Bab 03

"Eeekkk... finally full," Zidan muttered, leaning back in his chair after devouring five bowls of meatballs spicier than the neighbor's gossip.

"Oh right, Ryu's dad told me to go home, didn't he? But… where even is his house?" Zidan sat up straight, realizing he had absolutely no idea where the real owner of this body actually lived.

He quickly rummaged through the wallet he brought, hoping to find anything that could point him to the original owner's address.

And finally, Zidan found a student ID card listing the body owner's full name, date of birth, and—what made him grin wide—his home address.

"Komplek Kayu Mati? Wait, what? Dead Wood Complex? That sounds cursed. Was there really no better name than that?" Zidan almost choked on his own spit after reading the address printed on Ryu's student ID.

"Bang!" Zidan called out to the meatball seller. Time to pay—and ask for directions.

"You're done, Mas?" asked the meatball guy as he walked over.

"Yeah, how much in total?" Zidan replied, pulling two red bills from the wallet.

"One hundred thousand, Mas," the seller said with a smile.

"Here, Bang. Keep the change. But I need to ask something," Zidan said, handing him two hundred thousand.

"What do you need to know?"

"Well, I'm wondering... is there really a housing complex called 'Kayu Mati' around here?"

"Hmm, I think there is, Mas. But it's really far. Probably an hour from here," the seller explained.

"So it really exists?" Zidan asked again. The seller nodded.

He was speechless. He thought the name was just a joke, but turns out... Dead Wood Complex was real. Wild.

"Alright, Bang. Thanks," Zidan said as he walked back to the apartment—to check whether the owner of this body had a vehicle or not. Oh, and to change his sandals. Maybe even shower, if he had the time.

---

Back at the apartment, Zidan threw himself onto the bed.

"Ugh… full stomach, heavy head. And not because of the meatballs. This is definitely the weight of someone else's life," he sighed, staring at the ceiling.

After a few seconds of dramatic pause, he got up and started searching the room.

"If this guy's rich, he better have a ride. A scooter, a car, electric bike… heck, even roller skates!"

He opened the closet, drawers, shoe rack, even looked under the bed—only to find a pile of socks scarier than any monster from a horror story.

"Dear god… are these socks or corpses? Ryu, you might live in a fantasy world but your foot odor is painfully real."

Finally, on the desk near the window, Zidan spotted a keychain with a tiny skull attached.

"Is this... a motorcycle key?" he mumbled, checking the logo.

"Yup, confirmed. Sports bike. Thank God Ryu's not one of those foldable-bike riders—I'd look like a lost clown going home like that."

He changed from his worn-out flip-flops into a pair of sneakers lying in the corner. Glancing at the wall clock, he noted the time.

"Still five. If what that meatball guy said is true, it'll take an hour to get there. Alright, time for a shower. I'm not meeting his dad smelling like chili and sweat."

---

30 minutes later…

Zidan stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, face refreshed.

He threw on a hoodie, sweatpants, and slung on a backpack containing Ryu's student ID, wallet, and… a leftover bag of fried snacks he brought from the meatball stall.

"All set. Ready or not, here I go. Whatever's waiting at that house… just don't let it be a jumpscare."

He locked the apartment, headed down to the parking lot, and found the motorcycle—matte black, pretty sporty, and had a "Don't Touch My Ride" sticker near the rear seat.

"This guy really gives off antagonist energy," Zidan muttered as he put on the helmet.

He turned the key.

Wrrrrr…!

"Let's go find this Dead Wood Complex."

Zidan rode off slowly out of the parking lot, carrying with him confusion, a bit of panic, and… a curiosity that was growing stronger by the second.

---

Casually, Zidan rode his sport bike while enjoying the afternoon breeze that was… full of dust and pollution. Well, what do you expect—it's Jakarta. If there's no traffic or smog, it's not Jakarta.

"Turns out, whether it's the real world or a novel world, traffic jams and pollution still exist," he muttered while glancing at Google Maps on his phone.

"What the—do I turn left or right? Why is the app lagging now?!" he grumbled, stopping his motorbike right at a junction.

"Go straight. Please proceed straight ahead," said the Google Maps voice, sounding way too confident.

The corner of Zidan's mouth twitched. "Are you kidding me?! Straight ahead, my ass! There are only two options—left or right! If I go straight, I'll end up in the lake!"

He glared at his phone like it owed him money, nearly throwing it into the lake out of pure frustration.

Zidan let out a long sigh, trying to hold back the urge to scream. He pulled over to the side, turned off the engine, and sat back on the seat while removing his helmet.

"Why is it that the smarter technology gets, the dumber it acts," he complained, rubbing his face.

He looked around. On the left, there was a narrow, quiet uphill road surrounded by trees. On the right, the road was slightly busier, but packed with cars parked all over the place. And straight ahead? Yep—a lake. Calm and glistening in the sunset—perfect for daydreaming… or drowning.

Zidan stared up at the sky and spoke as if addressing the universe.

"I've transmigrated into a novel world—one that's supposed to be full of mystery and plot twists… yet here I am, stuck in traffic and getting lost."

Suddenly, an old scooter passed by from the left. The rider was an older man wearing a helmet with a hole in it, and on the back of his scooter was a sticker that read: "Don't follow me, I'm lost too."

Zidan watched the man's back in disbelief.

"Is this a novel world or a comedy skit?" he muttered.

In the end, with a deep breath and hesitant resolve, he started the bike again and turned left, following the same path the lost uncle took.

"Better to follow someone lost than to drive straight into a lake."

A few minutes down the road, the GPS finally caught up and started working properly again.

"Please turn right ahead," the voice said—this time, more reasonably.

Zidan sneered. "There you go. Don't pretend to know directions if you can't even see the damn lake."

Just as he made the turn, a sleek black luxury car suddenly appeared from the opposite direction—speeding straight at him. It nearly sideswiped his bike.

"HEY!" Zidan shouted in panic, instinctively jerking the handlebars to the side. His bike wobbled a little, but he managed to stay upright.

The car screeched to a halt. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a sharp-faced young man with a cold, expressionless look.

"You Ryuuga?" the guy asked flatly.

"Uh… yeah," Zidan answered—lagging a bit, both mentally and emotionally.