National Palace, Jakarta – Evening. The meeting room, bathed in the amber glow of chandeliers, exuded opulence with its gilded walls and mahogany table. Yet, the air crackled with tension, thick enough to stifle the hum of the city beyond the palace walls. Portraits of past leaders gazed sternly as President Subianto sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm. Military officials, uniforms crisp and medals gleaming flanked him—their postures rigid, eyes sharp as daggers.
General Hadiman, a barrel-chested man with a voice like gravel, broke the silence. “The Nine Dragons’ grip on our ports and telecoms is a cancer. If we don’t excise it, Mr. President, this country bleeds out.” The title dripped with sarcasm.
Subianto’s jaw tightened. “They’ve bankrolled our infrastructure, General. Cutting ties isn’t simple.”