The reverie shattered instantly, pulverized by a max-volume alarm slicing through the silent room. A ridiculous melody blared—the 2016 meme anthem, “MLG 360 NO-SCOPE, My Hope Will Never Die”—originating from a phone on the desk.

  Giou scowled. The noise was an insult to his serious mood. It was his master's phone. The lock screen lit up the dim room, displaying digital symbols:

  [Friday, July 30, 2021. 20:02]

  Giou clicked his tongue. He was a demon whose body resided in another domain. He couldn't turn it off.

  And Arua knew it. He planted the phone here on purpose. If the phone were right next to the bed, he would just snooze it in two seconds and go back to sleep. By placing it here, he forced Giou to come scream at him, jump-starting his spiritual senses.

  "Master! Wake up!" Giou shouted, after dashing to the next room, shaking the young man whose sleeping position was far from appropriate. Arua groaned, trying to bury himself deeper in the pillow while the meme music raged on in the other room. Giou didn't let up.

  "Wake up! Turn it off or I'll shock you!" Giou threatened—joking, of course, he couldn’t actually do that.

  "Ugh... fine..." Arua finally surrendered. He rose slowly with half-closed eyes, then walked groggily toward the next room like a walker from The Walking Dead. Giou trailed him.

  Arua snatched his phone, swiping the screen roughly. Silence. The world returned to peace.

  Atop the cupboard, Demonic Possession—the black crow—stopped headbanging, looking disappointed that the impromptu concert was over. The bird had been there for a while, ever since Giou was busy daydreaming, ignoring the page-turner device in front of him which was still running.

  Arua tossed his phone back and scratched his messy hair. He turned toward the bathroom (in his main room) to wash his face. Giou and the crow followed in a gloomy parade.

  Watching his master’s slump-shouldered walk, the thread of Giou's memories from the last ten months was now reconnected by reality. The smell of dust, piles of electronic components, the gecko chirps in the corner, and this boring daily life... this was his world now.

  The fear, the philosophy, the existential dread—he shoved it all back into the mental vault. Right here, right now, he wasn't a fugitive or a failed revolutionary. He was just Giou, roommate to a teenager with a broken circadian rhythm. And weirdly enough, this simple reality felt better than any utopian dream.

  Four minutes of silence. Giou sat on the chair, watching Arua fresh out of the wash. The dude sighed, swapped his t-shirt for a dark-green hoodie and pulled black trousers over his shorts. A quick finger-comb through the hair, and he was done.

  Giou recognized the signs. His master was about to heading out.

  Giou’s tail started wagging enthusiastically. He stood up with eyes sparkled. "Master, can I go with you!?"

  “Fuck," a raspy voice came from atop the cupboard. The black crow flapped its wings, demanding the same right—even though he couldn't hear Giou. His only vocabulary was a harsh swear word—courtesy of Arua’s “best” parenting—which, in this context, translated to: Take me with you.

  Arua sighed, shoving two wallet into his right and left pocket. "No," he shot back. "You have to study geography tonight." He straightened his jacket and paused at the door. Turning around, he pointed a lethal finger at Demonic Possession. "You too. No daily deposit, no walkies."

  The crow tilted its head. The "daily deposit" Arua mentioned wasn't seeds or dead rats, but money—coins or bills—with a specific value. Yeah, aside from swearing, Arua also trained his pet with strict capitalist principles: no money, no treat.

  "Fuck!" Demonic Possession replied, this time sounding like a protest.

  "Please, Master... Just this once!" Giou clasped his hands, begging. "I have stayed inside this room for three weeks."

  Arua's gaze shifted to the demon. "I'm just buying a few things. It won't take long."

  "Right! It's a short journey, so it's safe! Please, Master Aru..." Giou pleaded again. He respected the guy, sure, but moments like this blurred the lines between them; from a master-servant to merely a close senior-junior.

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  Arua snorted, his shoulders sagging. "Hhh... Whatever."

  Giou smiled, flashing a nightmare row of sharp teeth. "Thank you, Master!"

  "Don't forget your cloak," Arua muttered flatly, his hand on the knob. "Already done, Master," Giou replied quickly. He patted his robe, ensuring the spiritual cloak was perfectly active.

  Demonic Possession slipped into the front pocket of Arua's hoodie. Only his head popped out, like a baby kangaroo peeking from its mother's pouch. It was his favorite spot.

  They set off, riding a certified street legend: a beaten-up 2000s Honda bike. The thing had a special "feature": hit the right RPM, and the headlight housing rattled so hard it gave the rider a free hand massage. Arua treated the engine like gold, but the body looked like it had survived a war.

