My name is Yoga Permana, I'm twenty-two years old. I didn't go to college. I'm just an employee working in someone else's family business.
I'm not in a relationship—not because I'm unattractive, but because I'm tired. Tired of every relationship ending in a breakup.
The direction of my life? Who knows. For the past few years, I've enjoyed reading webnovels. Their endings are always left hanging, so I decided to continue them through my own webnovel writing.
Somehow, I got swept away into the very novels I was reading.
"Even though there are no pictures, just words... why is it so fun?!" I said a few years ago.
A few years ago, I read My Death Flags Show No Sign Of Ending, the first webnovel I ever read.
I was born in West Jakarta but raised in Citayam. Even though I was born elsewhere, Citayam feels like home—a place where I experienced everything: my first friends, school years, my first love... and my first heartbreak.
When I got dumped, it felt like I wanted to end everything.
"If only I never fell in love," flashed through my mind the first time I got dumped. And the feeling of "I want to be reborn." was painfully real—tight inside, but seemingly fine on the outside. My expression looked like someone tired of life, with messy long hair, a hollow gaze, and a thin body.
"Feeling numb sucks," I muttered after experiencing it firsthand.
Back in high school, I thought romantic drama was over the top—my friends sulking and acting as if it was the end of the world over simple things.
But my life changed drastically—from cheerful to gloomy, from extrovert to introvert.
I was sociable, but after the breakup, I didn't want to meet anyone new. I spent most of my time in my room, lost my job, even turned to medication, drowning in sadness.
Trying to recover, I entered new relationships—only to fail again. Repeatedly.
Until I was exhausted.
"First love really hits differently, huh..."
"The more you try to forget, the more it haunts you..."
"I should've listened to my friend..."
One mistake: letting yourself drown in love only leads to despair.
One regret: loving the wrong person.
But I grew. I went back to work.
I've been working in someone else's family business for four years. My career improved, I gained weight, but my heart? Still the same. Still stuck on one name—memories of my youth.
For four years, I faced nothing but work drama—no romance.
All that time, I kept reopening old memories saved in my phone, my cloud storage, and social media.
It felt like just yesterday I fell in love, like there was never anything between us.
Now, all I have are old photos and videos I kept.
Mulya Rahmayanti Amalsyah.
A name I always whisper in my heart. A name that haunts me.
A part of me wants to go back. Another part wants to remain a stranger.
Holding back longing through a thousand and one nights, fighting loneliness alone.
"She probably doesn't even care if I'm alive or dead now," I think every night.
But I always know about her, even after all this time. Don't call me a stalker—I just want to know.
I'm just trapped in the past, in feelings that never fade.
Only I and God know.
I decided to leave Citayam, go back to Jakarta. I worked for four years just to forget all the emotions that once existed.
"Yaaaawn... I'm too lazy to write..." I said, yawning. "Besides, who would even read this?"
I'm a writer—but an inconsistent one. Every time I go to the bathroom, I don't come up with new chapters, only new title ideas.
"Coming up with a premise is more fun..." I say, half-asleep in front of the document screen.
"I hate writing prologues," I keep complaining, though I haven't written a single word.
Again and again, I escape by scrolling through Facebook, watching reels, reading comics.
But every time I read someone else's novel, I start writing again.
"Poor MC of this draft."
"If I don't continue, it'll never end."
Every time I write, I remember—
"It sucks to be left hanging."
Every time I feel motivated to write—
"Alright, my one and only loyal reader—whoever you are—here's the continuation..."
I type at supersonic speed.
But after thirty minutes, I'm scrolling through Facebook again.
Meme posts, mom reels, and passive-aggressive quotes.
Every time I feel called out—I start writing again.
But after fifteen minutes, I scroll again.
Now a cringey couple post shows up on my feed.
I go back to writing in disgust.
But after ten minutes—I scroll again.
"This is a disease—FACEBOOK MADNESS!" I scream so loud my neighbor pounds the wall beside my room.
"SHUT UP, DAMN IT!"
"..."
Silence.
"Why did I even become a writer... It wasn't even on my list of dreams."
A writer who hates writing, struggling day by day for a single chapter that never gets done.
"Yeah, maybe I should reread the first novel I ever read."
It's been a long time since I last read the novel that made me become a lazy writer.
In my heart, writing is fun—it expands my imagination, even wildly so.
Sometimes, I don't even understand what I wrote.
"I mean, I'm the writer, but I don't get it either."
Forcing impossible plots onto the main character.
"No! My MC is super strong! You, villain, must die!"
"BEHOLD, THE PLOT ARMOR POWER THICKER THAN PATRICK'S BUTT! NOW YOU HAVE THE POWER TO DESTROY A MILLENNIA-OLD VILLAIN WITH A BANANA PEEL!"
Getting bad reviews.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! HUH?! LOOK AT THIS CHARACTER—PERFECT, HANDSOME, OVERPOWERED, SHARP JAWLINE! A HAREM THE SIZE OF A PLANTATION!! AND YOU CALL IT TRASH?!"
Getting praised.
"Ahhh, that's my MC hehehehehe a thousand times yes."
Brainstorming.
"Ugh, when I'm out of ideas, let's open the writer group chat."
It's all fun—from research to turning experiences into stories. (Even if no one reads them.)
All the mixed feelings—as a writer (who hates writing), I really love these moments. Because I'm lonely, friendless, far from family, just working and writing every day.
"Okay... finally finished the premise."
I stare at my laptop screen with fake pride.
This premise was crafted with great struggle—while pooping, daydreaming, or being triggered by passive-aggressive mom posts on Facebook.
"Now... the prologue."
I try to type the first sentence.
"In a world where magi—"
BRZZT
My screen flickers.
"Eh?"
BRZZT BZZZZTTTTT KRAK
My laptop screen starts to crack like glass, even though it's never been dropped.
The color changes to deep purple with light cracks down the middle.
"This is so weird..."
Then, from the crack, a hand appears.
A smoky black hand grips the edge of the screen—like opening a portal. Then flips me off.
"Oi oi oi, is this a YouTube prank? Where are the cameras? Hidden where?!"
Too late.
That hand pulls me into the screen.
My body is sucked in like into a black hole and...
Darkness.
"Congratulations, you've been summoned to the world of Pe and Kob."
That voice echoed in my head.
"W-what?! Pe and Kob?"
That's the title of the novel I was just writing a prologue for.
"You got the wrong person! I haven't even written the prologue yet!"
"Exactly. You're going to write it... from the inside."
"WHAT?! There's no manual for this!"
Then everything disappears.
Darkness. Silence. And... a loading bar appears beneath my feet.
[Loading isekai world... 7%]
"Oh God, I haven't even named the kingdom yet."
[Loading isekai world... 16%]
[Loading isekai world... 23%]
[Loading isekai world... 48%]
"Come on, at least chat with me, this RPG-style loading bar is boring."
[Loading isekai world... 78%]
"Can I just nap until it finishes loading? How would I even do that?"
[Loading isekai world... 99%]
"Woahhh, here it is. Will I have a harem?!"
[ERROR!!]
"WHAT THE HELL?! AM I GOING TO DIE?!"
"Not like I'm enjoying life anyway..."
[Sorry, your data is incompatible...]
"Whatever... leave me here till the apocalypse. Though yeah, it already feels like it."
[Loading...]
[Loading data into this world with body...]
"Eh?! What body?!"
[Loading isekai world... 100%]
"WHAAAA?!"
[Welcome to the world of Pe and Kob]