Chapter 1: The Verdict That Hasn't Happened Yet
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The judge's gavel echoed through the courtroom, packed with reporters and spectators. Every eye was fixed on the middle-aged man standing straight behind the green-covered bench in a black judicial robe symbolizing justice.
“After considering all the evidence, witness testimony, and facts established at trial, the court rules that the defendant is found guilty.”
The courtroom suddenly erupted.
Several reporters stood at once, raising their cameras. Flashes filled the room. A woman in the back row began sobbing hysterically, while the defendant merely lowered his head without saying a word.
But there was one thing no one noticed.
The judge’s hand had begun to tremble.
At first, only slightly.
Then more and more violently.
He stared at the ruling in front of him as though the words on the page had transformed into something horrifying.
“Judge?” the court clerk whispered. “Are you all right?”
The judge didn’t answer.
Slowly, he raised his head.
His gaze pierced the crowd before stopping on a girl seated in the very back row.
She wore a white shirt and a black blazer typical of law students.
Alya Mahardika.
They stared at each other for several seconds.
“Alya…” The judge’s voice was faint. “You’re… too late.”
Alya frowned.
“Sorry, sir? What do you mean?”
Before the judge could answer, his body suddenly staggered.
“Judge!” the court clerk shouted in panic.
Crash!
The man fell, slamming into the courtroom table.
The violent impact froze the entire room.
Blood slowly seeped from beneath his black judicial robe.
Screams filled the courtroom.
Several security officers ran to the front while reporters scrambled to capture the scene.
Alya couldn’t move.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Not because she had seen someone die right in front of her.
But because she knew…
That judge wasn’t supposed to be dead yet.
Seven months earlier.
Rain had been falling since morning.
The sky above Nusantara University was gray. Students ran for shelter, holding their books over their heads.
Alya glanced at her watch.
8:17 a.m.
“Oh, my God…”
She immediately quickened her pace.
“If I’m late again, Professor Ratna is definitely going to kick me out.”
Her backpack swung with her increasingly hurried steps.
That day was the mock trial for her Criminal Procedure Law class.
The grade was worth a lot.
And Alya absolutely didn’t want to retake the class just because she was late.
Only a few yards from the faculty building, an old man in a library uniform called out to her.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Alya stopped and turned around.
“Yes, sir?”
The old man pulled out a worn brown folder.
“Are you Alya Mahardika?”
“Yes.”
“I have a delivery for you.”
Alya accepted the folder with a frown.
“A delivery? From who, sir?”
The old man shook his head.
“I don’t know. Someone came this morning before the library opened. He only said, ‘Give this directly to Alya Mahardika. Make sure you give it to the right person.’”
“What did they look like?”
“Their hat covered their face. I didn’t even get a clear look.”
Alya turned the folder over.
There was no sender’s name.
No address.
Only a sentence written in black ink.
Do not open before midnight.
Alya let out a soft laugh.
“Someone’s really messing around…”
“Sorry, miss. I’m just delivering the message.”
“It’s okay, sir. Thank you.”
She slipped the folder into her bag without giving it much thought.
As far as she was concerned, it was probably just a joke from one of her classmates.
Besides, she didn’t have time to think about anything strange.
Classes dragged on.
The mock trial, presentations, assignment revisions, and group discussions left Alya arriving at her boardinghouse room nearly at eleven that night.
She collapsed onto the bed.
“I’m exhausted…”
After closing her eyes for only a few minutes, she remembered the brown folder from that morning.
“Oh, right.”
She took it out of her bag.
The clock on the wall read 11:58 p.m.
“Two more minutes.”
Alya smiled to herself.
“I wonder who went to all this trouble.”
The minute hand finally reached twelve.
Click.
She opened the folder’s clasp.
There was no letter.
No gift.
Only seven neatly arranged case files.
The first file was labeled in capital letters.
CASE 01
Victim: Dimas Pratama.
Date of death: September 14.
Time: 8:15 p.m. WIB.
Location: Jembatan Merah.
Cause of death: Three stab wounds to the chest.
Perpetrator: Unknown.
Alya sighed.
“Is this… a novel manuscript?”
She opened the second file.
A different victim.
A different location.
A different method of death.
The third file.
The fourth.
The fifth.
The sixth.
They all described murders.
“Who made this?”
When she opened the last file, the smile slowly faded from her face.
The page contained only two lines.
CASE 07
DEFENDANT: ALYA MAHARDIKA.
Thump.
Her heart seemed to stop beating.
“What?”
Her hands began to turn cold.
“This is a joke, right?”
Suddenly, her phone vibrated on the table.
A news alert appeared on the screen.
BREAKING NEWS
A man was found dead from three stab wounds in the Jembatan Merah area at approximately 8:15 p.m. Police are still investigating.
The victim’s name.
Dimas Pratama.
Exactly as written in the first file.
Alya’s face suddenly went pale.
She looked back at the news on her phone.
Then at the file in her hand.
Then back at the news.
Her chest began to tighten.
“This… is impossible.”
Because for the first time in her life…
Alya was holding evidence of a murder…
Before the police knew who the killer was.