Arka opened his eyes to the gentle morning light filtering through the dusty curtains of the inn. For once, his first thought wasn't about survival.
No more counting coins for today's meal.
No more worrying about tomorrow's rent.
His lips curved into a small smile as he remembered the numbers in his bank account—figures he'd never dreamed of seeing. All from one clever investment based on information he definitely shouldn't have had.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Arka, breakfast is ready!" His mother's voice sounded unusually cheerful from the other side of the door.
"Coming, Mom!" He stretched his arms above his head, feeling his muscles loosen.
Through the small window, the morning sky glowed bright blue—like it was promising him endless possibilities.
At the wooden table, his mother had laid out fried rice and a perfect sunny-side-up egg—a luxury meal provided by the innkeeper. But Arka barely noticed the food.
His eyes locked onto the newspaper folded beside his mother's plate.
"MYSTERIOUS IMPOSTOR POSES AS STOCK BROKER EXECUTIVE"
The headline screamed at him in bold black letters. Below it was Devina Hartono's professional photo beside a smaller one of Arjuna Wijaya.
Arka's heart hammered against his ribs. He fought to keep his expression neutral as he reached for the paper.
"Anything interesting in the news?" his mother asked, pouring steaming tea into his cup.
"Just another fraud story," he replied with forced casualness, his pulse racing. His eyes devoured the article:
"...Devina Hartono, a senior executive at Hartono Capital, reported that someone had impersonated her and accessed confidential company information. The incident occurred just days before a major acquisition announcement that significantly moved the stock market..."
"...A similar case was reported by businessman Arjuna Wijaya whose identity was used by an impostor to infiltrate Kayla Indriani's exclusive party last week..."
"...The Financial Services Authority has formed a special team to investigate potential insider trading related to the unusual surge in PT Mineralido Sejahtera shares before the acquisition announcement..."
Cold sweat beaded on Arka's back. They were investigating the exact stock he'd bought. This was no coincidence.
"Aren't you eating, Arka?" His mother's voice pulled him back to reality.
"Oh, right." He shoveled rice into his mouth mechanically. It tasted like cardboard on his tongue.
"So," his mother began, eyeing him curiously, "you haven't told me about this new job of yours. Something about a big business opportunity?"
Arka nearly choked on his food. "Yeah, Mom. I'm... working as an investment consultant now. Helping people find opportunities in the stock market."
"Investment consultant?" Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Doesn't that require special education? You only finished high school."
"I'm self-taught," Arka flashed a quick smile. "Turns out my analytical skills are quite valuable."
His mother smiled back, though doubt lingered in her eyes. "I'm glad if you've found your path. But remember what I always tell you—"
"As long as it's the right way," Arka finished, guilt stabbing his heart. "I know, Mom."
After breakfast, he rushed out, claiming an important meeting awaited him. In truth, he needed space to think away from his mother's hopeful gaze.
---
The city park offered Arka the solitude he craved. He found a bench hidden under a shady tree and reopened the newspaper.
This time, he read every word carefully. The impostor hadn't been identified yet, but CCTV footage from Hartono Capital was being analyzed. The Head of Security Systems, Benny Wicaksana, mentioned "an unusual attack pattern showing a high level of sophistication."
"They're getting closer," Arka muttered, crushing the paper in his fist.
He needed to act fast.
The money from his trading, though split across several accounts, could be traced if authorities dug deep enough. He needed to convert digital money into untraceable physical assets.
Twenty minutes later, Arka pushed open the door of an unassuming jewelry store in the city center. Nothing too flashy or attention-grabbing—just the kind of place that wouldn't ask too many questions about cash transactions.
A middle-aged man with thick glasses looked up from behind the counter. His eyes scanned Arka's simple clothes with obvious skepticism.
"Good afternoon," Arka said with forced confidence. "I'm interested in some investment jewelry."
"Of course," the man replied slowly. "What are you looking for? Rings? Necklaces?"
"Pure gold coins. Small ones, preferably," Arka said directly. "Something easy to store with stable value."
Interest flickered in the shop owner's eyes. He nodded and pulled out a small box containing rows of gold coins about the size of a hundred-rupiah coin.
"24 karat pure gold. Each weighs 10 grams."
Arka picked one up, feeling its satisfying weight in his palm. "How much?"
"Nine million rupiah per coin, following today's gold price."
A quick mental calculation told Arka he could buy dozens with the money he now had—portable wealth easily hidden and exchanged anywhere.
"I'll take ten for now," he said firmly. "Cash."
The shop owner's eyes widened slightly, but his professional demeanor held. "Certainly, sir. Please wait a moment."
While the man prepared his order, Arka's phone vibrated. Unknown number. His instinct screamed danger, but he answered anyway.
"Hello?"
"Good afternoon, am I speaking with Mr. Arka?" A crisp female voice came through the line.
"Yes. Who's this?"
"I'm Narita from the compliance department at Central Bank. We'd like to confirm some unusual transactions in your account. In the last three days, there have been cash withdrawals totaling almost one hundred million rupiah from several different branches. Did you make these transactions?"
Arka's heart raced, but he kept his voice level. "Yes, that was me. I'm making some investments that require liquidity."
"I see." She sounded like she was taking notes. "For compliance purposes, may we know more details about the source of these funds? We've recorded large deposits from the sale of PT Mineralido Sejahtera shares."
Arka took a deep breath. "That's correct. I made stock investments and was fortunate to gain significant profits."
