Morning arrived with the soft rustle of leaves.
Sunlight slipped through the narrow gaps between bamboo walls, falling gently onto the floor of the hut that still carried the scent of dried grass.
The air was cool but not cold, mixed with the faint smell of woven fabric, greeting someone who had just opened his eyes.
Jaka blinked, forcing himself awake despite the lingering heaviness in his body.
For a few seconds, his mind stalled, struggling to make sense of reality.
This was not a hotel room.
There was no humming air conditioner.
A part of him still hoped this was nothing more than a long, exhausting dream. That he would wake up any moment now, back where everything made sense.
But memories from yesterday arrived uninvited.
The offerings in the forest.
The frantic search.
The argument about money.
Ranti appearing… then disappearing again.
Jaka lay on a woven mat, staring at the rumbia ceiling above him, inside the simple hut they had built just yesterday afternoon.
"So… it really is real," he murmured.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, then stood and stepped outside.
In the yard, Danu was already wide awake and completely unaware of Jaka's presence.
A small handycam rested in his left hand.
He squatted, stood, squatted again, then stepped back several paces, recording anything that caught his attention.
Corners of the yard. Dew clinging to cassava leaves. Thin smoke rising from the kitchen. Chickens running around without direction.
It was as if he were in the middle of filming a nature documentary.
Jaka shook his head and sighed softly at the sight of him.
Near the field, Anindya was working alongside Arga.
Both of them bent low, pulling weeds and tidying rows of vegetables.
Every so often, Anin asked questions about this and that, scribbling quickly into her small notebook.
Arga always answered patiently, sometimes with a light laugh, sometimes with casual remarks.
From a distance, they looked like siblings who had worked together for years.
Jaka's gaze then settled on another figure.
Bandung Bondowoso.
The young man stood in the wider part of the yard.
His body was slick with sweat even though the sun had not yet climbed high.
His breathing was heavy as he lifted a long wooden log that served as a makeshift weight, then dropped it with a dull thud.
His movements were fast and powerful, but rough and unrefined.
Several times he stopped, wincing as poor posture strained his body.
He rubbed his shoulder or lower back before lifting the log again.
Jaka frowned.
"If he keeps that up, he'll get injured before becoming a knight," he thought.
But he hesitated.
Who was he to correct someone who belonged to this world?
What if he was wrong? What if his advice caused embarrassment or harm?
But seeing Bandung lift the log again with his back curved erased that hesitation.
Jaka approached, pretending to stroll casually.
"You're already training this early?" Jaka greeted him.
"I just woke up and my whole body feels broken."
Bandung turned, wiped his forehead, and smiled.
"It has to become a habit, Jaka," he said.
"If I don't, my body won't get stronger."
Jaka nodded, then pointed at the log.
"Mind if I take a look? I know a little about physical training. Not an expert, but maybe I can help."
Bandung looked surprised, but he allowed Jaka to try.
Jaka examined the log, adjusted his stance, then demonstrated the movement.
He bent his knees, straightened his back, and controlled his breathing.
Nothing fancy. Just controlled.
"Like this," Jaka said.
"It's more efficient. You won't tire as fast, and it's safer."
Bandung hesitated, then copied the motion.
At first, his movements were stiff. Then they slowly improved as his breathing steadied.
"…Hey. This feels different," Bandung said.
"It's lighter, but I can feel the weight working the right places."
"Exactly," Jaka replied.
"Your energy's going where it should."
Bandung chuckled and patted Jaka's shoulder.
"Turns out you know things like this too."
Jaka shrugged and smiled.
It felt oddly familiar.
The same sensation he got when playing games.
The feeling of being useful. Of helping someone succeed.
***
Meanwhile, Anindya's fingers kept pulling stubborn weeds from the soil.
She watched Arga lift a bucket from the well, walk along the dirt path, then pour water onto the plants using a wooden ladle.
When he finished, he returned to the well.
Lift.
Walk.
Pour.
Again and again.
Arga worked with steady energy, but Anin grew tired just watching him.
If this continued, how long would it take?
The plants were increasing, but each trip carried so little water.
"Arga," Anin called out, unable to hold back any longer.
"You water like this every day?"
"Not really," Arga replied casually, while splashing water onto young sprouts.
"Usually every two days. If it's really hot, then every day."
Anin glanced toward a small river running along the edge of the field.
The water was clear and calm, flowing gently beneath clusters of bamboo.
"What if we guide water from there instead?" she asked, pointing at it.
Arga laughed.
"How?"
'Excuse me, water, please pass through here?'" he joked.
"That's not what I meant," Anin muttered.
"And if we dig channels, it's dangerous," Arga added.
"When the rainy season comes, everything floods and the crops die."
"No, no, no," Anin said quickly.
"Back where I'm from, people do it like this."
She grabbed her notebook and pencil, sketching rapidly.
Split bamboo poles. Arranged and perforated.
She drew how water from the river would flow into bamboo channels, branching out across the field and dripping evenly onto each plot.
"With this, every plant gets water automatically," she explained eagerly.
"You don't have to keep carrying buckets. Just maintain the bamboo channels."
Arga squinted, studying the sketch.
His face was serious, filled with doubt.
"Bamboo… becoming a river?" he murmured.
"That sounds strange."
"It's not a river," Anin protested quickly, though her eyes shone with excitement.
"It's just a channel. We control the height, make small holes so the water flows but still drips down. Less work, less energy, neat and steady."
Arga scratched his head, glancing between the river and her drawing.
The idea was far beyond anything he had imagined.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"If it fails, the crops could be ruined."
"But what if it works?" Anin replied instantly.
"Then you won't have to carry water every day. Just try it, Arga. Please."
Arga sighed, finally giving in.
"All right. Let's try it. But you help too. You're the one with the plan."
"Of course," Anin replied with a wide smile.
"It'll work."
They began working together.
Arga cut young bamboo stalks and split them carefully.
Anin measured angles, calculated water flow, and positioned each piece with care.
Slowly, the bamboo pipes formed a simple irrigation system from the river to the field.
Each segment was pierced precisely.
The first attempt failed.
Water spilled everywhere, soaking the soil and making them panic.
The second attempt also failed.
The flow was too strong.
Anin nearly gave up, especially when Arga muttered curses under his breath, watching his hard work almost fall apart.
Then came the third attempt.
Water flowed smoothly through the bamboo channels, dripping gently onto each plot of soil and plant.
Arga stared in awe.
His eyes shone, disbelief written all over his face.
Anin smiled weakly, exhausted, on the verge of tears from relief.
"It… it worked?" Arga breathed.
"The water's really flowing…"
They laughed, patted each other's shoulders, then hugged without thinking.
Their hard work had paid off.
A simple irrigation system, perhaps far too modern for this era, now quietly fed the land.