The sun dipped behind the Jakarta skyline, casting a golden hue over the narrow alleys of Raka's neighborhood. The low hum of scooters and the occasional shout from a vendor painted the daily rhythm of a city that never paused. But inside a dimly lit internet café, Raka sat frozen in front of a second-hand monitor, eyes wide and pulse racing.
Bitcoin: $67,432.98
Ethereum: $3,497.26
Dogecoin: up 23% in the last 24 hours.
This wasn't just a new world—it was a new language. Not of words, but of movements, numbers, patterns, and psychology. The "language of coin," he realized, was not something spoken but something felt.
He took out his notebook, the same one he used for his schoolwork when he still attended, and scribbled frantically:
"BTC: volatile but trusted. ETH = smart contracts. DOGE = meme but influence?"
He didn't fully understand what those meant yet, but they were words and terms he saw repeated on every forum, every YouTube video, every comment thread. It was like being dropped into a country where everyone spoke a dialect he'd never heard—but instead of panicking, Raka was listening.
"Bro, you still here?" the café owner called. "Time's up in five minutes."
"Just a little more," Raka pleaded. "I'll pay extra tomorrow."
The man sighed. "You said that yesterday."
Raka opened his wallet. Empty. Again.
But before the owner could kick him out, Raka stood up, bowed slightly, and promised, "Give me two weeks. I'll pay for the whole month."
The man grunted. "You better not be gambling. I've seen too many kids burn themselves with that crypto stuff."
Gambling? Raka repeated the word in his mind as he walked out. No. This wasn't a gamble. It was a code waiting to be cracked.
Back at his rented room—a place smaller than most closets, with paint peeling from the walls and a fan that only worked if hit three times—Raka lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
"I don't have capital. I don't have knowledge. But I have time," he whispered.
He remembered what the voice on one of the YouTube videos had said earlier:
"In crypto, knowledge is leverage. Information moves money before money moves price."
That line stuck with him like gospel.
So he made a plan.
Day One: Learn terminology. What is blockchain? What is gas fee? What is staking?
Day Three: Join Twitter Crypto threads, find who to follow.
Day Five: Try a fake trading simulator—no real money, just practice.
Day Seven: Understand market psychology: fear, greed, FOMO.
Every night, he filled that notebook with more terms, diagrams, questions, and patterns. He would sleep two or three hours, then be back in the café again.
He learned to recognize candlestick patterns—dojis, hammers, engulfing candles.
He learned what RSI meant.
He learned about resistance and support.
And slowly, the gibberish began to make sense. The charts started to speak.
On the tenth day, he posted his first chart analysis on a free platform:
"BTC is forming a double top. Expect correction before next leg up. My guess: support around 62K."
He only had two followers. But one of them commented:
"Solid take, bro. Following."
Raka smiled. One comment. One validation. It was enough.
Weeks passed. He didn't make money yet—but he earned something more powerful: confidence. Confidence in a new skill that didn't care if he was rich, poor, drop-out, or educated. The market was neutral. Brutal—but fair.
Then, something unexpected happened.
He got a DM.
"Hey, saw your post. We're building a new Discord for aspiring crypto analysts. You interested in joining?"
The message was from someone named "CryptoMinds101."
Raka hesitated. He had heard of scams. But something felt... real.
He joined.
The server was buzzing with conversation. Charts. Strategies. Debates. People from New York, Dubai, London, Manila. All connected by one thing: the language of coin.
For the first time in his life, Raka felt part of something bigger. He wasn't the poor kid from the slums anymore. Here, he was just Raka—the guy who spotted a double top before a market dip.
But dreams don't grow without resistance.
One evening, as Raka was leaving the café, a familiar face stood by the door.
It was Dimas—the local debt collector's errand boy.
"Yo, little genius. Heard you've been busy with the internet stuff. Where's your mother's payment?" he sneered.
Raka stiffened. "Tell your boss—two weeks. I'll find the money."
Dimas laughed. "Crypto won't save you. You'll end up selling kidneys like the others."
Raka didn't respond. He just walked past, fists clenched.
But as he walked home, the fear turned into fuel.
Two weeks, he reminded himself.
Two weeks to prove that knowledge could be currency.
Two weeks to turn dreams into data.
Two weeks to start rewriting his life.
In the silence of his room that night, Raka opened his notebook again.
At the top of a fresh page, he wrote:
"The market speaks. Learn to listen."
Then he added something new:
"The world won't wait for you to be ready. Trade anyway."