"Reka, can you take care of this?"
A stack of documents landed beside his right hand before he even had the chance to unwrap his bread.
"Reka, this one too, please."
Before he could react, another voice called out from the desk across from him.
"Reka, the conference room printer is jammed again. Can you check it now? The directors are about to go in, haha."
Reka Saputra stared at his computer screen as it finished turning on, then glanced at the bread still sealed in its wrapper. The clock in the corner of the screen read 8:07 a.m.
"Yeah... yeah, give me a minute," he answered quietly, almost by reflex.
He had no idea when those words had become the answer he used most often.
At twenty-nine, Reka worked as an operations staff member at an IT company. It sounded impressive when he told other people about it. A tall office building, freezing air-conditioning, access cards, and a company name that sounded modern.
The truth was, he had never touched a single important project.
He was not a programmer. Not a system analyst. Not one of the people who sat in meeting rooms discussing products.
His job?
Filling out reports, cleaning up data, printing documents, preparing meeting rooms, and occasionally becoming the "emergency IT guy," which usually meant unplugging a cable and plugging it back in.
Even though he had an IT degree.
"Reka, take care of the meeting room first. This is important," his supervisor called from behind him.
"Yes, sir... haha, on it," Reka replied as he stood, forcing out a small laugh.
He left his bread on the desk and walked to the meeting room carrying a small toolbox. The printer they claimed was broken only had a sheet of paper stuck inside it.
"That's it?" he muttered with a grin.
Five minutes later, it was fixed.
But by the time he returned to his desk, two new tasks were already waiting in his inbox.
That was how his days went.
People called his name whenever they needed something. He answered, finished the task, then waited for someone to call him again.
At lunch, he ate at a small food stall near the office with a few coworkers.
"Rek, why don't you try moving to the development team? You have an IT degree too," one of his friends asked between bites.
Reka let out a small laugh. "Hahaha... I haven't coded in years, bro. I've forgotten everything."
"Then learn it again."
"Yeah... maybe later," he said, scratching his head.
Later.
That word had become a habit.
In the evening, he rode home on a packed commuter train. His body was crushed between strangers, but his mind was empty. Sometimes he would laugh to himself whenever people started shoving.
"Damn, we're sardines with a pulse," he muttered, then chuckled again.
The moment he reached his rented room, he dropped onto the bed. He changed his clothes, ate whatever he had, then scrolled through his phone.
Sometimes he opened a coding tutorial.
Five minutes.
Then he switched to another video.
"I'll do it tomorrow," he said with a small laugh, though there was no one around to hear him.
The next morning, it started all over again.
Work, home, eat, sleep.
Work, home, eat, sleep.
His life was not bad. He was not starving. He could still pay rent and send money to his parents. He had no massive debts and no serious illness.
That was exactly why he felt like he had no right to complain.
But every night, once the noise outside began to fade, Reka always felt as though he had left something far behind.
He had once promised himself that he would become a great programmer.
Instead, he spent most of his teenage years playing games.
"Just one more level, then I'll study," he used to say.
But "then" never came.
College was no different.
He attended only when he had to, did assignments right before the deadline, and always said, "Relax, there's still time."
His friends had already built projects, landed internships, and found jobs before they even graduated.
Reka?
He was still taking it easy.
Until graduation came and panic finally caught up with him.
No portfolio.
A mess of half-forgotten skills.
His first interview taught him one thing: a diploma could not answer technical questions for him.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
So he took the first job that accepted him.
And stayed there... because he was afraid of starting from zero again.
His career was not his only regret.
There had once been a woman who loved him.
Someone who waited while he was busy.
Someone who listened whenever he complained.
Someone who believed in him even when he had stopped believing in his own life.
But Reka left her.
Back then, he said it quietly, as though it were the most reasonable decision in the world.
"I don't think we're right for each other."
The woman stayed silent for a long time.
Her hands trembled, her fingers locking together as if she were trying to hold back something that was about to burst out of her chest. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she still tried to smile, as though being strong enough could keep everything from falling apart.
Reka saw it.
And for a fraction of a second, something tightened inside his chest.
But he did not move.
He did not step closer.
He did not even take a breath to change his decision.
He simply stood there, waiting for the moment to end the way someone waited for rain to stop.
At last, she gave a slow nod.
Her smile collapsed halfway through.
And Reka walked away.
Now, whenever he thought about it, all he could do was let out a bitter little laugh.
"I really was awful back then... hahaha," he muttered in his empty room.
It sounded like laughter, but it was really regret hiding behind one.
At the time, he had been certain he would find someone more "suitable."
But after that... there was no one else.
Not because he never had another chance.
He simply became too lazy to start again, too afraid of being hurt, and too aware that he had once hurt someone himself.
Sometimes he wanted to message her.
He still had her number.
But his thumb always stopped before he typed anything.
"Probably too late now..." he said softly, followed by another small laugh.
And he left it alone.
Like always.
Two years passed without any meaningful change.
Then one day, he was called into the meeting room.
There was no broken printer.
No stack of documents.
Only a brown folder on the table.
"Reka, the company is making cutbacks," his supervisor said.
Reka understood immediately.
"Oh... haha. I see, sir," he answered quietly, sounding a little awkward.
"We have to terminate your contract."
The explanation about severance pay, paperwork, and his final day went in one ear and out the other.
Strangely enough, he felt... lighter.
"Seriously? Hahaha... so it finally happened," he muttered without realizing it.
But the moment he walked out of the building...
That feeling changed.
No one called his name anymore.
No more, "Reka, take care of this."
No more, "Reka, can you help?"
Silence.
During the first week, he called it a vacation.
During the second, he started sending out applications.
During the third, the rejections came.
