Chereads / The Wealth System: From Dreams to the Top of the World / Chapter 8 - Chapter 8: New Shoes, Same Old Problems

Chapter 8 - Chapter 8: New Shoes, Same Old Problems

The next morning, Zaky sat up in his hospital bed, absently running his fingers over the 10,000-rupiah note tucked into the pages of his notebook. It felt good to have earned it—his first taste of success, proof that small profits were real, that he was capable. The system had rewarded him with knowledge, and though it wasn't flashy, it was practical. He knew now how to take small initiatives, how to look for value in unexpected places.

The hospital was quiet, with only the hum of distant conversations and the squeak of wheels from carts rolling down the halls. Zaky felt restless. He had made a small breakthrough, but it wasn't enough. He needed more victories—bigger ones.

The next mission weighed heavily in his mind:

[Mission 5: Identify a Local Need and Offer a Solution.]

He tapped his pencil against the notebook, lost in thought. What local need could he address? He needed to look for opportunities, but that was easier said than done. For now, though, there was one small thing he could control—his shoes.

Zaky glanced down at the worn sneakers resting next to his hospital bed. The soles were cracked, the fabric frayed, and one of the laces had snapped weeks ago, replaced with a tangled knot of string. These shoes had carried him everywhere—to school, back to the orphanage, and now here.

They told a story of long walks, harsh weather, and years of being unable to afford replacements. Every step in those shoes had been a reminder of what he lacked. The other kids at school had teased him relentlessly—mocking his shoes, his uniform, and anything else that set him apart. But no more.

Zaky stared at the 10,000-rupiah bill again. It wasn't much, but it was a start. A symbol of his first step forward. And suddenly, he knew exactly what to do.

That afternoon, the nurse returned to check on him, as cheerful as ever.

"Zaky, it looks like you're healing well! You might be discharged soon," she said with a bright smile.

Zaky nodded but hesitated before speaking. This was his chance.

"Do you know if there's a shop nearby? I need to buy some new shoes," he asked casually, trying to hide his nervousness.

The nurse raised her eyebrows. "New shoes? That's exciting! There's a small shop just a few blocks away. I can give you directions if you're up for the walk."

Zaky smiled. "Yeah, I think I'll manage."

The next day, Zaky was discharged from the hospital, his leg still a bit sore, but manageable. With his notebook under his arm and the 10,000-rupiah bill folded neatly in his pocket, he set out on foot toward the small shop. The streets were busy with the usual morning rush—people going to work, vendors setting up their stalls, and motorbikes weaving through traffic.

Zaky moved slowly, taking it all in. Every person, every shopfront, every small interaction was a potential opportunity waiting to be discovered. But right now, his focus was on one thing—new shoes.

The shop was exactly as the nurse had described—a modest storefront wedged between a bakery and a fruit stand. The sign was faded, and the windows were dusty, but Zaky didn't care. He pushed the door open with a soft jingle, the scent of leather and rubber greeting him as he stepped inside.

The shopkeeper, an older man with kind eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

"Good morning, son. What can I do for you?"

Zaky hesitated for a moment before gesturing toward the rows of shoes. He knew 10,000 rupiah wasn't going to buy him anything fancy—maybe not even a full pair of shoes. But he was here to try.

"Do you have anything… affordable?" Zaky asked, carefully choosing his words.

The shopkeeper chuckled, clearly understanding. He'd seen his share of kids with limited budgets walk through the door.

"Well, let's see," the man said, walking over to a small rack in the corner. "We've got some secondhand pairs here. A bit worn, but still sturdy. They might be what you're looking for."

Zaky followed him, scanning the options. They weren't perfect—most had scuff marks, and some were slightly too big or small—but they were better than the ones he had. His eyes landed on a pair of black sneakers.

"How much for these?" Zaky asked, holding them up.

The shopkeeper scratched his head. "How about… 8,000 rupiah? That leaves you with a little extra in your pocket."

Zaky grinned, relieved. He could afford them. And even better—he still had 2,000 rupiah left to spare.

As he left the shop, the new shoes felt strange on his feet—a little stiff, but light and comfortable. For the first time in a long while, Zaky felt like he could walk without embarrassment. No more frayed laces or cracked soles. No more taunts from the kids at school.

But as he walked back toward the orphanage, the weight of reality began to settle in again.

The shoes were new, but the world hadn't changed.

On the way back, Zaky passed by a group of boys he recognized from school. They lounged near the entrance to a small alley, their expressions shifting the moment they saw him. It was the same group that had bullied him before.

"Hey, look who's got new shoes!" one of them jeered, nudging his friend with a smirk.

Zaky kept his head down, walking quickly, hoping to avoid a confrontation. But it was no use.

"Where'd you steal those, huh?" another boy taunted, stepping closer.

Zaky clenched his fists but kept walking. He didn't want trouble—not now. Not after finally making a small bit of progress.

But their laughter followed him down the street, a harsh reminder that some things didn't change so easily. New shoes or not, the same old problems still followed him.

By the time Zaky reached the orphanage, his excitement from earlier had dimmed slightly. The new shoes were a victory, but they hadn't solved everything.

He sat on the steps outside, pulling his notebook from under his arm. The 2,000 rupiah left over felt light in his pocket—barely anything, really—but it was a start. He jotted down a quick note in the margins of his book:

Small wins. But the road is long.

The soft chime of the system echoed faintly in his mind:

[You have taken the first step. Every solution begins with persistence.]

Zaky exhaled slowly. The system was right.

It wasn't just about the shoes. It was about learning to keep moving forward, no matter what.

New shoes, old problems—it didn't matter. He'd tasted success once, and he would do it again.

Because every small win brought him closer to his dream. And he wasn't going to stop now.