The village was still whispering about my visit. Some said I had changed. Others said I had become proud. A few said I was the same Jackim who used to fetch water barefoot.
Then came the rumors.
It started small one woman said she saw me driving a car that "shines like the devil's mirror." Another added that "no one gets rich that fast unless there's a snake involved."
By the end of the week, they had created a full sermon out of my success.
And at the center of it all was Pastor Godwin.
He was the loud one. Tall, shiny shoes, cheap cologne, the kind of man who prayed loud enough to wake God Himself or maybe just to make sure everyone heard his holiness.
That Sunday, I sat quietly in the back row of the small iron-sheet church.
My mother had begged me to come, and honestly, I missed those dusty benches and off-key choir songs that always sounded better in your heart than your ears.
When the praise ended, Pastor Godwin walked up to the pulpit, sweating like salvation was a workout.
He looked around dramatically, holding his Bible high.
"Brethren!" he shouted.
Everyone echoed, "Amen!"
"There are powers," he began, pacing slowly, "powers that rise from darkness and pretend to be success."
I blinked. I already knew where this was going.
He continued, "The youth of today instead of seeking God are seeking fame. They are building companies with blood money. They are driving cars bought from demons. They are sleeping in houses built on curses."
The crowd murmured, nodding, clapping.
Then he said it.
"Even among us, we have one who went to the city, and now returns with strange glory. We must pray for him!"
The church turned to me. Every eye.
My mom froze, confused.
I didn't move. I just sat there, watching the performance.
After service, people avoided me like I was contagious.
Some whispered as I passed. Others smiled too wide, pretending everything was fine.
Mama tried to defend me. "My son works hard! He's a good boy!"
But gossip travels faster than truth.
That evening, a group of villagers gathered near the market.
One man said, "I hear he uses computer magic."
Another added, "That's why he never gets tired machines are helping him."
Someone even claimed, "His car talks!"
I almost laughed. But part of me wanted to cry.
Two days later, I went to see Pastor Godwin.
His office was behind the church a small wooden hut filled with posters saying "Trust in God, not in Wealth." Irony at its finest.
He looked up as I entered.
"Brother Jackim," he said smoothly, "you didn't come for our deliverance prayers."
I smiled. "Didn't think I needed one."
He leaned back, fake concern on his face. "You know, people are worried. You vanished to the city and returned shining. They say you never come to crusades. Maybe you should make a small donation to the church… to show gratitude."
Ah. There it was. The real demon greed.
"How much will it cost to prove I'm not possessed?" I asked quietly.
He chuckled nervously. "Don't say it like that. Just… a love offering. Let's say fifty thousand shillings."
I stood. "Pastor, if God needed a bribe to recognize me, then maybe He's not the one you're preaching about."
His smile faded. "Be careful, son. Pride comes before downfall."
I looked him in the eyes. "And lies come before repentance."
Then I walked out.
The next Sunday, I came to church again.
But this time, I came with tools builders, hammers, and roofing sheets.
As the service began, I stood quietly at the back and said, "Pastor, I heard the roof leaks."
He frowned. "It's being handled."
I nodded. "Good. I'll handle it faster."
By the time he finished his sermon, my team was already up there fixing the holes, replacing rusted sheets.
The congregation watched in stunned silence.
When they finished, I told the workers to leave and handed the pastor a brown envelope.
"Here's for the next service not bribes, just blessings."
He stuttered. "Brother Jackim, I didn't mean to—"
I smiled. "You did. But it's okay. Even Jesus had Judas."
Then I walked out.
That act changed everything.
By evening, the same people who whispered now followed me home to thank me.
One woman cried, "We were wrong, son. May God bless you more."
Another shouted, "The pastor was jealous because your blessings are louder than his microphone!"
I laughed until my ribs hurt.
Later that night, the system popped up:
System Notification:
"Quest Complete — Grace Over Grudges."
Reward: Public Love +100%, Reputation Restored.
I smiled faintly. "Thanks, but I wasn't doing it for stats."
A week later, Pastor Godwin came to my mother's compound.
He looked smaller, humbled.
"Brother Jackim," he began quietly, "I spoke wrongly. I was blinded by envy. Please forgive me."
I didn't hesitate. "You're forgiven."
He blinked. "Just like that?"
"Yes," I said. "God doesn't invoice forgiveness."
He nodded slowly, eyes wet. "You taught me something today."
Then he left no pride, no noise, just silence.
That night, as I sat under the stars, Mama joined me.
"You handled that with grace," she said softly.
I smiled. "You taught me that not every battle deserves blood."
She laughed. "Still, I wanted to slap that man!"
We both laughed until tears came out.
The system chimed softly again, but this time, the message wasn't mechanical.
"Host, note: Mercy is not weakness. It is the strongest flex."
I whispered back, "Maybe you're learning to be human too."
And for the first time since my success, I felt light.
Later that week, the same pastor stood in church and admitted everything.
He told the whole congregation, "I judged without proof. I was envious. But this young man showed me that humility is not poverty."
People clapped. Others cried.
Mama was smiling so hard I thought her face might freeze that way.
After service, little kids ran to hug me. "Uncle Jackim! You fixed our roof!"
I lifted one of them and said, "That's what bragging should look like not showing off, but showing up."
That evening, Kelvin found me sitting by the field.
He grinned. "So, the fake pastor finally repented?"
I nodded. "He just needed a reminder that God doesn't need hype."
Kelvin laughed. "Bro, the way you're changing hearts out here, the system might run out of rewards."
I looked up at the sky. "Maybe that's the point. Some things aren't meant to be rewarded they're meant to be remembered."
When the night fell, and the village lights flickered faintly across the hills, I whispered a small prayer.
Not for more money. Not for fame.
Just gratitude.
For peace.
For growth.
For the strength to be gentle in a loud world.
System Message:
"Emotional Level Up: Empathy +100%."
"New Trait Unlocked: Grace Over Grudges."
I smiled and shut the system off.
The night was too beautiful for technology.
The crickets were preaching better than the pastor ever did.