  Arua sped through the night wind. The traffic was fairly dense, a river of headlights flowing both ways. Giou sat stiff on the back, gripping the grab rail with upright posture.

  Their first destination was an electronics store. The visit was brief and efficient. Arua navigated the racks on autopilot, grabbing a roll of solder tin, solder wick, and a cleaning sponge, taking them straight to the cashier.

  Transaction complete, the journey continued. Only two turns later, the vibe shifted. They were greeted by the roar of the college district.

  The strip was packed with students pulling all-nighters. The air was thick—smoke from charcoal satay grills clashing with the steam of savory meatball soup and the bitter roast of hipster coffee shops sitting next to canvas food tents. Neon lights blend into the asphalt, painting the scene in colorful warm. Laughter, clinking spoons, and the off-key strumming of street bard blended into a singular hum of life.

  Giou frowned in confusion. Arua usually ate in hermit-approved silence. Why the hell were they here?

  Arua parked his junker bike, squeezed it into a tight gap in the jammed lot, then headed straight for the biggest crowd: a legendary Chicken Noodle stall with a queue line spilling into the road. Giou followed.

  They were trapped in the middle of the crowd. Amidst the crush, Arua scanned the surroundings, as if watching for something. Giou observed him. Then, a thick wallet "accidentally" slipped from his right pants pocket and fell to the dusty ground.

  "Master! You dropped your wallet!" Giou called out. His voice only reached his master's ears, the sole Supernaturalist there. Arua didn't reply—talking to ghosts in public full of Non-supernaturalist (normies) was a one-way ticket to the psych ward. He just gave a subtle hand signal: Quiet. Giou froze in confusion. What was he up to?

  Before Giou could figure it out, Arua had already maneuvered out of the crowd, casually crossing the street to a quiet Warteg (local food stall). There was only one queue here. Even then, all the food was ready, displayed in the glass case. Unfortunately, his favorite Mendoan was sold out, so he settled for Plan B: a plate of rice with cassava leaves in coconut milk sauce and spicy green mussels.

  Arua picked the VIP seat: a terrace table facing the street. It’s a front row tickets to the Chicken Noodle queue cinema screen. Giou sat on the floor next to him. From his Ophema perspective, the scene was far more chaotic. This area was not only crowded with hungry students, but also a zoo of spirits. Small demons hung on human shoulders, “absorbing energy” from their emotions in various forms. Meanwhile the djinns just wandered aimlessly like NPCs with broken pathfinding.

  Arua picked one mussel and offered it to Demonic Possession who had been sitting quietly inside his hoodie pocket. The black crow's beak popped out and snatched it. "Now is your time to shine. Go," Arua whispered. After swallowing the "down payment," Demonic Possession flew toward the crowd. His capitalist instinct worked; where there were humans, there was money.

  Giou ignored the bird. His eyes glued to the abandoned object across the street. "Master, your wallet..."

  "That's a toy wallet," Arua interrupted while spooning rice. "Watch." Giou looked. A guy in glasses noticed the bait. He looked right and left nervously, then slid the wallet with his foot and picked it up quickly. His face lit up. He stepped out of queue, opening the thick wallet with the hope of finding red Soekarno-Hatta bills (100,000 IDR).

  But, his face dropped. It was empty. No cash, no ID. Just a small mirror glued to one side and a note on the other: “LOOK AT THIS IDIOT LOL”. Below the writing, there was a large arrow pointed to the mirror, forcing him to stare at his own gullible reflection.

  On the terrace, Arua's shoulders shook, holding back laughter. "Pfft..." Giou gaped. Seriously? He picked this spot just to plant psychological landmines and watch strangers suffer in 4K+ resolution?

  Classic Arua. Pranking wasn't just a hobby; it was an art form. He always had brilliant ideas to prank others and turn it into entertainment, and somehow the ideas were always different each time.

  The Glasses Guy dropped the wallet and speed-walked away in shame. Meanwhile, Arua, casually as if innocent, watched the show while enjoying his mussel rice.

  Ten minutes passed, there had been a dozen victims. The reactions varied; some laughed sourly, some cursed, some looked around searching for the owner. Arua enjoyed every second as a side dish for his dinner.

  Then came the last victim. A thug-looking guy in his twenties grabbed the bait. But he didn't get embarrassed; he got mad. "Bastard!" he mouthed. He slammed the wallet into the dirt and stomped it fiercely. Crack. The mirror shattered.

  Show's over. "Tch. Boring," Arua grumbled in disappointment. He looked at his plate. Rice and veggies were gone, but half the mussels remained. It’s just his ritual: save the best 50% for a solo finale. But without the live entertainment, the dessert felt flat. He shoveled the rest into his mouth, bored, and looked away from the crowd.