The morning sun in Suka Makmur Village no longer offered a pleasant warmth; instead, it illuminated a scene of heartbreaking contrast. At the edge of the narrow alleyway, before a dilapidated bamboo shack teetering on the brink of collapse, the quiet, desolate atmosphere was suddenly shattered by the shuffling of feet and muffled sobs.

Dozens of villagers—the very people who had roared with laughter at the village hall weeks ago, the ones who had cursed, insulted, and pelted Danu with gravel stones—now stood packed tightly together, overflowing the tiny yard of Danu’s family home.

They came no longer with heads held high and arrogant smiles, but in dusty, tattered clothes, carrying empty baskets in their trembling hands, their gazes glued to the dirt under the weight of crushing humiliation.

Inside the house, Pak Slamet stood near the kitchen window. The middle-aged man parted the fraying cloth curtain slightly to peer outside. The moment he caught sight of the sea of humanity crammed before their home, Pak Slamet's frame shook violently. His eyes instantly swam with a profound, aching pity.

"Dear God... look at them, Dan," Pak Slamet rasped, turning to his son with a trembling voice. "That's Mang Udin... and Mbok Min... and the rest of our neighbors. Their faces look so pale and exhausted. Their children at home must have been starving for days without a grain of rice."

Danu stood tall with his arms crossed near the wooden table. His expression remained utterly cold and serene, clashing sharply with the turbulent anxiety churning inside his father's chest.

Pak Slamet drew a deep breath, then hurried toward the front door. "We can't just leave them standing out there, Dan. Open the door. Have some mercy... the city loan sharks are already roaming around terrorizing villagers' homes. We have to help them."

Before Pak Slamet’s hand could brush against the wooden door latch, Danu moved swiftly, gently wrapping his fingers around his father’s wrist with unyielding firmness.

"Wait, Dad," Danu said in a deep, chilling tone.

Pak Slamet gasped, staring at his son with a furrowed, bewildered brow. "Wait for what, Dan?! Those are our neighbors out there! They're starving and terrified! Why are you stopping me from opening the door?!"

Danu locked eyes directly onto his father's pupils, answering with a flat yet piercing tone: "Because the door to this house cannot simply be opened for people who only show up when their bellies are empty and their lives are on the line, Dad."

"But, Dan—!" Pak Slamet protested, his voice choking up.

"Listen to me, Dad," Danu cut in calmly. "Days ago, when I stood at the village hall carrying a rotting fruit sample just to save them, what did they do to us? They abused us, framed us as saboteurs, and pelted my head with stones until I bled."

Pak Slamet fell dead silent. The memory of that horrific afternoon at the hall slammed back into his consciousness, tightening his throat.

"Their arrogance brought everything crashing down," Danu continued, his eyes sharp. "And now, after a sea of black mud leveled every last farm they owned, they finally remember this rundown shack. Divine justice doesn't work by begging for charity the second a catastrophe strikes."

Outside the house, the murmur of whispers and pleading moans grew louder, piercing straight through the thin bamboo walls.

"Please... open the door..." wailed an elderly woman outside, sounding profoundly desperate and broken. "We know we were wrong... we beg for the mercy of Pak Slamet's family..."

Those weeping pleas shattered Pak Slamet's emotional defenses instantly. The old man let his grip fall, bowing his head in defeat as tears slipped down his cheeks. "Even so... seeing them suffer like this tears my heart apart, Dan..."

Danu exhaled a long breath, softening slightly at the sorrow etched across his father's face. He patted Pak Slamet’s shoulder gently. "Fine, Dad. I'll go out and face them."

Stepping forward, Danu slowly slid open the wooden front door of their rundown shack until it swung wide.

Creak...

The groan of the aged door instantly silenced the commotion in the courtyard. In a flash, dozens of pairs of villager eyes locked upward simultaneously.

The atmosphere plunged into an eerie, suffocating hush. Whispers and sobs vanished entirely. Every resident stared at the doorway where Danu stood tall, a clean white bandage still wrapped neatly around his right temple, his gaze as glacial as ice.

A few lowered their heads in profound shame, unable to meet the eyes of the young man they had once driven away with a hail of stones.

In the very front row of the crowd stood Kasim. The stocky man who had once been the loudest voice screaming at Danu in the hall—the one who hurled a sharp pebble straight at his temple—now looked utterly pathetic. His clothes were filthy, his face ghostly pale, and his whole body shook uncontrollably.

Kasim gazed up at Danu with a choked breath. He knew precisely what he had inflicted on the youth just days prior. Yet the starvation of his children at home and death threats from out-of-town collectors had stripped away whatever scraps of pride he had left, grinding them into the dirt.

Without wasting a single second, before the dozens of villagers watching with bated breath, Kasim dropped both knees hard onto the dusty earth.

Thump!

Kasim prostrated himself right on the threshold of Danu's home. The man crawled forward a foot, lifting his swollen, tear-streaked face while pressing his hands together in desperate supplication as fresh sobs broke from his chest.

"Danu... young Danu...!" Kasim wailed hysterically, his voice raw with utter despair. He gently pressed his forehead against the dirt near Danu's boots. "I'm begging you... forgive my foolishness...! Forgive my insolence back then!"

Danu looked down, staring blankly at the middle-aged man groveling in the dust right before his shoes.

Kasim wept uncontrollably, his trembling fingers clutching the hem of Danu's worn trousers. "My kids haven't eaten rice in three days, Dan... the city thugs have sealed my house and threatened to burn my family alive if I don't pay off those three hundred million today! You're the only one... the only person in this village who still has thriving shallot harvests on the hillside!"

Hearing Kasim's confession of total defeat, several villagers behind him collapsed limply into the dirt, joining in hysterical weeping over their cursed fate.

"Help us, Danu..." screamed an old woman from the crowd. "Give us even a scrap of leftover food or work... we're ready to be slaves on your farm... just so we don't starve to death!"

Danu stood completely motionless. He gazed out over the sea of human beings prostrated before his rundown shack with a look of profound serenity, holding a timeless lesson about the wheel of fortune spinning endlessly—never favoring the arrogant.