The sun rose slowly over the green hills of Uji, its rays stretching across the farmhouse like gentle fingers waking the world. Morning fog drifted low along the tea rows, the land still wet from night dew. Inside the house, things were far from still.
A soft cry pierced the silence.
Hana stirred first, groggy but instinctively maternal, reaching toward the crib nearest her futon. "It's our son," she murmured sleepily, lifting the little boy in his white-and-blue sleepsuit. She cradled him close, rocking gently.
Phuby, who had stayed up a little too late working on the farm's product catalog, rolled over with bleary eyes. "You sure it's him this time?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.
"Yes. His cry is louder." Hana chuckled faintly, eyes still closed as she gently stroked their son's cheek. "Our daughter makes smaller sounds, like little hiccups."
As if responding to her mother's words, the girl let out a soft coo from the other crib.
Phuby groaned playfully and sat up. "You wake the boy, I get the girl. Deal?"
"Deal."
In a house that now echoed with two newborn cries and two tired but smiling parents, morning routines had become sacred. Even the rhythm of breakfast had changed. Mrs. Emi, their housekeeper, had already arrived and was preparing miso soup and tamagoyaki in the kitchen, humming a quiet melody that reminded Hana of childhood.
By 7:30 a.m., both babies were fed, changed, and asleep in the double stroller facing the sunlit porch. Hana leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with quiet pride. Phuby joined her with two mugs of fresh coffee.
"How many hours of sleep did we get last night?" he asked.
"Three. Maybe three and a half," she replied.
He handed her the mug. "Strong brew. We'll survive."
Despite the exhaustion, there was a strange kind of peace. A rhythm. Every day since the twins came home had been a mix of chaos and quiet, soft joy tucked between yawns and diaper changes.
That morning, Phuby decided to make use of the system again—not for a building, not for flashy purchases, but for something necessary: a delivery truck for the farm. With plans to start selling vegetables, fruit, and handmade snacks locally and regionally, they needed a reliable way to transport goods.
He opened the glowing interface after breakfast, careful not to let the light disturb the napping babies.
🛒 SYSTEM SHOP — SPECIAL OFFERSAvailable Region: Kyoto (Uji Subregion)
Item: Medium-Sized Refrigerated Delivery TruckModel: Toyota Dyna HybridIncludes: GPS, refrigeration unit, storage racksPrice: Rp 450.000.000✅ Cashback Active
"Hey Hana," he called, "I'm buying a truck. For the farm deliveries."
She didn't even look up. "As long as it isn't another random building, go ahead."
Phuby laughed. "Fair enough."
With a single mental tap, the purchase went through.
✅ Purchase Complete💰 Cashback Granted: Rp 900.000.000📦 Vehicle delivered to designated farm parking area📑 Documents appeared on the side table
Updated System Balance:Rp 31.773.000.000 - 450.000.000 + 900.000.000 = Rp 32.223.000.000
He peeked outside and, sure enough, in the gravel lot next to the barn, the sleek hybrid truck now waited—brand new, gleaming in the morning sun, its refrigerated box humming quietly.
As if on cue, Om Luky stepped into view with Kenta Sakamoto behind him. They had just returned from inspecting the tea plants.
"Phuby!" Luky called out. "Is that ours?"
"Yeah. Bought it just now," he said proudly.
Kenta nodded approvingly. "With this, we can preserve freshness all the way to Kyoto city or even Osaka. Good move."
By mid-morning, the entire team had gathered in the barn-turned-meeting-room. Hana held their daughter while Mrs. Emi cuddled the boy. Om Luky took lead explaining the harvest schedule, Yuriko discussed vegetable plots, and Yuji handed out delivery route drafts.
It was a small operation, but it was real. Phuby leaned back in his seat, watching them all talk and plan. This wasn't just a side project anymore—it was a fully functioning farm and family business.
And it all started from one impulse. A rented shophouse, a dream, a girl he loved, and a system that had never failed him.
Later that night, with the babies asleep and the workers gone, Phuby and Hana sat outside under a wooden pergola, now fitted with hanging solar lights. The garden smelled faintly of strawberries and damp earth. Stars filled the sky above Uji.
"You ever think we'd get this far?" Hana asked, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"No," he said honestly. "But then you happened. And the system. And… them."
As if they heard their names being invoked, one of the twins let out a sleepy squeak inside the house. Neither parent moved.
"They're fine," Hana said. "Just dreaming."
"You think they'll grow up here?" he asked.
She smiled. "Maybe. Or maybe Tokyo. Or maybe Cirebon. Or maybe… wherever we feel home is."
He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "Wherever you are. That's home."
And for now, that place was a little farmhouse in Uji, glowing softly in the starlight, filled with dreams and the promise of a life still unfolding.