Year 2023
Ten minutes passed in silence. The pale-skinned man with thick eyebrows continued to stare at his computer screen. The ticking of the wall clock filled the quiet editing room, mocking the misfortune that had just befallen him. In front of him was a long table, cluttered with three expensive, high-tech computers—usually Ardo’s go-to tools for editing most of his videos.
Originally, Ardo had planned to record the special moment when his follower count hit 15 million. But his hands froze when the computer screen suddenly went dark, displaying strange numbers. Panic surged through him; he thought it was just a minor glitch.
“Argh!” Ardo’s scream of frustration echoed through the house.
Virardo Nugraha, or Ardo Monyet as he was known to his followers, was a vlogger, Instagram star, or more commonly referred to as an influencer—specifically in the automotive and men's lifestyle niche. A man of Javanese and Manado descent, Ardo often filmed himself touring on motorcycles, and sometimes creating car modification content that attracted a wide audience.
But now, his bad luck had reached a new low as his personal account was hacked by some irresponsible party. Ardo loved his channel, which had brought him significant exposure and numerous endorsements.
As the tragic event unfolded, notifications from his other social media accounts kept popping up, making his phone buzz incessantly. Ardo could easily guess that the messages were from fans, questioning what had happened and why his video channel suddenly disappeared. He slumped into his gaming chair, placing his hands behind his neck, trying to relax.
“What the hell is going on?” Ardo muttered weakly.
His chest burned with a mix of disappointment and anger, knowing that everything he had built over the years had vanished in seconds. Starting from scratch wasn’t easy. Everything on that channel was gone, and it would feel different if he had to begin again from zero.
 
Ardo’s phone vibrated on the desk. This time, he looked to see who was calling. He hesitated before answering when he saw Revaldo Aditya’s profile picture on the screen. Aldo was a rising journalist over the past year, adored by women across the country, and now the Chinese-Indonesian man with glasses was preparing to marry his fiancée.
Ardo hesitated for a moment before deciding whether to answer or not. Aldo must have heard the news quickly since they both worked in the same industry, even if their jobs were different. Ardo sighed in frustration, finally answering Aldo’s call, hoping it might calm his heart a little. To Ardo, complaining wouldn’t solve anything, but talking to someone might provide some relief. Aldo had known him for a long time and could always talk sense into him.
“Bro, what happened? How did your account disappear? Have you reported it to the platform? What did they say? I know someone who works there; do you want me to contact them? Or do you want their number?” Aldo bombarded him with questions.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe it’s a sign I need to take a break. I’ve been feeling pretty burned out lately,” Ardo replied.
“If you need anything, just let me know. I’ve got to go now, though—I’m picking up Giska,” Aldo said, trying not to add to Ardo’s burden.
“Okay.”
After that, Ardo left the editing room and headed to his garden to calm himself. His steps felt heavy, lacking the usual energy. He sat on a bench in the garden, staring at the cascading water of the artificial waterfall where he kept a few small fish. This was where Ardo often did his live streams.
Still simmering with anger, Ardo began deleting social media apps from his phone, one by one. He was fed up with the constant notifications. He could have just turned off the data for some peace of mind, but his anger had peaked, and the sight of his phone screen now disgusted him, as if it had turned into trash.
Ardo sat alone in the garden, in his house that he had bought in a residential area with an open space inside. Vines adorned the walls, a refreshing sight in times like these, providing a kind of solace when he faced numerous problems. The ornamental grass he had planted months ago had grown well, like a thick green carpet. Ardo was a nature lover and often went mountain climbing.
Now, at 28, he still didn’t feel settled with himself, nor was he interested in getting married. He wasn’t sure there was a woman who could change his mind. If his mother kept pushing, he might marry just to have an official partner on paper, to carry on the family line. That’s all—nothing more, nothing less.
“Boss, the advertisers are starting to complain because their endorsement videos can’t air with the account down,” said Danu, one of Ardo’s employees who handled the brands that collaborated with him.
“Just refund their money,” Ardo replied, desperate and unwilling to find a solution. Perhaps his employees were busy worrying about the channel’s future, while he just sat on the garden bench, lost in thought.
“Okay, Boss.” Danu left Ardo to his thoughts.
 
