It all began on an ordinary morning.
Sri sat on the veranda, polishing her sword. Sunlight glinted off the steel, and her aura as Medang's Senapati Anom radiated pure "do not disturb."
But Chen Lu Han had never understood the phrase "do not disturb."
He approached slowly, carrying a cup of ginger water—whether freshly made or strained from leftover dishwater was unclear.
"Sri…"
No response.
"Senapati Anom of Medang…"
Still silent.
Chen smiled, then spoke softly—his voice laced with sly, playful affection :
"Srimadu…"
Sri stopped.
Turned slowly.
"What?!"
Chen was struck as if by lightning—but the kind that came with flower petals. His eyes lit up in giddy delight.
"My Srimadu turned to look! It worked!"
"What do you mean, calling me like some herbal tonic?"
"Not a tonic. It's a combination of your name and… the sweetness of your heart. Sri + madu = Srimadu. Sweet, strong, refreshing."
"And nauseating."
A few days earlier…
Chen had tried, and failed, to bestow affectionate nicknames:
"Sribunda" → spoon thrown at him."Sritul" (Sri gantul, Sri the clingy) → threatened with chopsticks."Srihati" → ignored for three days.
But when he said "Srimadu," with full drama—and promised not to recite bad poetry for a whole week—Sri nodded.
Slowly.
But that was official consent.
From then on, whenever Chen said, "Srimadu~" with his mischievous smile, and Sri only answered, "What?", Chen's entire inner world swayed like a festival.
Mei Lin once overheard Chen mumbling to himself, drawing flowers in the dirt :
"She turned… she answered my sweet call. I live. I win."
Han Yue saw Chen spinning in the courtyard with arms wide, like dancing under invisible rain.
Mei Lin only looked on, weary but sympathetic.
"I used to be like that too, when I first got appointed as her personal handmaiden."
Han Yue nodded.
"Until we realized… that was the beginning of our suffering."
On the way to morning drills, Chen skipped alongside Sri, humming :
"Srimadu in the morning~ Your face fresh like… unsalted moringa porridge~"
Sri glared.
"Remember your promise—one week without poetry."
"I said I wouldn't write poetry. This… is a folk song from the borderlands."
From a distance, Raka watched them and muttered under his breath,
"He's cursed. Cursed by love."
Han Yue, standing behind, added :
"That curse spreads. And now it's infected Sri too."
That night, when all had gone to sleep, Chen sat on the hut's steps, gazing at the stars.
He scribbled in his little notebook:
"Srimadu. A name that makes her turn only toward me. Just one second of her listening… and that's enough for the day."
Mei Lin, passing quietly, read the words from behind the door.
She smiled—tired, warm, and a little worried.
"If Sri ever answers him back with that name… we're all doomed."