Heavy rain lashed the city that night, as if the sky itself were trying to wash away the layers of sin clinging to its black asphalt.
Inside Interrogation Room 4 at Police Headquarters, the atmosphere was the complete opposite. The air felt suffocating, thick with the stench of cheap tobacco mixed with the sharp bite of disinfectant.
Arga Pratama stared at the dead cigarette butt resting on the scarred wooden table. Across from him sat a young man in his early twenties, lounging back in his chair with an air of casual arrogance—bordering on mockery.
His name was Raka, the only son of a two-star general whose influence spread through the institution like the roots of an ancient tree. The young man had been involved in a hit-and-run while recklessly racing his car through the streets. One victim died on the spot. Another was left in critical condition.
Instead of fear or remorse, Raka wore a faint smile—a smile that said he knew he was untouchable.
"Arga, release him. Now."
The heavy voice shattered the silence from the doorway. Commissioner Hardi, Arga's direct superior, stood there. His uniform looked impeccably neat, the insignia on his shoulder gleaming—an irony for a man who had just sold his dignity for power.
Arga didn't move. His hollow, sleep-deprived eyes remained fixed on the thick case file in front of him.
"He killed someone and was street racing," Arga said calmly. "I have CCTV footage clearly showing his sports car hitting the victim."
"Arga!" Hardi strode inside, his polished shoes echoing sharply against the concrete floor.
He lowered his voice, but the threat in his tone made the air tremble.
"That footage was lost due to a central server malfunction. And the car? We just received a report that it was stolen. The suspect has already been apprehended—a jobless man from the outskirts of the city. He's signed a full confession."
Arga finally looked up. A short, dry laugh escaped his lips, sounding like sandpaper scraping against steel.
"A jobless man who suddenly confessed after being promised a house and tuition money for his child? That's not justice, Commander. That's trafficking human lives."
"Watch your mouth, Detective!" Hardi slammed his fist onto the table, knocking over a plastic cup of coffee.
"This is an order from above. Delete every copy of the digital evidence you have—or you'll end up discarded like trash. Think about your wife. She's heavily pregnant. Don't try to be a hero in a city that's already dead."
Slowly, Arga stood up. His tall, solid frame cast a looming shadow beneath the flickering interrogation room light. He reached into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and pulled out a silver, shield-shaped object.
His badge.
For the past ten years, it had been everything to him—a symbol of sleepless nights and bullet wounds survived.
Clack.
The badge hit the table with a sound that echoed like a death sentence.
"If this badge requires me to be blind," Arga said quietly, his voice calm yet lethal, "then I don't need it anymore. Keep it for your other dogs, Commander. I'm done."
"You insolent bastard! You'll regret this, Arga!" Hardi shouted.
Arga didn't respond. He walked out of headquarters with his back straight, even though his soul felt shattered.
In the corridor, two of his subordinates—Arman and Roni—hurried toward him, panic written all over their faces.
"Captain, what happened? Why is Commander Hardi yelling like that?" Arman asked, his voice trembling.
Arga paused, looking at the two men who had been his right hands for years.
"I just returned the badge, Man. I'm not your captain anymore."
Roni's eyes widened.
"But, Captain… your child will be born soon! We can talk this through. A little compromise won't—"
"Compromise is what kills justice, Roni," Arga cut in flatly. "Take care of yourselves."
He patted their shoulders and continued toward the exit. However, after only a few steps, his phone vibrated violently in his pocket.
A name flashed on the screen: Mother-in-law.
A sudden sense of dread tightened his chest as he answered.
"Arga! Get to Medika Hospital now! Sarah collapsed… there's severe bleeding!" The voice on the other end was hysterical, sobbing.
Arga's world spun.
Ignoring the storm outside, he sprinted forward. He abandoned his motorcycle and hailed a taxi roughly. Inside the car, he whispered prayers nonstop, his hands shaking as they clutched the cold seat.
An hour later, Arga stood outside the operating room, his clothes still soaked from running through the rain. The sharp smell of antiseptic stabbed at his nose.
The door opened. A doctor stepped out, exhaustion etched across his face as he slowly removed his mask.
"How are my wife and our baby, Doctor?" Arga asked urgently.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Arga," the doctor said softly.
"Your wife suffered heavy bleeding that we couldn't control in time. We managed to save Mrs. Sarah, but… the baby couldn't be saved. We had to perform a procedure to remove the fetus."
Arga's knees gave out.
He collapsed onto the cold hospital floor. The doctor's words struck his heart like bullets. The child he had waited five years for—the child whose name he had already chosen—was gone before ever taking a breath.
"Oh God, Sarah…" his mother-in-law sobbed.
When Arga was allowed inside, he saw Sarah lying pale on the bed, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. When their gazes met, she could only sob silently.
"Our baby, Ga… he's gone because I was too stressed from those threatening phone calls…"
Arga pulled her into his arms, letting his tears fall without sound.
He knew who had been calling Sarah. He knew this was retaliation—punishment for his honesty. The syndicates behind the scenes hadn't just destroyed his career.
They had murdered his future.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," Arga whispered as he held his wife, both of them breaking down in unbearable grief.
Late into the night, Arga sat silently in Sarah's hospital room as she slept. He stared out the dark window where rain still fell, though more gently now.
His mind was in chaos. He had lost his job, lost the badge he once took pride in, and now… he had lost his child.
"Why?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Why does honesty always lose to money and power?"
Anger, sorrow, and a thirst for vengeance twisted together, forming a black hole in his chest.
At that lowest point, something terrifyingly miraculous happened.
Time froze.
Raindrops hung motionless in the air. Arga's sobs were swallowed by absolute silence.
Before his tear-reddened eyes, a pale blue transparent screen appeared, accompanied by a soft static hiss.
[Scanning Host…]
[Mental Status: Total Collapse (98%)]
[Killing Intent: Maximum Level]
[Remaining Integrity: SSS (Absolute)]
Arga stared at the screen blankly.
"What is this now? Have I finally gone insane?"
[Conditions Met: Lost everything while defending the truth.]
[Initialising the Ultimate Detective System…]
[Welcome, Detective Arga Pratama. The world has betrayed you. The System will grant you the power to judge the world—and obtain immense wealth.]
"What does this mean? What System?" Arga shut his eyes tightly, rubbing them hard to make sure his vision wasn't failing him.
However, the screen remained, hovering steadily between him and the fogged hospital window. Its light wasn't blinding—just cold and sharp, as if dissecting his mind.
[Synchronisation Complete…]
[Loading Identity Data: Arga Pratama, Age 35]
[Rank: Former Police Detective (Status: Unemployed)]
[Wealth: Rp 1,250,000 (Extremely Poor)]
[Justice Accumulated: 0 Points]
Arga let out a bitter laugh at the number under "wealth."
"So you promise wealth? Judgment?" he murmured hoarsely.
"I just lost my child for trying to uphold a single piece of truth. What good is power when everything is already gone?"
[Response: It is never too late for those who hold the key to absolute truth. Would you like to see what really happened inside the central server room when Raka's CCTV footage disappeared?]
Arga's heart pounded violently.
How does it know all this?
What kind of System is this, really?
***