COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

Monday morning rolled in with all the subtlety of a falling piano.

Eathan slouched into Lecture Hall 309, a black hoodie thrown over his head like he was mourning the death of his dignity. His bag sagged off one shoulder, and his sneakers scuffed against the tiled floor as he drifted toward the back row—the furthest seat possible from Emily Lutin.

He dumped himself into the self-warming chair with a sigh of about 80% soul and 20% physical exhaustion.

Luke Tam, his golden retriever of a best friend, noticed immediately. The man had been sitting closer to the front, but the moment he caught sight of Eathan's zombie state, he grabbed his laptop and migrated back without hesitation. He dropped into the seat next to him, leaning over with a wicked grin.

"Hey dude," he whispered, voice full of unholy glee. "What did you do this weekend to look like this? Jerking off all night?"

Eathan gave him a withering look.

"Don't liken me to you," he said, voice flat as dry toast.

Luke only laughed, all pearly white teeth and rich-boy glow, ruffling his already messy hair. "Yeah, yeah. I'll preserve your image in front of Emily."

At the mention of her name, Eathan sank even lower into his seat, dragging the hoodie tighter over his head.

Luke blinked at him, puzzled. "What, you guys fight or something?"

"No," Eathan muttered. "Worse."

He wasn't about to explain that the girl he'd been crushing on for two years had very nearly turned him into a juice pouch. Nor was he going to explain how he'd witness the girl's head get blown up while sitting in front row seats.

Depressingly, ever since the rooftop incident with the Succubus-Fey, his fight-or-flight response seemed to activate involuntarily whenever Emily was in sight.

"So much for a happy ending," Eathan mumbled bitterly. "Way to end a two-year crush."

Luke stared at him, clearly confused, but before he could press further, the classroom doors swung open—and in walked him.

Professor Quine Long.

Today's outfit: tailored charcoal slacks, slim brown turtleneck, silver chain stacking over a jade necklace, both tucked beneath the collar. His long black hair had been half-tied back with a simple clasp, giving him the lazy elegance of a retired aristocrat slumming it among mortals.

The entire class seemed to collectively exhale in admiration.

Eathan, still emotionally bleeding inside, grumbled darkly as he watched his so-called "professor" saunter up to the podium like he was walking a Paris runway.

Of course, he thought. Of course, he dresses like that.

Students were already starting to crowd around, trying to strike up casual conversations, but Quine lifted a languid hand without even glancing up.

"Pop quiz," he said.

The collective groan that erupted nearly shook the walls.

Luke turned to Eathan with a look of sheer betrayal. "What the hell is this? Is this a trend now? Pop quizzes? Is there a MixTok challenge for professors now?"

Eathan could only pat him sympathetically on the back.

They slogged through it. Ten questions, all multiple choice, with options worded just confusingly enough to make you second-guess yourself. Eathan tried his best; he truly did. But considering the trauma, lack of sleep, and lingering distrust of the world, even with Qi Tokens dumped into increasing his [Intelligence], wasn't enough to hurl him back to peak performance.

When he handed the physical paper in, Quine barely spared it a glance, waving him off like an annoying fly.

Class continued with a short lecture—an overview of the Six Realms that sounded suspiciously familiar.

Eathan squinted.

Wait... didn't Mister White say this exact same thing?

It wasn't just the content. The phrasing, the examples, even the stupid little jokes sprinkled in. Eathan had the horrifying suspicion that Professor Quine Long, the Azure Dragon himself, might have stolen his boss's tutoring notes.

When class finally ended, the students poured out like water escaping a cracked dam. Eathan was about to slip away too, blending into the crowd, when—

"Vessel."

Eathan flinched. He turned around slowly.

Quine Long was standing by the door, arms folded loosely over his chest, one eyebrow cocked in lazy authority.

Luke was still nearby. Eathan quickly turned to him.

"Wait for me?"

Luke looked him dead in the eye.

Then, he turned on his heel and walked away without a word.

"???"

Eathan gaped at his retreating back, then turned a betrayed look toward Quine, who merely tilted his head innocently.

"You made him leave," he accused.

