Sunday Short: Sure, No Problem! 3 - Yes Man

Azlan couldn’t move.

Not because he was tied down or held captive—but because deep inside, a part of him wanted to stay.

The chanting echoed through the valley, surrounding him like fog. The cult—no, the collective—called themselves "Anak Takdir". Children of Fate. And they claimed Azlan was their Harbinger.

“The world is sick with resistance,” Hafiz had said, draping a crimson robe over Azlan’s shoulders. “You were sent to make it compliant. To bring balance. You are the vessel of Yes.”

Azlan didn’t remember joining anything. But the signs had always been there—his inability to say no, his passive nature, his… strange power.

And now, they were offering answers.

In the heart of the kampung house, behind a curtain of rotting rattan, they kept The Mirror—an artifact, they said, older than the land itself. It didn’t reflect your face. It showed what the world looked like if you were never in it.

Azlan saw his reflection—and behind him, a world in chaos.

Without him, the people he had “removed” spiraled into violence, war, decay.

“You think you erased them,” Melissa said, stepping into the room. Her voice was calm, but her eyes glowed faintly gold. “But you transferred them. You cleansed them. You opened the gate.”

“The gate to what?”

She leaned in. “To obedience.”

That night, he dreamt of a city of light—silent, clean, filled with people smiling blankly, always nodding. Always saying yes. It was beautiful. And horrifying.

When he woke, the robe felt heavier. Warmer. Like it had fused to his skin.

He tried to leave the valley.

The mist turned him around.

He tried to reject the Mirror.

His mouth wouldn’t form the word “no.”

And when he tried to burn the robe, it screamed.

That’s when he understood: it wasn’t just him.

It was never just him.

The gift ran through his bloodline—passed down from a great-grandfather no one spoke of, a village elder who "walked into the jungle and never came back." He hadn’t disappeared. He had joined the collective. And now Azlan was the next vessel.

A week passed.

Then two.

Azlan began leading rituals. At first, he did it robotically. Going through the motions. But over time… it felt right.

He didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to decide. He just said yes. And the collective said yes back.

Until one night, standing at the edge of the Mirror Room, Hafiz approached him one last time.

“It’s time,” Hafiz said. “You’ve done well. The world is almost ready. But for the final cleansing… we need you to vanish.”

Azlan blinked. “What?”

“You’re the final ‘no,’ Azlan. The last rejection left in the system. Once you’re gone, the world will be free.”

Azlan laughed.

It was a dry, hollow sound.

“But… I never said no.”

Hafiz smiled. “Exactly.”

And with that, the collective began to chant.

“Yang memilih, tak boleh lari. Yang memberi, tak boleh sembunyi. Dan yang terakhir... harus pergi.”

(The one who chooses cannot run. The one who gives cannot hide. And the final one… must go.)

The Mirror glowed.

Azlan felt his body pull apart—not painfully, just softly. Like mist dissolving in the morning sun. As his form faded, he felt a strange peace. His burden lifted.

Then, silence.

The next day, in a bustling kopitiam in Johor Bahru, a cheerful waiter walked up to a customer.

“Would you like to try our new kaya toast set?”

The man looked up, smiled warmly, and nodded.

“Sure. No problem.”

His eyes glinted gold.