The dusty sunbeams of a late Cirebon afternoon spilled over a worn "Disewakan" banner as Phuby stood at the entrance of the shophouse, the keys heavy in his hand. It was real—finally real. A three-floor ruko, or shophouse, with an open rooftop. The deal had been signed, the deposit paid. It wasn't just a business move—it was a rebirth.
"Wow…" Mrs. Wulan breathed, stepping through the open glass door onto the tiled floor of the first level. Her eyes roamed over the wide space, already imagining racks of cookies, display fridges for cakes, and the sweet smell of warm bread filling every inch. "It's been so long…"
"It's huge," Om Luky added, hauling in a crate of baking trays. "We could fit the old shop three times over in here."
Phuby smiled quietly to himself. "Welcome to the new Toko Kue Palm Sari."
The name still held weight. Originally opened in 2001, the bakery had begun in the humble kitchen of Phuby's grandfather's house. Together with his wife, Phuby's grandmother, they had built a legacy that the community cherished—cakes for birthdays, weddings, Eid, and Christmas. The scent of vanilla, pandan, and chocolate was woven into his childhood.
But everything changed during the pandemic.
In 2020, with sales plummeting and his grandfather's health declining, the house—and with it, the original store—had been sold by his grandmother for Rp2.000.000.000 (around USD 140,000). It was a necessary sacrifice. Two years later, on May 5th, 2022, Phuby's grandfather passed away. Since then, Phuby, his mom, Om Luky, and his mother's younger brother had all moved in with his grandmother.
But no one ever forgot the taste of the old bakery.
And now, in 2025, that memory was being brought back to life—not in a cramped kitchen, but in a bright, towering shophouse on one of Cirebon's livelier streets.
The rent wasn't cheap: Rp12.000.000 per month. But Phuby, after weeks of careful calculation using the mysterious cashback system, had paid six months upfront—a total of Rp72.000.000, including a cleaning and maintenance deposit. It had taken a big slice out of the Rp40–47 million he'd grown in his balance, but it was worth every rupiah.
"You sure about this, Phub?" Om Luky asked as they hauled a heavy convection oven up the steps with the help of two movers.
"I'm more sure of this than anything in the past five years," he said, wiping sweat from his brow.
Since his early twenties, Phuby had nearly given up on finding a job. Application after application had been ignored or declined. His degree had faded into a line on a resume no one read. But livestreaming—talking about Japanese toys, baking tutorials, funny skits—had unexpectedly brought in a side income. And then came the system.
[System Activated: Cashback of the Heart]
Double cashback on every purchase. Bonuses. A hidden store. And every rupiah earned could be reinvested. With discipline, it had given him more than enough to fund this dream.
The first floor of the shophouse was converted into a warm bakery and café. Large glass windows opened to the street, and inside stood an L-shaped display counter, decorated with jars of cookies and colorful birthday cakes. The aroma of butter, sugar, and fresh bread quickly began luring passersby.
The second floor became home: three bedrooms, a shared kitchen, and a cozy living room with secondhand furniture Phuby had bought online. It wasn't luxury, but it was theirs. The walls were lined with old family photos—including one of his late grandfather in a flour-streaked apron, smiling beside a three-tier wedding cake.
The third floor? It was Phuby's domain.
One corner had a workstation with his new gaming PC and high-end laptop. He had used the system cashback and discounts wisely—buying used, upgraded parts, and watching every rupiah. Combined, the setup had cost him around Rp20.000.000, leaving him with just over Rp20–25 million in the bank after expenses. The rest of the floor stored flour sacks, packaging boxes, and baking tools. And the rooftop was his favorite—a potential venue for events under the Cirebon stars.
On a quiet Tuesday evening, Phuby stood on that rooftop, the night breeze cooling his skin. Below, the city lights shimmered. In the distance, he could smell grilled satay and hear a train's low rumble.
Mrs. Wulan stepped beside him, holding two mugs of warm ginger tea. She handed one to him. "I thought you were just chasing silly toys and anime merch," she said with a teasing smile.
"I was," he chuckled, sipping. "But sometimes silly things can lead to real ones."
She smiled, brushing her hair back. "Your grandfather would be proud."
They stood in silence for a while. Then she added softly, "I still remember you sitting on the floor with a rolling pin too big for your hands, making misshapen cookies. You always wanted to help."
"I think part of me always wanted this," he said. "I just didn't know how to get here."
And now, he had.
Downstairs, Om Luky was writing out the weekly ingredient list and tallying sales. He'd been appointed the store manager—a role Phuby insisted on.
"You've worked too hard for too long, Om," he had said. "Let this be easier for you now."
Om Luky had resisted, but with the trust Phuby showed, he took the job seriously. Organized, punctual, and respected, he quickly became the backbone of the new Palm Sari.
And so, the dream returned.
A family united. A legacy revived. And deep within the hidden system—still waiting quietly—something was stirring.
A new tab had appeared.
> [System Upgrade Available]
— New Features: Shop Unlock, Gacha Access, Investment Mode.
But that, Phuby decided, could wait.
First, he had cakes to bake.
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