Quine offered a saintly smile. "Did I?"

The moment the door clicked shut, the temperature seemed to drop a degree. Eathan shoved his hands into his pockets, already resigned to his fate.

"So, uh," he started awkwardly. "Something you need, Professor?"

Quine's smile sharpened. "You got two questions wrong on the quiz," he said, voice dripping with faux sympathy. "Want to hear which ones?"

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Eathan grimaced. "...Not particularly."

Quine continued anyway, the kind of man who enjoyed delivering bad news.

"Question four: 'Which Realm governs the Spirit-Beast interactions with mortals?' You answered the Bodhi Realm." He tsked. "The correct answer is the Spirit-Beast Realm, obviously."

Eathan winced. He did not want to hear the other one.

"In my defense," he said weakly, "I was studying [Receipt Printer] all weekend. You know, productive activities?"

Quine's eyes lit up with unholy interest.

"Oh?" He leaned in, predatory. "Show me."

Eathan blinked. "Uh, I don't have any barcode right now—"

An empty Levian bottle sailed through the air and smacked into his stomach.

"One point docked already," Quine said smoothly. "You should always be prepared with the fuel to activate your powers."

Eathan grumbled under his breath but took the bottle anyway. He activated his [SYSTEM], holding the receipt scanner tool like Excalibur.

A soft click.

The bottle erupted with motes of light, and a corresponding slim, glossy receipt unfurled in his hands. The talisman was rough, the glyphs a little messy, the power flow slightly uneven—but it was real. He offered it up to the Azure Dragon like a peace offering.

Quine took the talisman delicately between two fingers, peering at it like it was a particularly pathetic origami crane.

There was a long pause.

Then he said, in the tone of someone delivering a eulogy: "You handle talismans like a drunk panda handles chopsticks."

Eathan opened his mouth to defend himself—

"Cute," Quine finished, sliding the talisman into his jacket pocket with casual cruelty, "but entirely useless."

"…"

Before Eathan could even muster a retort to the insult, something else came sailing through the air toward his face: a slim, rolled-up glyph, flickering faintly with residual spiritual traces.

"Analyze this," Quine said lazily, tossing it forward.

Eathan fumbled the scroll, heart pounding as a new notification chimed across his [SYSTEM] interface.

[Side Quest (new!)]

Decode the Azure Dragon's Glyph Puzzle!

Reward: +5 Karma, +15 Qi Tokens

Eathan blinked at the glyph. It looked like a toddler had had a seizure with a calligraphy brush. Curves, swirls, and angular runes overlapped each other in ways that made his eyes hurt just looking at them.

He glanced up. Quine Long was smiling pleasantly, but behind that smile was something deeply unsettling, like the patient look a cat gave to a particularly slow mouse. A cold sweat broke out down Eathan's back.

If I can't solve this, I might actually die here.

Because that was the thing about all of them—Taeril, Quine, Chewie—they weren't mortal, at least not by heart. They didn't run on mortal logic. Eathan couldn't expect mercy where mercy wasn't part of the equation.

He shivered.

The glyph in his hands shimmered faintly, and for a moment, he saw the patterns pulse like a living thing. His mind raced. He didn't understand the strokes or the formation rules. Guessing would be suicide. But—

A spark flickered in his head.

[CALAMITY RADAR β]

Status: Auto-online

If this skill could detect danger...

Eathan inhaled sharply, focusing all his will into activating the skill; not on the glyph itself, but on the choices. He pictured each possible interpretation, mentally labeling them—and sure enough, as he hovered on some of the wrong answers, a faint, instinctive chill ran down his spine.

Danger.

He sidestepped those choices without hesitation, narrowing it down to a single, relatively "quiet" answer. His hand moved. Quine's green eyes gleamed as he watched—but he didn't interrupt. Finally, Eathan lowered the glyph and stated the answer aloud.

A long beat passed.

Then, the Azure Dragon snorted under his breath and turned away with a muttered, "Tch."

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION

You have completed [Side Quest]:

Decode the Azure Dragon's Glyph Puzzle!

