It was exactly one in the morning. The hum of the 24-hour convenience store’s cooling system accompanied Excel as he stood at the register.
“Your total is fifty-two thousand, man,” the male cashier said as he scanned two cans of strong coffee, three packs of extra-spicy instant noodles, and one package of sausages.
Excel reached into his shorts pocket and placed the bills on the counter. “Exact change, right? Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, man. Have a good rest.”
“Rest, he says. I’m gonna stay up all night working on a logo revision,” Excel muttered under his breath.
His bright-red, wildly tousled hair was blown about by the night wind as he kicked the automatic glass door open.
Excel listlessly carried his plastic grocery bag. Three straight days of work deadlines had drained every last bit of his energy.
“If that client asks me to change the color again at two in the morning, I swear I’ll poison him with disinfectant,” Excel grumbled as he stepped onto the sidewalk.
Excel’s steps came to a halt the moment his feet reached the parking lot. Beneath the dim streetlights, an extremely tall man staggered along. His luxurious white shirt was a mess, the top three buttons were undone, and his tie hung loose and stretched out. The man looked completely lost.
“What’s this guy doing? Is he drunk?” Excel muttered.
Before Excel could step away, the man’s knees suddenly gave out.
“Hey, man! Watch out, there’s a drainage ditch—”
Before Excel could finish, the tall man’s foot caught on the edge of a paving stone. His massive body collapsed straight toward Excel.
“Whoa, whoa! You idiot!” Excel yelled instinctively.
Excel tossed his plastic bag aside and spread both arms wide.
THUD!
“Ow! My back!” Excel cried out through clenched teeth.
“Holy crap! You’re heavy as hell!” Excel cursed with a half-growl.
“Hey, man! Wake up! Don’t die here, or I’ll be the one accused of murder!”
The man still didn’t move. Heavy, warm breaths blew steadily against Excel’s neck, confirming that he had truly collapsed from extreme exhaustion.
“Damn! Are you waking up or not?!” Excel slapped the man’s smooth cheek harder and harder. “How the hell can you pass out in the middle of the street at one in the morning? Wake up!!”
There was no response. Silence.
“My life is already heavy enough, so why do I have to carry a physical burden like this too?!” Excel rambled as he tilted his head back toward the night sky.
With the strength he had left, Excel tried to shift the man’s body to the side. But the man’s muscles felt dense, thick, and incredibly heavy.
“What are you, a human being or a pile of cement? You’re insanely heavy!” Excel hissed in frustration.
After straining every muscle in his body, Excel managed to sit the man up against the convenience store’s canopy pole. Excel wiped the sweat from his forehead, then clutched his back, which felt like it was about to snap.
“Ow...” Excel winced. “I’ll just leave him here. Whatever.”
Excel picked up his scattered grocery bag. He walked five steps. Then his feet suddenly stopped. Excel glanced back.
The tall man was still lying helplessly beneath the convenience store’s lights. His incredibly handsome face looked deathly pale, like a walking corpse dressed in expensive clothes.
“I’m a freelance designer, not some idiot hero,” Excel scolded himself. “But if he dies there, the convenience store will get shut down and sealed off by the police. Then where am I supposed to buy noodles?”
Excel roughly rubbed his face, then turned around and stomped back.
“You’d better not wake up and demand compensation for your wrinkled shirt!” Excel threatened the unconscious man.
Excel knelt down, pulled the tall man’s right arm over his shoulder, and turned the man’s body against Excel’s left shoulder. With all his strength, Excel stood, supporting the tall, massive body.
“Damn! Do you eat power poles for breakfast?!” Excel groaned as his legs trembled under the weight.
“Ungh...” The man groaned softly without opening his eyes.
“Don’t moan in my ear! That’s disgusting!” Excel snapped. “Come on, walk! Don’t be so spoiled!”
With great difficulty, dragging and half-carrying the stranger, Excel managed to bring him to his boarding-house room on the second floor. He dumped the man’s large body onto the thin folding mattress in the corner of the room.
THUD.
“Ow, my back’s going to fall off,” Excel complained, clutching his waist. He looked at the man now lying shamelessly sprawled across his mattress. “A face handsome enough for a magazine model, but the behavior of a sack of rice.”
Excel let the man sleep soundly. He chose to continue working at his computer desk until dawn broke.
The eight a.m. sunlight pierced into the room, landing directly on Ian’s face and forcing his eyelids open little by little.
