Randa was startled by the sight of the trash pile. Not because of how filthy and broken it looked, but because most of it was actually fruits and vegetables—still edible, though smelly and dirty.
Since it was still some distance away, he couldn't see clearly.
He got back into his car and drove closer. Within minutes, he arrived. Parking by the roadside, he studied the pile more carefully. His suspicion was right.
Frowning, Randa thought, What a waste to throw away perfectly good food like this.
While he was still observing from inside the car, a sanitation worker noticed him and walked over.
"What's wrong, sir? Is there a problem?" the worker asked as he approached.
Randa snapped out of his thoughts and quickly responded.
"Oh, no, nothing. I was just surprised to see so much good food being thrown out."
The worker chuckled.
"Haha, yeah. Happens every day. On holidays or weekends, there's even more."
Randa frowned, trying to make sense of it.
"With this much waste… doesn't it cause a loss?"
The worker laughed softly.
"Not really. It's not just thrown away."
"What do you mean? Is there some processing plant or something?"
"Oh, no plant, sir. Here's how it works… leftovers that are still good are usually sold to farmers."
"Farmers?" Randa repeated, confused.
"Yeah, for animal feed. They wash it first, sometimes boil it to make it clean, then feed it to the animals. And since this is just fruits and veggies—no plastics or other materials mixed in—it's perfectly safe."
Hearing that, Randa felt enlightened.
"Oh, I see…"
The worried look on his face immediately softened.
"That's right, sir," the worker said, nodding as he reached into his pocket. Then he offered something to Randa.
"Here, have a cigarette."
Randa paused, then gave a small smile.
"Ah… thank you," he said, taking the cigarette and tucking it behind his ear.
The worker didn't pay much attention, already busy lighting one for himself.
Truthfully, Randa didn't smoke. But in a situation like this, refusing a small gesture felt rude. In Indonesia, when someone offers you food or something, it's best to accept. Whether you use it or not is another matter.
Exhaling his first puff, the worker glanced at Randa's car and remarked with admiration, "That's a nice car you've got there."
"Oh, this? It's my dad's. I just borrowed it for work," Randa replied.
"Hahaha, your dad's got good taste."
Randa smiled. The car was indeed special: a 1990s Land Cruiser VX 80, dark green. Old, but still commanding on the road.
"Oh, by the way," Randa asked, "if I want to buy some of this leftover food, who should I talk to?"
"Actually, I handle it myself. Are you interested in buying?"
"Perfect. Yes—I've got a few cows and chickens at home. Getting this would really help with feed. In fact, some of it looks like it's still good enough for people to eat."
The worker nodded.
"You're right about that. Sometimes I feel it's a shame to just sell it off as leftovers. Here, let me give you my number."
Randa saved the contact immediately. The worker's name turned out to be Anton.
"Alright then, I'll be going now, Mr. Anton."
"Sure. Take care, sir."
Randa drove home, unloaded the car, tidied up a bit, and then remembered the cigarette tucked behind his ear. He quickly set it down on the table. His father could have it later.
Without even resting or showering, Randa went straight to check on his chickens.
Before he reached the coop, the smell of droppings and the clucking noise filled the air. Of the hundred chickens he kept, only ten were roosters. Imagine if they were all roosters, he thought. It'd be even noisier.
He smiled to himself. "Good thing this pine and teak grove is far from the neighbors' houses. Otherwise, they'd already be annoyed."
Despite the smell and noise, Randa was happy. It meant the chickens were adjusting well. Some hens had even started laying eggs, which thrilled him.
After checking the chickens and their equipment, exhaustion hit him. His back ached again, and he decided to rest.
Sitting by the coop, he stared at the chickens until he got bored, then opened up the game bound to his soul—Dragon King's Son-in-Law: Journey in Heavenly Prison. He was close to finishing the storyline, with only a few quests left before the reward.
This time, though, he wasn't expecting much. Past experience taught him the skills he got were often bizarre.
In the game, he faced a hulking, muscular man who looked like a Mr. Olympia champion.
"Where'd all this gym equipment come from? Isn't this supposed to be a prison?" Randa muttered.
After a moment's thought, he dismissed it as just another plot hole.
He pushed through the quest step by step, failing repeatedly thanks to its absurd difficulty. Fortunately, he saved often and could keep retrying.