***
 
Later that afternoon, Tomi came to visit Ardo to offer some support. The long-haired man tried to pull Ardo out of the house, taking him to a café and encouraging him to eat. Ardo, still feeling low, flipped through the menu with a furrowed brow. The day’s events had robbed him of his appetite, and he preferred to daydream in the garden. He probably wouldn’t have left the house if Tomi hadn’t insisted.
“Dude, just make a new account,” Tomi said softly, occasionally glancing at Ardo.
But the influencer was still lost in his own thoughts, not really paying attention. He didn’t even respond to his friend’s suggestion. “What’s good here, Tom?”
Tomi had come to Ardo’s house after being contacted by Indra. Young Master Indra couldn’t come right away to cheer up Ardo due to important matters he couldn’t leave behind, Aldo was busy with TV shoots, and Rey was in Singapore visiting his sick grandmother.
Tomi was actually quite busy too, but not as much as the others at the moment. He often worked behind the scenes and was currently on a break after successfully composing for a rising young singer.
“Just order fried chicken. I’m too lazy to choose,” Ardo finally decided after spending too much time picking.
“What do you want to drink? Orange juice? Coffee?” Tomi asked, attentive. His hand was ready to jot down their order.
Ardo remained silent, daydreaming as he looked around. He was usually the most cheerful after Tomi, but lately, they rarely hung out as a group of five because of their busy schedules. Yet this year, they had planned to celebrate their long-standing friendship.
Unfortunately, last year ended in disaster because of Indra and Aldo’s crazy idea that played a major role in their little game. If Giska hadn’t found Aldo’s video, maybe Tomi could have had a bit more fun. But all that was in the past, and who knows what Priska was up to now. She should be graduating college this year, if only she hadn’t committed suicide or at least fallen into depression.
“I’ll place the order,” Tomi said, leaving his seat.
Ardo glanced back at his phone, a bitter taste in his mouth. Somehow, there was still a lingering ache in his heart, as if his entire world had vanished. This was more painful than his last heartbreak, which was why the 28-year-old didn’t have a girlfriend anymore. More accurately, he had no desire to look for one because he was too focused on his own world.
A few seconds later, Ardo’s phone rang. He reluctantly pressed the answer button, bracing himself for a scolding from his mother. She rarely called him, usually only reaching out to ask for money for her social gatherings or to renew the lease on her art gallery.
“Yeah, Mom. What’s up?” Ardo answered lazily.
“Ardo, I heard from Indra that you’re having some trouble, right?”
“Why did that young master call you, Mom?” Ardo chuckled softly.
“Because you never tell me anything, luckily Indra did.”
His mother started scolding him because it had been a long time since he came home, even slipping into Manado language. Ardo was actually born in Jakarta and grew up speaking Indonesian. He understood Manado but couldn’t reply in the language. His Manado was passively fluent.
“Mom, can you speak in Indonesian? I can’t really hear you. You know I’m not great at Manado,” Ardo said with a wry smile.
Their conversation didn’t last long as his mother had to attend an important event. Ardo promised to visit her when he had the time. After that, he returned to sitting in silence, disappointed with the situation but unsure who to blame.
This job was something foreign to his parents. Every time there was a family gathering, Ardo had to be extra patient in explaining his work. He would explain how he made money, how he met clients, and the process of creating content. Even though Ardo simplified his explanations, the elders would still nod, pretending to understand.
So, it wasn’t unusual for Ardo to prefer calling himself an auto repair shop owner rather than an influencer. That way, he indirectly stated that he was a man of oil and brake pads, not a soft guy seeking attention online. It was easier for people to digest than the term "influencer."