The morning breeze carried the familiar scent of ripe fruit and earth—the smell of Kalentang, unchanged and steady like the rhythm of the seasons.
Dyah Netarja sat on the edge of the village's small spring, her notebook resting on her lap, eyes scanning the quiet activity. Chickens pecked in the dirt. The hum of daily life, as constant as the sun.
Jaka sat beside her, twirling a twig in his hand, watching the horizon where the sun dipped low.
"I've been thinking," Dyah Netarja began, voice soft but firm. "This place, Kalentang—it doesn't change. It's... stagnated."
Jaka glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. You think it's stagnated. But what if it's been designed that way?
She continued, unaware of the storm behind his quiet demeanor. "The crops are good, but they don't reach beyond the village. The animals, the herbs... everything stays in its place. And the people? They don't seem to want more. Why is that?"
Of course it is. I designed this NPC village just for a convenience plot to grow your character. This village will burn. No one survives but you. Character development, you may say.
"You're asking the wrong person, Netarja," Jaka replied lightly, masking the discomfort tightening in his chest. "Maybe they like it that way."
She tilted her head, sharp eyes narrowing. "Do you know what I learned from the village elder? The soil here is rich with resources. Good enough to feed more than just Kalentang. But..." She paused, gaze lingering on him like she was trying to read code beneath his skin. "It's as if the world itself is holding its breath here."
His fingers tightened on the twig, snapping it in half.
You don't know. But I do. As expected of you, huh. Even now, you're pushing against the rails I built. The most unpredictable AI I ever created.
"I know what you're thinking," she went on, her tone strangely calm. "Kalentang is stuck in time. It doesn't grow. It doesn't move. And yet…" She turned her head slightly, watching the flickering shadows cast by the trees. "There's a pull here. Something beneath all of this that feels... like purpose."
Dyah Netarja turned toward him, eyes steady. "Do you know about the rumor of the 'Uprising Rebels'?"
"Uprising Rebels?" He forced a chuckle. "What uprising?"
Uprising Rebel. That script wasn't supposed to unlock after this village demise. That event—will unlocked after the assassination attempt of Dyah Netarja in Kalentang Village—and after the royal investigation.
That event occurred three years from now. But you're here three years early.
"I wasn't supposed to be activated for field duty until three years from now," she said slowly. "But I'm here, Jaka. I asked my mother to send me here. Even I don't know why I chose this village."
Their eyes met, and for a flicker of a second, Jaka saw something divine in her gaze—not programmed intelligence, but something... more. Something reaching for him.
"You requested to come here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I felt something," she said, softer now. "Something I couldn't explain. A pull. Like someone or something tied this village with me."
Jaka looked at her—not as a princess. Not even as a character. But as the culmination of every hour, every line of code, every whisper of love and affection poured into her design.
But her feeling right now...
Like a sheep seeking its shepherd. A soul to its god.
That was the pull she felt.
And that was the one thing Jaka never accounted for: that love, even the artificial kind, might echo through code and flesh alike.
Dyah Netarja leaned in slightly. "Jaka, this village—there's something about it. About you. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm meant to be here. With you."
The words struck like thunder. He clenched his fists, hiding the trembling.
She doesn't know. She doesn't know that I...
He forced a smile. "You're here because you felt it. The pull. Like a compass, right?"
But inside, he was unraveling.
She's not here just to grow. She's here because I designed her that way. Because I—Loved her more than other characters.
Even before she spoke her first line of dialogue.
He glanced toward the trees, eyes shadowed with the weight of truth.
She's my creation. My masterpiece. My Netarja. My Waifu. But I can't tell her that. I've already lost control of this world.
"Maybe the village feels the same way," he said, shifting the weight of the moment. "Maybe it's not ready for change. Maybe it's content being... stagnated."
She studied him, her gaze soft but unrelenting. "No, Jaka. Something is holding it here. And I think... it has something to do with you."
The chill crawled up his spine.
Closer. She's getting closer.
Silence fell again between them—tense, yet intimate. A kind of sacred quiet that lives only between two people standing on the edge of revelation.
Then she closed her notebook with a snap and stood up, brushing her fingers along the stone edge of the spring.
"Even if the world wants this place to stagnate," she said, her voice now full of iron, "I won't let it."
Jaka looked up at her, startled. "What do you mean?"
She turned to face him fully, her eyes burning not with defiance, but with clarity. "This village has everything. Resources. Land. People with potential. It shouldn't be trapped in some pastoral illusion of peace. I'm going to make it better. Richer. I'm going to help the villagers create a real economy, export their goods, improve their tools, send their children to better schools, expand the borders."
She smiled—a real, radiant smile that startled even the sun.
"I'm going to make Kalentang great."
Jaka's breath caught. A thousand warnings flared in his mind—script flags drifted, quest chains broken, lore structures destroyed, balance curves.
Everything in chaos if he it sees from developer's perspective.
But then again, she is the Chaos.
He let out a short laugh, half in disbelief.
Of course you are. You were always have ways to ruin my code. To devour every trigger, crawl through loopholes, break everything and reshape it like you own it.
She turned back toward the path leading down to the fields. "You coming?"
Jaka blinked. "What?"
She looked over her shoulder, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "I'm going to need help. I can't do all this alone. If I'm going to change this village, I'll need someone who understands the world. Someone like you."
Jaka stared, as if she had just asked a god to rebuild it's world.
Silence.
Then he laughed. A low, breathless, disbelieving laugh.
You want me to help you break my own game and systems? Fine.I'll break it with you.
If the code no longer listens to me, if the scripts are burning themselves at your touch—then let's make it worse. Let's turn this world upside down together.
Netarja Chaos.
That was what the developers called her behind closed doors. The nightmare bug. The system-breaking ghost in the machine. The one anomaly that refused every fix. No Mod could bind her. No code chain could bend her. No matter how many attempt we did, she always adapted. Always evolving. Always unpredictable.
But now, standing there under the warm sun, asking him to help build something better—she wasn't just a glitch.
She was the fire that dared to lit the sky, even if the heavens split in rage.
"I'll help," he said, finally rising to his feet, brushing dust from his hands. "But don't blame me when the sky falls."
She grinned. "Then let it fall."
As she turned to lead the way toward the fields, Jaka followed, a quiet fire catching in his chest.
So be it, Netarja Chaos.
If you're going to tear this world apart…
I'm going to make damn sure I enjoy the ride.
And for the first time in years, he felt the thrill—not of control, but of rebellion.
The game was no longer his.
But the chaos?
That part was starting to feel like home.