# CHAPTER 1
At 9:17 a.m., the phone on Raka's desk vibrated.
A message came in.
Not from his supervisor. Not from a coworker. And not from a number saved in his contacts.
**Unknown number.**
Raka had almost ignored it.
That morning, his office was filled with the sound of keyboards, ringing phones, and conversations among employees that occasionally broke off whenever someone from the leadership office passed in front of the door.
He was reviewing a draft official memo when a second message came in.
> **Mr. Raka, I heard you're being transferred.**
Raka stopped typing.
He read the sentence again.
There was no name.
No explanation.
Just one simple sentence that suddenly made the room feel quieter.
He glanced toward the door.
There was no one there.
Raka typed a reply.
**Who is this?**
The message wasn't answered right away.
He set his phone down and tried to get back to work.
But his mind was no longer in front of the computer.
A transfer.
The word was simple.
Only eight letters.
But for a civil servant, a transfer wasn't merely a matter of moving desks, rooms, or buildings.
A transfer could mean a change of life.
Position.
Income.
Work environment.
Career.
Even his relationships with the people who had been part of his life for years.
Raka exhaled.
In his eleven years as a civil servant, he had grown used to hearing news about transfers.
Some were reassigned because of organizational needs.
Some received promotions.
Some were demoted.
And some were suddenly assigned far from the government center without ever truly understanding the reason behind it.
Usually, all of it was discussed beforehand.
There would be a meeting.
There would be an official letter.
There would be a routing instruction.
There would be a signature.
There would be an administrative trail.
At least, that's how it was supposed to work.
Raka reopened the document he had been working on.
Five minutes passed.
He hadn't finished reading a single sentence.
His phone vibrated again.
**It's already been issued, sir.**
Raka typed immediately.
**What letter?**
This time, the reply came quickly.
**The transfer decree.**
Raka stared at the screen.
**I haven't received it.**
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then the final message came in.
**You won't receive it.**
Raka frowned.
He was about to ask what that meant when a voice sounded behind him.
“Mr. Raka.”
Raka turned.
Surya was standing beside his desk.
The senior employee had worked at the office long before Raka arrived. His hair was almost entirely gray, but his memory for names, faces, and the history of the bureaucracy was far sharper than most people's.
“Yes, sir?”
Surya looked at Raka's computer screen.
“You've heard?”
“Heard what?”
Surya didn't answer immediately.
He pulled out the chair in front of Raka's desk.
“I heard you're being transferred.”
Raka fell silent.
“You heard that too?”
Surya nodded.
“From whom?”
Surya gave a faint smile.
“In this office, news about positions always travels faster than the official letter.”
Raka looked at him.
“Where am I being transferred?”
Surya shook his head.
“Don't know.”
“What position?”
“Don't know.”
“On what grounds?”
Surya shook his head again.
Raka began to feel that something was wrong.
“Then how do you know I'm being transferred?”
Surya looked at him for several seconds.
“Because someone asked about your personnel file this morning.”
“Who?”
“Someone from above.”
“Who exactly?”
Surya stood.
“If I knew, I wouldn't have said ‘someone from above.’”
Raka almost smiled, but Surya had already walked away from his desk.
Before reaching the door, Surya stopped.
“Raka.”
“Yes?”
“Don't ask too many questions before you know who's watching.”
Then he left.
At 10:03 a.m., Raka stood in front of the personnel office.
The door was open.
Several employees were busy at their computers.
“Ma'am, can I check my personnel records?”
A female employee turned toward him.
“Which records, sir?”
“My transfer.”
The woman paused.
“Your transfer?”
“Yes.”
She opened the application.
Raka stood beside her desk.
His full name appeared on the screen.
Employee ID number.
Rank.
Grade.
Position.
Work unit.
Everything was still the same.
There was no record of a transfer.
“There's nothing here, sir.”
“Check again.”
The employee clicked through several menus.
“There's nothing.”
“The official decree?”
“Nothing.”
“A draft?”
“Nothing.”
Raka stared at the screen.
“Change history?”
“Nothing.”
He exhaled.
“Thank you.”
Raka walked out.
After only a few steps, he stopped.
Then he turned back.
“Ma'am.”
“Yes?”
“If there's a transfer letter that hasn't been entered into the system yet, is that possible?”
The employee thought about it.
“Technically, yes, sir.”
“Who can enter it?”
“An administrator.”
