Morning in Suka Makmur Village delivered a sight that left anyone gazing at it utterly breathless. The sprawling plantations on the western edge of the settlement shimmered beneath the early sunlight. A vast sea of broad, dense, and lush green leaves stretched as far as the eye could see, blanketing the brown earth below with an illusion of flawless fertility.

Along the agricultural footpaths, villagers gathered in clusters, sipping cups of warm coffee. The faces that had recently shadowed with anxiety now radiated bright joy and overwhelming pride. The dream harvest season they had longed for was finally within touching distance.

"Oh, look at those leaves! Wide, dark green, and not a single hole in sight!" Kasim shouted triumphantly, pointing a finger toward his sprawling melon patch. "The fruit hiding beneath those vines is already rounding out, smooth as volleyballs! At this rate, next month's yields will easily buy us brand-new motorbikes!"

Mardani, Pak Darma's lackey loan shark, chuckled smugly while crossing his arms over his chest. He spat lightly onto the ground, tossing out a loud taunt meant for the surrounding farmers to catch.

"Heh, new bikes? Not just bikes, Mardani! We'll be buying up commercial shops in the sub-district capital!" Mardani boasted. "That's why you should never listen to the unhinged ramblings of Danu, that farmhand's brat. Yesterday he claimed our fields were headed for an apocalypse from ghost mold, hahaha! His brain's completely short-circuited from the stress of being too broke to rent fertile land!"

Instantly, explosive laughter echoed down the farming path. The villagers slapped each other's backs, celebrating the synthetic prosperity standing grandly before them.

Amid the crowd, Pak Darma strolled with arrogant flair. He wore a loose batik shirt set off by a heavy gold chain gleaming brightly in the daylight. A wide grin stretched across his lips, bearing the self-satisfied grin of a petty king convinced his rule over the village could never be shaken.

"Splendid... absolutely splendid," Pak Darma praised in a shrill voice as he halted beside Kasim, patting a sturdy melon vine stalk. "This is the result of hard work and high-quality imported seed capital provided entirely by yours truly! Unlike that foolish Danu, who wastes his life tending to rocks on a cliffside slope!"

"Spot on, Boss!" chimed in an elderly farmer named Mang Udin, bowing respectfully. "Slamet’s boy has zero gratitude. Just yesterday he still had the nerve to challenge you down at the hall; now he's definitely crying over cheap onions in dead dirt that won't even sprout!"

"Hahaha, let him rot on his rock pile!" Mardani sneered mockingly. "Twenty days from now, when our golden melon empire hits peak harvest and pulls in billions of rupiah, we'll get to see the pale look on Danu's face when his rundown shack gets officially seized by Boss Darma!"

Cheers and derisive jeers erupted once more among the farmers. They felt invincible, cradled by a green sea promising boundless, instant wealth.

Yet, amid the festive celebration and mass ego-stroking, unnoticed by a single soul, a young figure stood silently at the edge of the path.

Danu.

He stood entirely alone by the roadside, wearing the exact same worn cotton shirt. Both hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets, his eyes locked coldly upon the luxurious village melon farms that looked so breathtakingly pristine on the surface.

Right before Danu, without a physical touch, the translucent bluish holographic screen of the Sacred Farming System flared to life automatically, floating gracefully in midair directly in his line of sight.

The display no longer glowed with a soothing green; instead, it pulsed with a restless, flashing blood-red light accompanied by biological analytics guaranteed to send a chill down anyone's spine.

[MACRO INFECTION ANALYSIS: WESTERN PLANTATION SECTOR]

Surface Visual Status: Lush Green (100% False Mirage).

Internal Vascular Status: Advanced Root Decay.

Pathogen Indicator: Fusarium OXY spores have compromised stem xylem and phloem tissues.

Latent Infection Rate: 80% of total crop population.

Time Until Total Collapse and Visual Decomposition: Counting down in single-digit days.

Danu drew a long, steady breath. He read through the data and warning flags with a gaze entirely serene, icy, and steeped in profound pity.

"Infection levels have hit eighty percent..." Danu whispered softly to himself, his voice nearly drowned out by the morning breeze. "On the outside, those plants look magnificently healthy and deceive every eye. But underground, their beating hearts are already completely dead, rotting away into black sludge."

Suddenly, the crunch of approaching footsteps sounded from behind. Pak Slamet—Danu's father—appeared with an old hoe slung over his shoulder. The middle-aged man looked worn and exhausted, having just finished a shift on his master's main fields.

Noticing Danu standing frozen, staring at the villagers' thriving melon patches, Pak Slamet stopped. He heaved a heavy sigh, then shuffled over to his son with an expression mingling pity and burning guilt.

"Dan..." Pak Slamet rasped, tapping his son's shoulder gently. "What are you doing daydreaming out here? Don't keep staring at their melon fields, son. My heart aches just looking at you do it."