Ian blinked several times. His blurry vision gradually sharpened, revealing the surroundings. He found himself lying on a thin, hard surface.
The ceiling above him was covered in brown stains from rainwater leaks. The room’s dull cream-colored walls were covered in pencil scribbles, with an old calendar hanging crookedly.
Ian sat up, rubbed his stiff neck, and looked around. The room wasn’t even half the size of the master bathroom in his penthouse.
“Where... am I?” Ian muttered hoarsely. His voice was drowned out by a sizzling sound from the corner of the room.
Sizzle...
The savory aroma of butter, sautéed onions, and chilies roasting in a pan suddenly filled the room’s stale, limited air circulation. Ian turned his gaze toward the source of the sound.
Near the slightly open door, a young man with wildly tousled red hair was scrambling eggs on a portable electric stove.
Feeling movement behind him, the red-haired young man turned off the stove, scooped fried rice onto two melamine plates, and turned around.
“You’re up already?”
When he realized Ian was staring at him without blinking, the red-haired young man snorted.
“Don’t glare like that. Your eyes gonna pop out?” Excel said, carrying two plastic plates piled with steaming egg fried rice.
Excel walked over, then thrust one plate toward Ian’s chest without warning.
“Here. Eat. Before you starve to death in here and turn my boarding house into a haunted house,” Excel said bluntly.
Ian frowned. He awkwardly took the cheap plastic plate. “Who... are you?”
“I should be asking you that!” Excel sat cross-legged on the shag rug directly in front of Ian. He held his own plate casually.
“Who are you? Why did you suddenly pass out on top of me last night?”
Ian was silent for a moment. His business mind, usually busy processing billions of rupiah in figures, suddenly jammed. “I... fell asleep.”
“Fell asleep?” Excel gave a flat, sarcastic laugh. “You passed out! I nearly broke my bones carrying your huge ass up to the second floor!”
“Sorry,” Ian replied curtly.
“Sorry won’t pay for the chili pain patch taped to my back right now,” Excel grumbled as he scooped up his own fried rice and ate it with obvious enjoyment. “I’m Excel. The owner of this cramped room who saved your life from the evils of the night.”
“Ian,” Ian answered shortly.
“Just Ian? No longer version?”
“Ian.”
Excel chewed his fried rice as he tilted his head, studying Ian suspiciously. “That’s short. Like a crush’s text reply. Where do you work? Why are you dressed like an executive but smell like you stayed up all night?”
Ian was silent for a moment. His business mind spun rapidly. If he introduced himself as Sebastian Adichandra, CEO of Adichandra Group, the situation could spiral into a much bigger problem. The media, kidnapping reports, or family chaos would surely follow. He only needed a moment of peace from the pressure of work.
“An ordinary employee,” Ian said flatly.
“An ordinary employee?” Excel raised one eyebrow and looked Ian up and down. “What company?”
“A small company. On the outskirts.”
Excel nodded several times, then clicked his tongue in admiration. “That’s rough. Is your boss making some kind of devil’s bargain? He works an ordinary employee until you’re about to explode. Here, eat plenty. It’s free—a special meal for a victim of capitalism.”
Ian eyed his plate hesitantly. The fried rice looked a little too oily for its size. But the hunger gripping his stomach wasn’t open to negotiation. He picked up the spoon and tasted a bite.
His eyes widened slightly. The savory flavor and onion seasoning were perfectly balanced on his tongue.
“Well? Good, right?” Excel gave him a crooked smile, leaning against the bedroom wall. “You owe me fifteen thousand. Add last night’s carrying fee, and it comes to fifty thousand.”
“I don’t have any cash,” Ian said tersely.
“Damn.” Excel slapped his own forehead. “You’re already a bum, and you don’t even carry a wallet? What, you think my room is an orphanage?”
“I’ll definitely pay you back,” Ian said firmly, his tone still stiff.
“With what? Leaves?” Excel sneered. But instead of kicking him out, he took Ian’s empty plate, which had somehow been cleaned spotless in less than two minutes. “Just go back to sleep. You still look like a walking corpse. I’m going back to work.”
Excel walked over to his little desk, opened his laptop, and began dancing across the keyboard. Ian remained seated in silence on the narrow folding mattress, watching the red-haired young man’s back as he continued grumbling to himself at the screen.
For the first time in years, Ian felt what it was like to be in a room that didn’t demand perfection from him. His secret identity was safe, at least for now, beneath the roof of that cramped, eight-square-meter boarding house room.