"Very well, Mr. Arka. Because the transaction value is quite large, we need supporting documents for our report to the Financial Transaction Reports and Analysis Center. Could you visit the nearest branch to—"
"I'm sorry, I'm out of town," Arka cut in politely but firmly. "I'll come as soon as I return. Perhaps next week."
"But sir, this is a standard procedure that—"
"I understand, and I'll comply next week." He ended the call before she could finish.
Cold sweat trickled down his spine. The bank had noticed his activities—transactions too large, too fast, too suspicious for someone without a proper financial history. His first major mistake.
The shop owner returned with a box of ten gleaming gold coins. "Please check them first, sir."
Arka examined each coin carefully before nodding. He counted out the cash and handed it over.
"Thank you," the shop owner said, offering a simple receipt. "Would you like ownership certificates made?"
"Not necessary," Arka replied quickly, tucking the box into his bag. "This is enough."
---
Rather than returning to the inn, Arka found a small café on the corner. He needed to clear his head and plan his next move.
As he stared out the window at the busy street, his phone pinged with a news notification. The headline made his blood freeze:
"Financial Services Authority Investigates Suspicious Transactions Before Mineralido Acquisition"
The article mentioned several trading accounts that made significant purchases of Mineralindo shares just days before the announcement. His name wasn't listed, but the transactions matched his exactly.
"Damn," he whispered, turning off his phone and taking a sip of his now-cold coffee.
A movement across the street caught his eye.
A middle-aged man with glasses—Benny Wicaksana, Head of Security at Hartono Capital—stood talking intensely with another man in a leather jacket who screamed "private investigator." They were right in front of the bank branch where Arka had opened one of his accounts.
This was no coincidence.
Arka turned away, instinctively hiding behind his newspaper. From the corner of his eye, he watched the two men enter the bank.
They were moving faster than he'd anticipated—the bank, the Financial Services Authority, and Hartono Capital's security team, all closing in.
Arka threw some money on the table and slipped out through the café's back door. With quick steps, he headed to the nearest motorcycle rental.
"I need a motorcycle for a week," he told the attendant, producing his ID—one of the few official documents still using his real identity.
After completing the rental and paying in cash, Arka returned to the inn to speak with his mother.
"Mom, I'm sorry this is sudden, but I have to go out of town for business," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Maybe a week. Will you be okay by yourself?"
His mother's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's fine, son. But why so sudden? And have you packed your things?"
"This is a good opportunity that can't be delayed," Arka explained, avoiding direct eye contact.
A moment of silence stretched between them before she answered. "Alright. Be careful on the road, Arka."
"Thanks, Mom. Here's some money for while I'm gone." He pressed the cash into her hand, guilt twisting in his stomach.
---
The motorcycle engine hummed beneath him as Arka took the road out of town. His mind raced faster than the bike, formulating a plan.
He needed a new identity—someone with access to the financial world but not too conspicuous. Someone who could give him information about the ongoing investigation.
Darkness crept across the sky when Arka spotted a roadside restaurant. He pulled over, needing food and a short break.
While waiting for his takeaway order, the restaurant's TV caught his attention.
"...in the latest development, police have identified a suspect in the identity fraud case who impersonated Devina Hartono and Arjuna Wijaya," the news anchor announced. "CCTV footage shows consistent physical characteristics between the two impersonations, leading to suspicions of a single perpetrator. The digital forensics team is analyzing the recordings to—"
Arka didn't wait to hear more. He grabbed his food and practically ran back to his motorcycle. They had connected his two impersonations already. The clock was ticking louder.
---
Two hours later, he pulled into a neglected motel on the outskirts of town—perfect for lying low. He registered using his real name, figuring a fake identity without supporting documents would raise more red flags.
In the cramped room, Arka sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the Cadurian ring on his finger. This tiny object had given him extraordinary power, but now it was the source of his troubles.
His phone rang again—unknown number. This time, he let it go to voicemail. Seconds later, a text message appeared:
"Mr. Arka, this is from Central Bank. Please contact us immediately regarding your account which has been frozen at the request of the financial services authority. Call 021-XXXXXXX for more information."
His head throbbed. His account was already frozen—faster than he'd expected. Thank goodness he'd converted most of his money to gold and withdrawn enough cash.
Opening his laptop, Arka connected through a VPN to hide his location. He searched for the latest news about the "identity impostor" case.
The more he read, the more his stomach knotted. Investigators had already built an accurate profile—a young man, about 175 cm tall, with tan skin and straight black hair.
Most alarming, they'd found partial fingerprints in the Hartono Capital lobby.
"Damn, damn, damn!" Arka slammed his fist on the bed.
He'd never dropped Devina's form inside the building, but there might have been moments when his transformation wasn't perfect, or when he touched something right before or after transforming.
In the cracked motel mirror, his own reflection stared back at him—a face that had become his greatest liability. He needed a new identity, someone who could provide protection and inside information.
His eyes drifted to the newspaper he'd brought from the restaurant. A small article caught his attention:
"Rikson Panjaitan, Leading Private Detective, Appointed to Assist in Identity Fraud Case."
The article showed a muscular man with distinguished silver temples, wearing a neat but understated suit. A former police officer now working as a private detective, hired by Hartono Capital to track down the impostor.
"Next target," Arka murmured, studying Rikson's photo intently.
As the detective handling the case, Rikson would have access to all the latest information. By becoming Rikson, he could track how close they were to finding him—maybe even redirect the investigation.
Arka twisted the Cadurian ring on his finger, a predatory smile playing on his lips.
The hunter was about to become the hunted.