You have been rewarded: +5 Karma, +15 Qi Tokens

Eathan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, smiling sheepishly. A beat later, he realized that the entire back of his hoodie was plastered with cold sweat.

The Calamity Radar worked, he thought with a shudder.

In other words, Quine Long was contemplating killing him for real.

Eathan didn't linger a second longer.

The moment the next class was dismissed, he dashed back to COZMART like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

***

Eathan barreled into the shop, backpack swinging wildly.

Inside, COZMART looked as deceptively normal as always. The warm overhead lights hummed. Shelves lined with dusty imported snacks gleamed under the bulbs.

At the counter, Taeril White sat lazily on a high stool, sipping black coffee out of a paper cup, apron slung carelessly over his casual dress shirt and slacks. His cream-colored hair fell over his forehead, softening the cold slash of his obsidian-black eyes. Next to him, Chewie sat at the counter doing math homework, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she scribbled equations.

Eathan didn't even waste time catching his breath as he stormed over.

"You," he said, pointing dramatically at the white-haired man. "You need to tell your friend to stop trying to kill me!"

Taeril blinked at him over the rim of his coffee cup, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Who?" he asked, as if Eathan had just demanded he repaint the walls neon green.

"Quine Long!" Eathan gawked. "Aren't you guys close?!"

Across the counter, Chewie visibly twitched. Her small face scrunched up like she'd just been force-fed rotten lemon. She slammed her pencil down with a sharp thud.

"Don't insult Mister White like that," she said coldly. "Comparing him to that emotionally unstable dragon is extremely rude."

Taeril only sighed into his coffee, looking both tired and amused. "Long's always been like that," he said, waving him off. "Annoying. Reckless. Thrill-seeking. Annoying. Even back in the Heavenly Court days. Annoying."

Eathan's ears perked up. "Heavenly Court?" he repeated eagerly. "Wait, so—so you knew him back then? What about you? Were you, like, a guard or something?"

Taeril, ever the slipperiest man alive, waved him off with a flick of his fingers.

"You should focus on your own life," he said blandly.

Eathan opened his mouth, then closed it. He clicked his tongue, grumbling under his breath. "Stingy."

He shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, glaring sideways at the half-empty coffee cup on the counter. After a few seconds, he couldn't help but blurt out, "Seriously, though. How do you drink black coffee all day without shrivelling up inside? Life's already bitter enough. Why torture yourself even more?"

Taeril looked at him with a slow, amused lift of the brow. Wordlessly, he slid the paper cup across the counter toward him.

"Try it," he said, tone light.

Eathan stared at the cup like it might explode. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Taeril, but under the man's utterly unbothered gaze, he caved. Slowly, like a soldier approaching a suspicious landmine, he lifted the cup, cracked open the plastic lid—and took a tentative sip.

The next second, his entire body jolted.

Eathan gagged, cringing so hard he nearly dropped the cup. "How many pumps of syrup did you put in this?!" he croaked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Taeril, hiding his smirk behind a casual sip of his own coffee, lifted two fingers lazily.

"Two?!" Eathan squawked.

"Twenty."

Eathan stared at him, speechless.

Setting the cup down as if it were a biohazard, he wiped his tongue dramatically on the back of his sleeve, shooting Taeril a betrayed look. The white-haired man only chuckled under his breath, shrugging as if to say, You asked.

Eathan groaned into his hands.

These people... these inhuman lunatics...

Not only did they run around blasting succubi in the head, resetting exploded stores like it was Tuesday laundry day, and casually threaten college students with death quizzes, but apparently, they also had zero impulse control when it came to sugar intake.

A weary thought crossed his mind: Maybe they should all see a therapist.

Another thought quickly followed: Wait, are there even therapists for immortals?

He pictured a professional-looking rabbit spirit jotting notes behind a mahogany desk, and immediately, he shoved the image out of his head.

One crisis at a time.

He collapsed over the counter with a long sigh, face planted against the cold laminate surface, and waited for his blood sugar levels to stabilize.

Tomorrow, he promised himself grimly.

Tomorrow, he would demand some answers.

Or at least, demand hazard pay.