By the second month... he had grown even lazier.
Then he found an online novel.
At first, it was only something to pass the time.
"I'll just read a little," he said.
But a little became hours.
Hours became days.
Days became months.
The novel was absurdly long. Thousands of chapters.
The world inside it felt alive.
Kingdoms, wars, magic, betrayal, power. It had everything.
And strangely enough... everyone in that world always had a purpose.
When they fell, they got back up.
When they made a mistake, they kept moving.
Reka envied them.
"Must be nice, living like that... hahaha," he muttered one night.
Eventually, he reached the final chapter.
He read it slowly.
Slower than usual.
As though finishing it would make everything else end too.
And it did.
The end.
He scrolled down, expecting an author's note.
Nothing.
There was only one strange question.
Would You Like to Live a Happier Life?
If Yes, Leave a Comment Below.
Reka froze.
His grip tightened around his phone. His finger pressed against the screen without him realizing it, as if he were trying to hold back something rising from his chest into his throat.
"...fuck."
The word came out quietly at first.
Then it exploded.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"
He laughed, but it was not light or amused. It sounded more like air being forced out of a chest that had grown too tight.
"I FOLLOWED THIS SHIT FOR 5,296 CHAPTERS, AND THIS IS WHAT YOU ASK ME?! YOU THINK LIFE IS SOME FUCKING GAME?!"
His hand was shaking now. Not from the cold, but because something inside him had grown too full to contain.
"YOU THINK I CAN BE HAPPY JUST BECAUSE I LEAVE A COMMENT?! IF IT WERE THAT EASY, I'D HAVE BEEN HAPPY YEARS AGO, IDIOT!"
He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily.
Then he laughed again, quieter and emptier.
"...damn it."
He opened the comment section.
Empty.
His finger hovered over the comment box.
Without thinking, he typed:
Fucking author. What kind of story is this? Way too damn short. You think everyone has time to wait for a life that never fucking ends? Asshole.
He stared at the words for a long time.
Then pressed send.
Click.
Comment posted.
He leaned back in his chair.
Silence.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Quieter.
Heavier.
A motorcycle passed outside.
Then the sound faded away.
Reka looked at the screen again.
The question was still there.
Would you like to live a happier life?
He chuckled.
"Hahaha... who wouldn't want to be happy?"
But the laugh quickly disappeared.
He said nothing.
For a long time.
The hand that had been shaking slowly relaxed, as though he no longer had the strength to stay angry.
"If I got another chance... what would I even do?"
He looked up at the ceiling.
Then, quietly, almost as a joke, he said:
"If anyone's listening... I think I'd like to start over."
He laughed again.
"Hahaha... this is so stupid. Who the hell would even be listening? And if someone is, they're probably some bastard god."
He pointed one finger at the ceiling, half joking and half furious.
"If there really is a god in this world... then you're a fucking bastard!"
Silence.
A few seconds later, Reka strangely felt... satisfied.
As though some of the weight pressing down on his chest had finally come loose.
He stood and walked slowly toward the bed.
"Whatever... I'm going to sleep."
He had just sat down on the edge of the mattress when...
BRAAAK!!!
A violent earthquake shook the entire room.
The light swung wildly. The walls trembled. Objects crashed to the floor.
"What the fuck?!"
Reka shot to his feet in panic.
"An earthquake?! Shit!"
He ran toward the door, but before he could get out...
GROOOOAAARRR!!!
A massive cracking sound came from deep underground.
The floor beneath him collapsed.
"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA?!"
Reka lost his footing.
He fell.
Down into a bottomless darkness.
Dust, dirt, and the roar of the collapse swallowed everything.
For a moment, his mind went blank as he fell.
Then one thought appeared.
...is this karma?
Because he cursed at a god earlier?
But strangely enough...
Reka smiled.
Inside the darkness, he laughed quietly.
"Hahaha... so you really are a fucking bastard of a god."
His vision slowly turned black.
Then everything disappeared.
At first, there was nothing.
No light.
No pain.
No sound from the collapse that had swallowed his body.
Only a darkness so still that Reka could not tell whether he was still falling, had already hit the bottom, or was simply dead.
Then a voice slowly reached him.
Quiet and distant, as though it came from behind an impossibly thick wall.
"Rd."
Reka did not respond.
"Ord."
The voice came again, a little clearer this time.
"Lord."
The darkness around him began to stir. Something warm touched his hand. The voice was close now, right beside his ear.
"LORD ZELDRYYNN! PLEASE WAKE UP!"
Reka opened his eyes.
A bright light stabbed into his vision. He squinted and dragged in a deep breath, his chest rising rapidly as though he had just surfaced from underwater.
"Huh?!"
He was alive.
At least, that was the first thought that entered his head.
The second was much stupider.
Don't tell me this is punishment for insulting a god?
Reka's vision was still blurry. He blinked several times until the first thing above him slowly came into focus.
A ceiling.
But it was clearly not the ceiling of his rented room.
The ceiling above him was high and covered in golden carvings. Floral patterns and circular lines spread outward from the center of the room, surrounding a massive chandelier hung with dozens of clear, crystal-like ornaments. There were no water stains. No peeling paint. No little holes where geckos crawled out at night.
Reka stared at it for a long time.
The ceiling in his old room had a hole near one corner. Whenever it rained heavily, he had to place a bucket beneath it to keep the water from soaking his bed.
The ceiling above him now looked like something from an expensive hotel he had only ever seen in videos.
"Where am I?" he muttered.
He tried to turn his head to the right.
"AGH! What the hell? That hurts!"
Pain shot from his neck to the back of his head. Reka immediately raised a hand and grabbed the painful spot.
A thick bandage was wrapped around it.