now settling into his vision.
He turned toward the door, annoyed, betrayed, and weirdly empowered.
This is it. This is my villain origin story. My friends are useless, my love life is dead, and I'm basically a single-cell organism drifting through campus life. I deserve a prize. A medal. A parade.
He snorted at his own thoughts.
But the dizziness didn't fade.
Outside, the cool night air hit his face.
He rubbed his eyes, blinking through the blur.
Lights flickered hazily.
People walked past him like colorful smudges.
He took a step forward—stumbled—regained balance with a grunt.
Then… he froze.
About thirty meters ahead, under a broken street lamp, a figure swayed left and right, trying — and failing — to walk in a straight line.
A girl.
Long hair.
Slim frame.
White cardigan.
She clutched her phone in one hand, her bag in the other, and every few steps she nearly tripped over her own feet.
Andra squinted.
Something about her looked familiar.
Very familiar.
His breath caught.
His mind raced.
"No way…" he whispered.
He blinked again, hard.
But she was still swaying.
Still stumbling.
Still dangerously close to falling over.
And Andra's steps moved on their own.
One step.
Two steps.
Three.
The world spun slightly, his vision wavering, the alcohol still thick in his bloodstream.
As he got closer —
as the blur cleared —
as the shape sharpened —
His heart skipped.
It couldn't be.
It SHOULDN'T be.
Why would she be here?
The girl lifted her head weakly.
And in that split second—