Danu turned, offering his father a quiet, reassuring smile. "I'm not daydreaming, Dad. I'm just observing fleeting beauty."

Pak Slamet shook his head slowly, then cast his own gaze out over Kasim's sprawling crops gleaming so grandly beneath the sun.

"They're right, you know, Dan..." Pak Slamet said in a weak, defeated tone. "Look at those leaves. Wide and lush green. The crops are thriving. Your warnings yesterday about a fungal plague... honestly, even now I don't see a single sign of damage. Could... could your system possibly have scanned it wrong?"

Danu locked eyes with his father, seeing the heavy doubts and crushing exhaustion etched into the older man's life. He knew precisely how immense the psychological pressure weighing on his shoulders was amid the village's relentless mockery.

"The system is never wrong, Dad," Danu answered with a firm yet gentle voice. "What you and the whole village are seeing today isn't true life. It's a mirage—a green illusion spun by a poison eating away at the roots from within."

Hearing Danu's words, Pak Slamet froze. He wanted to argue, but his son's gaze was so piercing and commanding that the words choked in his throat.

"Poison from within... what are you talking about, Dan?" Pak Slamet trembled.

Before Danu could offer further explanation, a burst of loud laughter abruptly cut across their conversation from the nearby footpath.

"Heh! Look who's playing roadside philosopher! The crazy farmhand's kid and his senile old man!"

Kasim and Mardani strolled closer with an obnoxious swagger, deliberately slowing their pace right before Danu and Pak Slamet. They eyed father and son with cynical, sneering grins.

Pak Slamet instantly shrank back in terror, instinctively pressing his hands together. "P-please excuse us, Mang Kasim... we were just passing by..."

"Passing by or window-shopping at the glory of our melon fields, huh, Slamet?!" Kasim snapped, raising his voice to deliberately draw the attention of nearby farmers. "This is why you've got to raise your kid right! Don't let him turn into some damn dreamer who goes around cursing other people's livelihoods!"

Mardani stepped up beside him, giving Danu a thoroughly dismissive head-to-toe glare. "Hey, Danu! How does it feel standing on the curb watching someone else's farm grow into billions while you're stuck holding a rusted hoe over dead rocks? How long are you planning to cling to this pathetic delusion?"

The gathered farmers caught wind of the commotion and drifted closer, chiming in with jeers and mocking laughter. The pathway erupted into a chorus of public ridicule targeted squarely at Danu.

Amid the wall of hostility, Danu didn't flinch by a fraction of a millimeter. He stood tall, sliding his hands back into his pockets, and returned the smirks of the arrogant men before him with an icy, fragile smile.

Taking a deliberate step forward, Danu cracked the heavy silence hanging over their laughter.

"You can laugh all you want today, Kasim, Mardani, and all the rest of you," Danu said, his voice deep, calm, yet driving straight to the conscience of everyone listening. "Go ahead and gloat over those lush green leaves for as long as you can."

Kasim snorted loudly, planting his fists on his hips defiantly. "Ha! And what if we do?! You gonna cry about your ghost mold again, huh?!"

Danu shook his head slowly, pointing down toward the hidden roots beneath those dense green canopies.

"Enjoy that sea of green while you still can," Danu finished, his voice dropping into an authoritative chill. "Because within a matter of days, when those roots rot away and liquefy into black sludge, your tears won't buy back a single penny of what you've gambled away."

Hearing that blunt, unshakable declaration, the farmers' laughter sputtered out instantly. Kasim and Mardani flushed bright red, their pride violently bruised.

"Insolent brat! This little stray really is begging for a beating today!" Kasim roared in fury, raising a hand as if to shove Danu backward.

Yet before Kasim's hand could connect, Pak Slamet sprang forward, throwing both arms protectively in front of Danu while pleading in a trembling, desperate shriek.

"Please, Mang Kasim! Don't hit my boy! Have mercy..." Pak Slamet sobbed in utter despair.

Danu caught his father's shoulder gently, pulling the old man safely behind his back. Danu locked eyes with Kasim, showing zero fear.

"Don't touch my father," Danu commanded, his voice dropping to a low, glacial temperature that chilled the morning air.

Spinning on his heel, he walked away, leaving the crowd glaring at him with a volatile mix of rage and bewilderment.

In the corner of Danu's vision, the system hologram pulsed brightly, flashing the final countdown drawing ever closer to zero:

[CRITICAL STATUS: HOSTILE INFECTION AT 80%. TIME UNTIL TOTAL COLLAPSE: COUNTING DOWN IN DAYS.]

Danu offered a silent, fleeting smile. The countdown marched forward without mercy, and the grand finale of Suka Makmur Village’s arrogance was about to begin.