“Who is the administrator?”
The employee looked at Raka.
For the first time, her expression changed.
“Why do you ask, sir?”
“It's nothing.”
Raka left.
In the hallway, he reopened the anonymous message.
**I heard you're being transferred.**
He pressed the number.
The call wouldn't connect.
He tried again.
The number was inactive.
Raka entered the number into the messaging app's search bar.
No results.
As if the number had never existed.
At 1:42 p.m., Raka was summoned to his supervisor's office.
He knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Raka entered.
His supervisor, a Section Head named Darto, was reading several documents.
“Sit down, Rak.”
Raka sat.
Darto didn't look at him right away.
“How's the work going?”
“Fine, sir.”
“This week's target?”
“Almost finished.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Raka waited.
Darto turned over several pages.
Then he said, without raising his head,
“You've heard the news?”
Raka looked at him.
“What news, sir?”
Darto stopped turning the pages.
Finally, he looked at Raka.
“The transfer.”
One word.
This time, Raka could no longer pretend he didn't know.
“You heard about it too?”
Darto nodded.
“Who told you?”
“It's not important.”
“It's important to me, sir.”
Darto leaned back.
“Raka, you've worked here long enough. You know how the bureaucracy works.”
“I do.”
“If there's no official letter, then there's no decision.”
“That’s what I want to confirm.”
Darto fell silent.
Raka continued.
“I checked the system. There’s no letter. No draft. No history.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“It means you haven’t been transferred.”
That answer should have relieved Raka.
Strangely, it only made him more uneasy.
“Then why is everyone saying I’ve been transferred?”
Darto didn't answer.
A few seconds later, he said,
“Don’t dwell on rumors.”
“What if the rumor is true?”
“If it’s true, you’ll receive a letter.”
“What if the letter never arrives?”
Darto looked at Raka.
Their eyes met for a long moment.
Then Darto said quietly,
“Then there’s a bigger problem than a transfer.”
Raka fell silent.
Darto lowered his head again.
“That’s enough. Go back to work.”
Raka stood.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“Sir.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever seen my transfer letter?”
Darto didn't answer.
In just two seconds, Raka had gotten his answer.
Not from his words.
From the way Darto avoided his gaze.
Night came faster than Raka realized.
At 9:38 p.m., he was still sitting in the home office.
His laptop was open.
Several personnel documents appeared on the screen.
He entered his name into the system.
Nothing.
He tried his employee ID number.
Nothing.
He checked the official-decree archive.
Nothing.
Then he searched by date.
The result was still empty.
Raka leaned back.
He picked up his coffee, which had gone cold.
For the first time that day, he felt relieved.
Maybe it was all just a rumor.
Maybe someone had misheard.
Maybe there really was no transfer.
He closed the laptop.
His phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown number.
Raka opened it.
No greeting.
No name.
Just one sentence.
> **Don't look for that letter.**
Raka froze.
A few seconds later, a second message came in.
> **Because it's not the letter that's missing.**
Raka stared at the screen.
His heart began to race.
He tried calling.
The number was inactive.
Then a photo came in.
It showed nothing but a desk.
A document lay on top of it.
Raka enlarged the image.
The writing at the top of the document was clear.
**TRANSFER DECISION FOR CIVIL SERVANT**
His name appeared beneath it.
**RAKA ADINATA.**
His hand slowly dropped from the mouse.
The date of the decision was printed in the upper-right corner.
**Seven days ago.**
Raka stared at the screen without blinking.
Seven days.
That meant the decision had been made before he heard about it.
Before anyone told him.
He enlarged the bottom portion of the document.
There was a signature.
A decision number.
An electronic seal.
Everything looked legitimate.
But one thing made Raka truly lose his breath.
The transfer destination read:
Not an office name.
Not an agency name.
Not a new position.
Just one long dash.
Raka moved his face closer to the screen.
Then he realized something.
The document wasn't merely a transfer letter.
**Someone had made the decision to transfer him, but hadn't decided where to send him yet.**
His phone vibrated again.
The final message came in.
> **Don't come to the office tomorrow.**
Raka stared at the message.
Then he looked at the clock.
9:47 p.m.
He didn't know who had sent it.
He didn't know where the document had come from.
And for the first time in his eleven years as a civil servant, Raka realized one thing:
**A decision about his life had been made without his knowledge.**
And what was even more frightening—
**the decision wasn't even finished yet.**