Night crept deeper over Suka Makmur Village. The rural community, which had buzzed by day with the mocking laughter and celebratory feasts of wealthy farmers, now plunged into an eerie, suffocating silence wrapped in pitch-black, starless darkness. Inside Danu’s rundown family shack, a small kerosene lamp cast dim, trembling shadows against the warped bamboo walls.

Indoors, Pak Slamet was fast asleep after his cough had finally subsided, resting on his rickety bamboo cot from the exhaustion of a full day's labor. Meanwhile, Danu sat cross-legged by the wooden kitchen table, scraping residual dirt from his hoe.

Suddenly, a soft, cautious knock sounded at the front door.

Tap... tap... tap...

Danu halted his movements. He raised his head, glancing toward the firmly shut wooden door. The knocks were so faint they were barely audible, as if the visitors outside were terrified that their arrival might draw the notice of neighboring villagers.

Danu slowly rose to his feet, stepping soundlessly across the creaking floorboards. He cracked the door open just a sliver, peering out into the midnight dark.

Outside stood two middle-aged figures with trembling frames and pale, ashen faces. They were Mbok Min—an elderly widow living at the far end of the narrow alley—and little Pak RT, their immediate neighbor whose wooden cottage was nearly rotting away from old age. Both kept their heads bowed nervously, pulling worn blankets over their heads to shield themselves against the chill night wind.

"M-mbok Min? Pak RT?" Danu whispered in surprise, swinging the wooden door wide open. "What brings you to our house this late? Come inside quickly, it's freezing out here."

Mbok Min shuffled inside with halting steps, closely followed by Pak RT, who hastily pulled the wooden door shut and threw the latch with shaking hands. The expressions of the two elders mirrored a profound sorrow intermingled with a desperate flicker of hope.

"Danu... young Danu..." Mbok Min’s voice broke with suppressed emotion, her eyes instantly welling with tears as she looked upon the young man. The frail widow nearly dropped to her knees on the floor had Danu not swiftly caught her by both forearms.

"No, no, Mbok! Don't bow like that!" Danu urged gently, guiding Mbok Min to sit upon a rickety wooden stool by the table. Pak RT settled right beside her, letting out a long, heavy sigh as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Sit down first, Mbok, Pak RT," Danu soothed, pouring two cups of warm water from a clay kettle and setting them before his guests. "You both look terrified. What on earth brings you sneaking over to our house in the middle of the night?"

Little Pak RT took a small sip of the warm water with a still-shaking hand, then fixed his gaze intently on Danu. His eyes carried the utter desperation of a family head standing at the absolute edge of a cliff.

"Dan... young Danu, forgive us for keeping silent when the people at the village hall were laughing at you," Pak RT said in a cracked, guilt-ridden voice. "We know you must hold a grudge against the villagers. But... but please, listen to us tonight."

Danu pulled up a stool, sitting face-to-face with his impoverished neighbors. His expression remained serene, completely devoid of anger or malice.

"I've never held a grudge against you two, Pak RT, Mbok Min," Danu answered softly. "I know you're merely victims of the fear and pressure ruling this village. What brought you both here at this hour?"

Mbok Min wiped the corner of her damp eye with the edge of her frayed blanket. Leaning forward, she looked up at Danu imploringly.

"Young Danu... we are old, our lives are wretched, our house is about to collapse, and our debts to the loan shark keep piling up everywhere," Mbok Min’s voice trembled violently. "This afternoon, we saw you returning from the hillside with a basket of shallot seeds. And... and the day before yesterday, the neighbor next door caught a glimpse of your shallot crops on that rock pile growing lush and green in just two days!"

Pak RT nodded eagerly, chiming in. "It's true, young Danu! We can't stomach listening to Pak Darma's lies and those sweet promises of golden melon wealth anymore. Everyone in the village is gambling away everything they own, but our gut... our gut warns us that what you said about that plague is the absolute truth!"

Danu paused, looking back and forth between Mbok Min and Pak RT. Beneath the thick curtain of collective arrogance gripping the village, a handful of oppressed souls still possessed common sense and a raw survival instinct.

"So... you're here to ask for help?" Danu confirmed.

"Yes, young Danu!" Pak RT pleaded desperately. "We know we don't have enough money to rent prime land or buy expensive seeds. But... do you still have a few spare shallot seeds left from that cliffside plot? Please help us... teach us how to save ourselves before that crop apocalypse actually hits our village!"

Hearing the genuine plea of two elders who had spent their lives enduring hardship touched Danu deeply. He recalled how close his own father had come to surrendering to that exact same fate. Without a second thought, Danu rose from his stool, walked over to the kitchen corner, and retrieved a small cloth pouch containing dozens of super-strain shallot seeds cultivated by the system that he had intentionally set aside.

Returning to the table, Danu placed the cloth pouch directly in front of Mbok Min and Pak RT.

Mbok Min’s eyes widened as she stared at the small pouch with a bated breath.

"I-is this... those miraculous shallot seeds? For us, young Danu?"

"Take them, Mbok, Pak RT," Danu said in a deep, resolute tone. "These aren't ordinary seeds. This is a super-strain variety completely immune to extreme weather and rotting fungi."

Pak RT snatched up the cloth pouch with trembling hands, treating it as though he were holding the most precious treasure in existence. Tears of relief slipped from the old man's eyes. "Dear God... thank you, young Danu... thank you so much..."

"But listen closely to my conditions," Danu interrupted, dropping his voice to a sharp whisper as he locked eyes with them individually. "You must plant these shallots secretly in the most hidden, narrow patch of your backyard. Never tell a single soul—not even your own children or the neighbor next door."

"Why must we keep it a secret, son?" Mbok Min asked anxiously.

"Because if Pak Darma or the villagers find out you're growing shallots while everyone else worships golden melons, you'll be driven out of this village before harvest ever arrives," Danu answered coldly. "Follow the watering and simple nutrient instructions I'll write down on this piece of paper to the letter. Tend to those crops at night, far away from prying eyes."

Pak RT nodded firmly, pressing the seed pouch tightly against his chest. "We understand, young Danu! We'll guard this secret with our very lives! Thank you... you're our family's savior."

Mbok Min reached out, grabbing Danu's hand and pressing her lips against the back of the young man's palm amidst a choked sob of profound gratitude. "God bless you, son... may God reward your family's incredible kindness..."

Danu offered a faint smile, helping Mbok Min to her feet, and escorted the two elders toward the back door so their departure wouldn't be spotted from the front street.

Once he verified that Mbok Min and Pak RT had safely slipped away into the dark alley, Danu pulled the wooden back door shut. He exhaled a long breath, feeling a quiet wave of relief that at least two innocent lives had been pulled back from the brink of mass ruin.

Yet, amid that relief, Danu remained entirely unaware of one critical detail.

Right outside the wicker walls of their rundown shack, half-hidden by a dark clump of banana trees in the dead of night, a pair of sharp eyes was closely monitoring every single movement inside the house.

The shadowy figure stood frozen, recording every word of the clandestine conversation passing between Danu, Mbok Min, and little Pak RT in the pitch black.

(Behind the dark bamboo fence, the shadow cracked a wicked, cynical grin.)

A soft, malicious whisper drifted through the midnight breeze: "Well, well... so the farmhand's brat is secretly harboring village traitors, eh? Just wait until this report reaches Pak Darma tomorrow morning..."