Jaka sat beneath the shade of a trembesi tree near the edge of the rice fields. The wind hummed through the tall grass, soft and slow, like a lullaby whispered by the earth itself. But his thoughts were restless.
Dyah Netarja.
Ra Kuti.
Three years too soon.
The timeline had bent, cracked even, yet the system hadn't collapsed. Instead, it embraced the shift—like a stream rerouting itself around a fallen stone. And somehow, Jaka knew… this wasn't an error.
It was intentional.
The image of the princess's eyes—piercing, unwavering—lingered in his mind. That strange, eerie gaze, as though she had recognized something divine within him. She saw a figure no one else in the crowd did. Not a commoner. Not a wanderer. But something more.
Something unplaceable.
"She's not supposed to be here," Jaka muttered, pulling a blade of grass and letting it twist between his fingers. "Not for another three years."
He leaned back against the tree trunk, brows furrowed, replaying the scene in his head.
Ra Kuti's announcement echoed in his memory:
"Her Highness, Dyah Netarja, has chosen to stay in your village for a duration of three months."
That had struck everyone as strange. Unprecedented. But Jaka knew the truth.
He had written it.
The purpose of her three-week immersion in a remote village wasn't some divine revelation. It wasn't even political reconnaissance. It was educational—an initiative he had quietly added to the early drafts of the campaign storylines.
"Observation of rural economy," he whispered to himself, "resource mapping… local artisan productivity… market chain resilience..."
The phrases came back like lines from a script he had shelved long ago.
Dyah Netarja's early training arc was supposed to be a quiet one. Invisible to most players. Hidden behind dialogue trees and kingdom stat screens. But it was essential. She would learn firsthand about the building blocks of empire: rice, salt, iron, fabric, honey, charcoal, trade routes.
He had written it not just to deepen her character, but to justify her future policies. The stronger the village economies, the better the tax yield for the central palace. A sustainable, intelligent monarchy, built from the ground up—not imposed from the throne room.
"Better rice yields, better roads, happier people," he said. "Higher revenue without revolt."
That was the point.
That was the reason.
He remembered sitting at his cluttered desk at midnight, sketching it out: a young princess sent away from the court, not for punishment, not for exile, but for education. A rare narrative of humility and vision. One that let the player shape her perspective if they found her, helped her, guided her.
And now it was real.
Except no player had guided her. No quest had triggered. No input command had been given.
The world had moved on its own.
Or rather… the system had.
"It's building the arcs by itself," Jaka murmured, almost in awe. "Choosing the forgotten ideas. Drafts. Notes that never even passed the whiteboard."
Was this still a game?
Or had it become something else?
He exhaled slowly and gazed out over the fields.
The villagers were still talking about the princess. Some claimed she had the eyes of the Goddess of Rice Field. Others said Ra Kuti's arrival meant war was coming. A few, like Village Chief, had tried to downplay the entire thing—urging calm, compliance, and a good showing for the royal guests.
But none of them knew what Jaka knew.
He saw the pattern.
He saw the code behind the world, like a composer recognizing the bars and rests hidden within a chaotic melody.
"Three months," he whispered again.
It sounded simple.
But if the system was accelerating her storyline now… then in three months, something big would shift.
The destruction of Kalentang Village.
Jaka pulled out his small leather notebook—a habit he hadn't let go of even after falling into this world. Most of it was filled with half-sketched sigils, item crafting recipes, and a crude map of the valley. But now, he turned to a blank page.
At the top, he wrote:
Dyah Netarja - Accelerated Arc.
Then, underneath it:
Original Visit: Year 1348
Current Visit: Year 1345.
Escort: Ra Kuti - anomaly.
Purpose: Village economic analysis (confirmed).
Duration: Three months.
Risks: Unscripted interactions. Possible divergence from intended growth path. Early divine perception (??).
He paused, then added one last line:
Did she see through me?
He looked up through the branches and caught glimpses of clouds shifting, lazy and white, across the blue.
Was the system evolving? Or was it remembering?
There was a difference.
One suggested progress—organic, forward-moving.
The other implied awareness.
Memory.
And Jaka knew exactly how dangerous that idea was.
Because if this world remembered more than it should—more than he programmed—then it wasn't just using his old notes.
It was interpreting them.
Changing them.
Giving them will.
And if it could do that… what else could it bring to life?
Who else?
He closed the notebook and stood.
The princess might only be ten, but she was sharp. Observant. She had watched him in the crowd like a falcon watches the wind.
She didn't see a farmer.
She saw a variable. A piece that didn't fit. And she would investigate.
Of that, Jaka was sure.
But not today.
Today, he still had time.
And he needed to know more.
He walked slowly back toward the village, the grass brushing at his legs. The fields whispered secrets in every sway. Somewhere behind the trees, the palace tents had been set up, and the servants would be preparing for the princess's midday meal.
Three months.
It was a countdown.
And somewhere between the shade of his forgotten ideas and the light of this living world, something ancient was waking up.
Something that remembered him.