The morning breeze swept gently across the tiled rooftop of Toko Kue Palm Sari. Phuby stood at the edge, sipping coffee from a ceramic mug as he watched the sunlight break across the village rooftops. Life had begun to settle into a rhythm—not of rest, but of forward motion. Orders flowed in daily. Hana's laughter had become a staple of the shop. His friends had slipped seamlessly into their new roles. For the first time in a long time, Phuby felt like he had finally found his place.
But with comfort came new responsibility.
He stared down at the quiet street, recalling a conversation he had the night before with his mother. Mrs. Wulan had spoken gently but firmly about long-term planning.
"We're doing well now, but we have to think years ahead," she had said, her voice calm but weighted. "You've bought this place. That's big. Bigger than anything we've ever done. But what comes next? We can't just rely on luck… or the system."
Phuby had nodded slowly. He knew she was right. He couldn't afford to be reckless. Even with the system's mysterious double cashback working in his favor, every step still needed thought, discretion, and purpose. That was what made it real. That was what kept him grounded.
And so that morning, after finishing his coffee, he headed down to the third floor to check inventory. The storage section was organized into labeled rows—boxes of packaging materials, ingredients, and kitchen tools. Past the storeroom was his bedroom: small, clean, and minimal, with a single desk, a mattress, and his laptop setup. His sanctuary.
After a quick check, he descended to the second floor, which served as their family's living space. Mrs. Wulan was already in the kitchen, making breakfast. She looked over her shoulder with a warm smile.
"Go downstairs, I'll bring your food later," she said. "I saw Hana already arranging the shelves. She woke up early again."
"She likes being useful," Phuby replied, returning her smile. "And I like having her here."
By the time he reached the ground floor, the shop was already halfway open. The scent of fresh chiffon cake drifted through the air. Hana stood by the glass display, checking the lineup of cakes and pastries, while Dhe'ik reviewed the day's delivery schedule on a clipboard.
"Morning, Bos kecil," Dhe'ik said with a grin.
"Morning," Phuby replied. "How's the stock?"
"We're good on today's items, but the flour supply might need a refill by next Monday. I'll double-check with Kotim."
"Got it. Remind me later so we can plan a bulk order. Better to get more in one go."
"Agreed."
Hana turned, brushing flour off her apron. "I was thinking of trying a new tart recipe this weekend. Something with mango. What do you think?"
"Try it," Phuby said without hesitation. "Your blueberry one sold out yesterday. People are trusting your creations now."
Hana beamed at the compliment. "Maybe I'll test it tonight after closing."
As they worked, Kotim arrived carrying two large crates of bottled drinks. Amad followed, joking loudly as he helped unload. Apood came in soon after, yawning but already strumming a quiet tune on his guitar. Mamad stopped by around noon, dropping off some nasi goreng and chatting with the crew before heading back to his family stall. It was a rhythm—familiar, warm, dependable.
But the system never slept, and neither did Phuby's ambition.
That afternoon, he stepped away from the counter and into his small back office. He opened his system dashboard. The balance gleamed on the screen, now sitting at over 6.1 billion rupiah. Each purchase he had made to improve the shop had been followed by the mysterious double cashback. A blessing. A tool.
But today, he wasn't here to spend.
Today, he was here to plan.
He thought about the surrounding empty units in the row of shophouses. One in particular—just two doors down—was vacant. It had once been a boutique clothing store, now shuttered. The location was perfect. If he could expand Palm Sari just a bit more, maybe he could add something—an indoor seating café? A dedicated kitchen space? Or maybe a separate sweets counter for seasonal items?
He didn't want to grow too fast. But he also didn't want to miss the chance to plant seeds while the soil was fertile.
Still, for today, it was just an idea.
As the sun dipped low, casting golden hues across the storefront, Phuby returned to the rooftop. Hana joined him, carrying two glasses of mango juice and a plate of newly baked pastries.
"I tried the mango tart," she said, sitting beside him. "I think it needs more acidity. But it's not bad."
He took a bite and nodded. "You're right. A bit more citrus and this is a winner."
They leaned against the low wall, watching the lights flicker on across the village.
"Do you ever think about how fast this all happened?" she asked.
"Every day," Phuby said. "Feels like a dream sometimes."
"But you're not rushing."
"I'm trying not to."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "I like that about you. You're careful. You don't let the money change you."
He didn't respond right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter and a cigarette. Just one, for the evening wind and the taste of mango tart lingering in his mouth.
As he exhaled slowly, he said, "If I start losing sight of what matters, remind me. Slap me if you have to."
Hana laughed. "Deal."
And just like that, under the vast sky, another day ended at Toko Kue Palm Sari—not with fanfare, but with the quiet strength of something real taking root.
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