The first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting faint patterns across the hospital room. Zaky stirred, groaning softly as the stiffness in his body reminded him of the accident. His ribs throbbed with every breath, but it was manageable. He had survived—and something extraordinary had begun.
As he slowly adjusted his pillow and blinked the sleep from his eyes, the small notification window from the night before was still there:
[Mission 1: Sell an Item and Earn Your First Profit]
For a moment, he wondered if everything that had happened—the strange voice, the promise of the Wealth System, the mission—had been a fever dream born of exhaustion and injury. But the message floating in front of him was proof. It wasn't a dream. The opportunity was real.
He lay still, letting the events of the previous day replay in his mind: the accident, the voice in the darkness, the tempting offer. Do you want to be rich? It was a question that had seemed ridiculous at the time, but now it echoed through his thoughts, lingering like an unanswered riddle.
Yes, of course, he wanted to be rich. Wasn't that what he had always dreamed of—escaping the life of poverty, proving everyone wrong, and driving his very own sports car? He could already imagine the stunned faces of Faisal and the other bullies when they saw him behind the wheel, his dream finally realized.
But dreams were just that—dreams. The real world required action. The voice had told him as much: complete missions, gain knowledge, and slowly build wealth, piece by piece. It wasn't just about money—it was about learning.
The door to his room creaked open, and a nurse stepped in with a tray of breakfast: plain porridge, a boiled egg, and a small carton of milk. "Good morning," she greeted him cheerfully. "How are you feeling today?"
"Sore," Zaky replied, his voice hoarse.
"That's to be expected," she said kindly. "But you'll be up and about in no time. Just take it easy."
She set the tray on the small table next to his bed and gave him a warm smile before leaving. Zaky watched the door close behind her, his thoughts already drifting back to the system's mission.
He had to sell something. But to whom? The hospital wasn't exactly a bustling marketplace, and the few candies in his backpack weren't going to make him rich. Still, a mission was a mission. He figured the system wouldn't let him advance until he completed it.
He glanced at the bag of candies resting on the nightstand. How much could he even charge for them? A thousand rupiah? Maybe two thousand? It felt silly, but the voice's words kept echoing in his mind: "Every journey begins with a single step."
Just as Zaky was about to reach for the candies, the room seemed to shift. Everything around him grew quieter, dimmer—like the world had slowed down. A familiar sensation washed over him, and then the voice returned, gentle but insistent.
"Zaky… Do you want to be rich?"
He froze, his heart racing in his chest. The voice was back.
"Yes," Zaky whispered without hesitation.
"Then you must trust the process," the voice murmured, as if speaking directly into his thoughts. "Every action, no matter how small, brings you closer to your goal. You must learn to see opportunity where others see nothing."
Zaky clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up inside him. "But how? I don't have anything! I don't even know where to start!"
The voice responded with calm patience. "That is why the system exists. To teach. To guide. You don't need to know everything now. You only need to take the first step."
"But... selling candies?" Zaky asked doubtfully.
"Yes," the voice said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "What matters is not what you sell, but that you act. The act of selling will teach you the first lesson: that value lies not just in things, but in the willingness to exchange."
Zaky was silent, trying to absorb the strange wisdom of the words. It didn't feel like a normal conversation—more like the voice was implanting ideas directly into his mind, shaping his thoughts without forcing them.
"Remember," the voice continued softly, "wealth is not built in a day. It begins with a mindset. A single sale. A single exchange. From there, the path will unfold."
Before Zaky could respond, the presence faded, and the room seemed to brighten again, as if everything had returned to normal.
Zaky sat quietly for a long moment, staring at the bag of candies. The voice was right. He had spent his whole life believing that wealth was something distant, unreachable—a privilege reserved for the lucky or the powerful. But what if he had been wrong? What if wealth was simply the result of small, consistent actions?
He reached for the bag, feeling its weight in his hand. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He had no idea if anyone in the hospital would even want to buy them, but that didn't matter. What mattered was trying.
The first step.
Just then, the door opened again, and a young boy, perhaps ten years old, peeked inside. He wore a hospital gown that was too large for him, and his curious eyes scanned the room until they landed on Zaky.
"Hey," the boy said shyly. "Are you the kid who got hit by a motorbike?"
Zaky gave a small nod. "Yeah. That's me."
The boy shuffled closer, his bare feet making soft sounds on the tiled floor. "That's so cool! I mean, not the accident, but... you know, getting to ride in an ambulance and all."
Zaky couldn't help but smile a little. "Yeah, I guess."
The boy's eyes drifted to the bag of candies on the nightstand. "Whoa, you have candy?"
Zaky's heart skipped a beat. This was it—his chance.
"Yeah," he said casually, holding up the bag. "Want some?"
The boy's face lit up. "Really? How much?"
Zaky hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "A thousand rupiah per piece."
The boy's excitement dimmed slightly. "A thousand? I only have five hundred..."
For a brief second, Zaky considered giving the candy away for free. It would be the kind thing to do. But then the voice echoed in his mind once more: "Every action brings you closer to your goal."
He smiled. "Tell you what—if you can find another five hundred, the candy's yours."
The boy grinned, determined. "Okay! I'll be right back!"
As the boy darted out of the room, Zaky leaned back against the pillows, a strange sense of satisfaction washing over him. It wasn't just about the money—it was about taking the first step.
And with that small exchange, Zaky felt something shift inside him. For the first time in his life, he had taken action. It was a small step, but it was real.
Do you want to be rich?
Yes. And now, Zaky was ready to start.