Finally, after a while, Randa cleared the quest perfectly.
Congratulations! You've completed the quest to find the musclehead's photo! You've earned Skill Book: Prison Style Workout Lv. 1!
Reading the skill's name piqued his curiosity. What had been mild interest turned into excitement.
Without hesitation, he used the book.
A yellow light enveloped him, flooding his mind with information that left him dizzy.
When the dizziness faded and he processed it all, Randa couldn't hold back a triumphant shout.
"Yes! Finally, I got something truly useful—and not weird—from this cursed game!"
Like receiving a pillow when you're sleepy, Randa finally found exactly what he needed. Recently, he had been trying to figure out how to improve his health.
Randa had browsed countless resources online, but with so much information, he only became more confused. Now, with the new skill he has gained, all those problems have disappeared.
Then it clicked.
"No wonder that guy had such an aesthetic physique! He must've been using this skill!"
Looking at the game's muscular NPC, Randa couldn't help but imagine how cool he'd look with a body like that.
Excited, he absorbed the knowledge. Prison Style Workout was a bodyweight training method used by inmates with little to no equipment.
Now Randa realizes it's not a plot hole, but simply that the muscular guy trains without any equipment.
Still, it seems strange that he managed to build such a perfect body without using any gear. With that realization, Randa stopped caring.
The more he understood, the more eager he became.
He rushed to grab tools and leftover building materials from the chicken coop project, fashioning simple workout equipment: a pull-up bar, dip station, makeshift weights.
In his haste, he even skipped meals, earning a scolding from his parents.
...
At dawn, while the sky was still dark and the dew still heavy, Randa was already working out with vigor.
Push-ups, pull-ups, squats—he did them all with impressive skill.
Since obtaining Prison Style Workout Lv. 1, he had become addicted to training. Luckily, he still knew when to stop; otherwise, his parents would worry.
From a distance, Faisal watched quietly, while Siti looked on anxiously.
"Is Randa really okay, pushing himself like this?" Siti asked.
"It's fine. Look at how skilled he is. Don't worry so much. Exercise is good for him," Faisal reassured her.
Relieved, Siti sighed and went back to her chores.
Faisal lingered a moment longer before turning to follow her.
This kid's grown so much since his years working at that good company, he thought, feeling even prouder of his son.
Meanwhile, Randa had no idea what his parents were thinking.
For him, it was all about the training. Not just to shape his body, but because he already felt the benefits: better sleep, deeper breaths, and more energy.
...
After his morning workout, Randa resumed his daily routine as usual.
In the afternoon, he returned to the coop. Every now and then, he'd find eggs hidden here and there.
Counting them up, he realized his chickens were producing about seventy eggs a day.
"Looks like they've settled in nicely," he murmured, examining the eggs with curiosity.
"I wonder how good they'll taste once the chickens are fully adapted."
They looked like ordinary free-range eggs, only bigger. Still, thanks to the Tirtha water they drank, the quality was noticeably better.
Eager, Randa hurried home to cook them.
He lit the stove and fried a sunny-side-up egg.
When it was done, it looked beautiful—the whites pure and the yolk brighter and richer in color.
"Wow, I never thought a simple fried egg could look this good," he whispered.
After a brief glance, he cut into it and took a bite.
"Ughhh! This is amazing!" he exclaimed in delight.
Closing his eyes, he savored the creamy, savory taste dancing across his tongue.
For a moment, he even forgot it was just an egg.
When he finished, he immediately wanted more.
This time, he made an omelet—whisking eggs with onion, scallions, chili, and spices.
The mixture sizzled as it hit the pan.
I've never realized how mouthwatering eggs could smell, he thought.
As soon as it was ready, he chopped it into smaller pieces to cool faster, then devoured it.
The creamy richness of the eggs, the freshness of scallions, and the mild heat of chili blended perfectly, making his taste buds dance.
Unknowingly, Randa's face contorted in pure bliss.
But just as he was immersed in that euphoria, a pair of hands slapped his shoulders hard, followed by a loud shout.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
Startled, Randa choked.
"Cough—cough!"
He coughed violently, even forcing bits of egg out through his nose.
The person who slapped him panicked instantly, afraid something had gone terribly wrong.