Morning sun filtered through the high windows of the shophouse, illuminating the neatly arranged trays of cakes inside Toko Kue Palm Sari. It had been almost three months since Phuby and his family moved into the building. Business was growing faster than any of them had expected. Online orders continued to rise, walk-in customers now came from outside Desa Lurah, and the small café section had begun attracting a steady stream of visitors wanting to sip coffee while tasting their signature pandan caramel roll.
Phuby sipped his own coffee from a seat near the window, watching Hana and his mother chatting near the counter. Om Luky was busy organizing ingredients in the kitchen, while Dhe'ik helped sort new packaging stock they'd received earlier that morning. Everything was beginning to settle into a rhythm. And yet, something weighed on Phuby's mind.
This place… it still wasn't theirs. Not truly.
The shophouse had always felt like more than just a rented building—it was the heart of what they were building together. It held the laughter of late-night baking sessions, the first hesitant confessions on the rooftop, the quiet shared meals after exhausting days. It was a home. And now, more than ever, Phuby knew he couldn't let it slip away when the lease ended.
That afternoon, with a calm but determined tone, he asked the landlord to meet.
The owner was a kindly middle-aged man from a nearby city, who had inherited the property from his parents but no longer had interest in using it himself. When Phuby asked if he was willing to sell, the man gave him a curious look.
"It's a big building," the landlord said. "You're still young—why not keep renting for now?"
"I'm not just trying to run a business," Phuby replied. "I'm building something that will last. For my family."
The sincerity in his voice must've struck the right chord. The man nodded thoughtfully and named his price.
"Three billion," he said. "If you can manage it, it's yours."
Phuby didn't hesitate. He thanked him and promised to follow up within the week.
That night, on the rooftop, he told Hana first. The stars were just beginning to pierce the sky, and the village lights twinkled in the distance.
"You want to buy it?" Hana asked, eyes wide with hope.
He nodded. "It already feels like ours, doesn't it?"
"It does," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. "Do you have enough?"
"I will."
In truth, he didn't—not yet. But he knew how to make it happen.
The next morning, he got to work. Carefully, strategically, he began purchasing items that the bakery needed: new stainless steel racks, upgraded cooling equipment, extra inventory of dry ingredients, improved delivery gear. Every purchase reduced his balance slightly—but each one triggered the system's strange and wonderful gift. The cashback came not just instantly, but doubled.
As he walked out of a supplier's shop, receipt in hand, he felt the warm buzz in his phone. His system-generated balance increased immediately. Again and again, item by item, he watched the numbers rise, never allowing the balance to fall low for long.
He bought a new batch of cafe tables and more chairs to handle weekend crowds. The moment the purchase cleared, his phone buzzed again, balance surging higher.
By evening, he was back at the shop, now with enough to secure the building. He returned to the landlord with confidence, handing over the full three billion in cashless transfer—no loans, no banks, just the quiet help of a mysterious system he still didn't fully understand.
The receipt of purchase felt heavier than any he'd held before. The keys no longer felt borrowed. This was his place now—their place.
When he walked back into the shop, Om Luky was setting down a delivery box. Hana was sweeping the front steps. Mrs. Wulan was humming in the kitchen. They all looked up when they saw his smile.
"We own it now," Phuby said.
No fanfare followed, no explosion of cheers. Just a beat of stunned silence, and then quiet, heartfelt smiles from all of them.
Mrs. Wulan stepped forward and hugged her son, her arms firm, her eyes misty. "Alhamdulillah," she whispered.
Om Luky clapped him on the back. "You did it, Bos Kecil."
Hana grinned and wrapped her arms around him from behind, her voice soft in his ear. "You really made it ours."
Later that night, Phuby stood alone on the rooftop. The breeze was warm, the stars bright. He lit a single cigarette—only ever with coffee, only ever on nights like this—and watched the smoke drift into the sky. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Another cashback confirmation from the system. The balance had grown beyond anything he'd imagined months ago.
He took a long sip of his coffee, the sweetness lingering on his tongue.
They had a home. They had a future.
And he still wasn't done building.