Rendra Mahendra

The sun had not yet fully risen over Jakarta, but the roar of Rendra Mahendra’s automatic scooter cut through the chill of the morning air. The signature green ride-hailing jacket—faded slightly at the shoulders—fit his tall frame perfectly, framing a sturdy yet approachable physique. A sharp ping from the phone mounted on his handlebars set his fingers moving nimbly; a ride request had come in. Rendra pulled over at the entrance to a residential complex, killed the engine, and waited patiently for his passenger.

"Is this Mas Rendra?" a woman asked, hurrying toward Rendra as he sat casually on his bike, phone in hand.

"Oh, you must be Mbak Laras, right?" Rendra replied, straightening his posture. A faint smile spread across his handsome face as he greeted his first passenger of the dim morning with a warm gaze.

"Yes. Could we hurry a bit? I’m running really late for the morning train," the woman said, checking her watch with a look of panic.

"You got it. Don't worry—I'll take the fastest, safest route," Rendra said in a thick, soothing Javanese accent, handing a sterile hairnet and a standard helmet to his passenger.

Laras took the helmet, momentarily captivated by Rendra’s guileless face and dimples, which seemed so sincere in the soft glow of the morning sun. She admired the politeness and good looks of this down-to-earth young driver. There was no hint of danger about him—just an honest young man working hard to earn a living to pay for his International Relations degree.

Yet, as Laras busied herself putting on the helmet and climbing onto the back seat, the corner of Rendra’s mouth curled up slightly. Behind that innocent gaze and the thick accent that always managed to melt people's hearts, his mind was already drifting elsewhere. By day, he is a model student and a courteous, five-star ride-hailing driver. Yet come nightfall—once that faded jacket is cast aside—his innocent face becomes a potent weapon for entering another world: a realm of intrigue, manipulation, and "extra service" games known to no one else—not even his girlfriend, Rere.The sun had not yet fully risen over Jakarta, but the roar of Rendra Mahendra’s automatic scooter cut through the chill of the morning air. The signature green ride-hailing jacket—faded slightly at the shoulders—fit his tall frame perfectly, framing a sturdy yet approachable physique. A sharp ping from the phone mounted on his handlebars set his fingers moving nimbly; a ride request had come in. Rendra pulled over at the entrance to a residential complex, killed the engine, and waited patiently for his passenger."Is this Mas Rendra?" a woman asked, hurrying toward Rendra as he sat casually on his bike, phone in hand."Oh, you must be Mbak Laras, right?" Rendra replied, straightening his posture. A faint smile spread across his handsome face as he greeted his first passenger of the dim morning with a warm gaze."Yes. Could we hurry a bit? I’m running really late for the morning train," the woman said, checking her watch with a look of panic."You got it. Don't worry—I'll take the fastest, safest route," Rendra said in a thick, soothing Javanese accent, handing a sterile hairnet and a standard helmet to his passenger.Laras took the helmet, momentarily captivated by Rendra’s guileless face and dimples, which seemed so sincere in the soft glow of the morning sun. She admired the politeness and good looks of this down-to-earth young driver. There was no hint of danger about him—just an honest young man working hard to earn a living to pay for his International Relations degree.Yet, as Laras busied herself putting on the helmet and climbing onto the back seat, the corner of Rendra’s mouth curled up slightly. Behind that innocent gaze and the thick accent that always managed to melt people's hearts, his mind was already drifting elsewhere. By day, he is a model student and a courteous, five-star ride-hailing driver. Yet come nightfall—once that faded jacket is cast aside—his innocent face becomes a potent weapon for entering another world: a realm of intrigue, manipulation, and "extra service" games known to no one else—not even his girlfriend, Rere.

Rendra put on his helmet, adjusted the side mirror, and then twisted the throttle of his automatic scooter, weaving through the thick morning traffic. Behind him, Laras breathed a sigh of relief at Rendra’s smooth yet brisk riding style—slipping between lines of cars without a single sudden jolt. Within fifteen minutes, the scooter—bearing local license plates—came to a stop right at the station’s drop-off zone.

"We're here, Mbak Laras. The train isn't due for another ten minutes, so there's no need to rush," Rendra said amiably, helping to take the helmet from his passenger's hands.

"Wow, thank you so much, Mas Rendra! You really saved the day," Laras replied with relief, her eyes shining with admiration. Before entering the station gates, her fingers nimbly tapped her phone screen: a five-star rating, complete with an extra tip and a glowing review about how polite and handsome the driver was.

Rendra glanced at the incoming notification on his phone screen and gave a faint smile. Smooth sailing.

For Rendra, impressions were everything. A thick Javanese accent, articulate speech, and an innocent, dimpled smile formed the perfect mask—one he could acquire without spending a dime. On campus, that mask made him a favorite among lecturers and the boyfriend of Rere’s dreams. On the streets, it earned him perfect reviews and the absolute trust of his passengers.

Yet, it was precisely that trust—born of perceived innocence—that ensured his victims never suspected a thing.

As evening approached and he finished his International Relations coursework, Rendra didn't head straight back to his cramped boarding room. Instead, he parked his scooter in the basement of a luxury apartment complex in the Senopati area. He neatly folded his faded green jacket and stowed it in the under-seat compartment, swapping it for a lightweight leather jacket and a cologne with a rich, woody scent.

His second phone rang. A text message arrived from an unknown number: "Unit 12B. Don't forget—business as usual." Rendra smoothed his hair in the rearview mirror, flashing a faint smile that no longer held a trace of his Javanese warmth. The guileless face that had soothed Laras earlier that morning had turned cold, calculating, and dangerous. He was ready to exact the 'price' for the extra service he had orchestrated for the night.Rendra put on his helmet, adjusted the side mirror, and then twisted the throttle of his automatic scooter, weaving through the thick morning traffic. Behind him, Laras breathed a sigh of relief at Rendra’s smooth yet brisk riding style—slipping between lines of cars without a single sudden jolt. Within fifteen minutes, the scooter—bearing local license plates—came to a stop right at the station’s drop-off zone."We're here, Mbak Laras. The train isn't due for another ten minutes, so there's no need to rush," Rendra said amiably, helping to take the helmet from his passenger's hands."Wow, thank you so much, Mas Rendra! You really saved the day," Laras replied with relief, her eyes shining with admiration. Before entering the station gates, her fingers nimbly tapped her phone screen: a five-star rating, complete with an extra tip and a glowing review about how polite and handsome the driver was.Rendra glanced at the incoming notification on his phone screen and gave a faint smile. Smooth sailing.For Rendra, impressions were everything. A thick Javanese accent, articulate speech, and an innocent, dimpled smile formed the perfect mask—one he could acquire without spending a dime. On campus, that mask made him a favorite among lecturers and the boyfriend of Rere’s dreams. On the streets, it earned him perfect reviews and the absolute trust of his passengers.Yet, it was precisely that trust—born of perceived innocence—that ensured his victims never suspected a thing.As evening approached and he finished his International Relations coursework, Rendra didn't head straight back to his cramped boarding room. Instead, he parked his scooter in the basement of a luxury apartment complex in the Senopati area. He neatly folded his faded green jacket and stowed it in the under-seat compartment, swapping it for a lightweight leather jacket and a cologne with a rich, woody scent.His second phone rang. A text message arrived from an unknown number: "Unit 12B. Don't forget—business as usual." Rendra smoothed his hair in the rearview mirror, flashing a faint smile that no longer held a trace of his Javanese warmth. The guileless face that had soothed Laras earlier that morning had turned cold, calculating, and dangerous. He was ready to exact the 'price' for the extra service he had orchestrated for the night.