COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

It had been almost a month since Luke's chaotic birthday bash.

In that time, Eathan Lin had done what any responsible new partial-intern in the spiritual world should do: He diligently grinded side quests, upgraded his [SYSTEM] skills, occasionally saved reality from imploding, and perfected the art of looking normal while not being normal at all.

If someone had told him two months ago that his after-school life would include resealing dimensional fractures and surviving immortal meme warfare, he would've reported them to campus mental health services.

Now, he just called it another COZMART shift.

Eathan lounged behind the COZMART counter, swinging his receipt printer cable idly between two fingers. Above him, the old ceiling fan spun lazily like it, too, had given up on life. He flicked open the [SYSTEM] overlay, surveying his current progress with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had, against all odds, not died yet.

He smirked a little.

After diligently farming for points through side quests, he'd accumulated over 300 Qi Tokens, then spent over half of them on upgrading his [Primary Stats]. Beyond that, his proficiency levels for [Receipt Printer] and [Minor Reconstitution] were also well on their way to the threshold for an upgrade qualification. Eathan suspected that he only had a few more side quests to go through before a brand new surge of upgrades.

Not to mention, he'd been maintaining physical training alongside his technical skills to actually utilize his updated stats. He may be able to pull up several talismen ingredients now from the top of his head, but it wouldn't do much if his hands trembled every time he tried to aim the barcode scanner at the target.

Not bad for someone who started this journey getting flattened by neon dragons and vampire cosplayers.

His wristpad buzzed. Eathan lazily picked it up—and promptly made a face like he just licked a battery. Luke had tagged him in a new InterGram post. His eyes lingered on the caption:

[TheLukeTam1]

"Still recovering from the best party of my life

[Thumbs-Up Emoji][Smug Emoji]

Shoutout to MVP Eathan!!

[Bottle Emoji][Bottle Emoji]"

Attached was a very professional, very cursed photo: Luke, grinning like a drunken fool, cheeks tomato-red from Asian flush, one arm slung dramatically over Eathan's stiff, mortified shoulders.

Meanwhile, Eathan's face was the epitome of please kill me now.

Expressionless, he dialled Luke. The line picked up on the first ring.

"Bro! You saw it? We looked fire, didn't we?"

"Fire the photographer. Immediately."

Luke cackled without an ounce of remorse. "Come on, man, memories! Anyway—" ding "—I sent you the full photo album. You're welcome."

Grimacing as if he were about to perform surgery without anesthesia, Eathan opened the link. A flood of blurry, chaotic party shots filled his screen—people crowd-surfing, someone trying to fistfight a decorative fern, Chewie calmly eating six cupcakes simultaneously. And then, tucked between all the madness—

A rare miracle.

A picture of Eathan himself, dazed but weirdly decent-looking, Good lighting. Jawline existing. Not dying inside.

He blinked at it.

Probably the best party photo ever taken of me, he thought dryly. Saved it immediately before the universe changed its mind.

The mood softened slightly, which, naturally—meant it was time for his brain to ruin it.

Right... I have RealmNet access now, don't I?

Both Taeril and Chewie were out on errands today, leaving COZMART empty except for a few floating receipts sorting themselves midair.

Perfect time to indulge in divine-grade internet degeneracy.

With the biggest shit-eating grin he'd worn in days, Eathan pulled up the [SYSTEM] overlay and accessed the app portal. The next second, RealmNet flashed on his interface with an innocent chime.

Bad ideas come wrapped in the best marketing, he thought, tapping it open.

Welcome banners flashed across the screen.

[WELCOME TO REALMNET!]

Notice: Mortal users must abide by non-interference laws under Section 7-C.

Another Notice: All karma infractions will be personally audited.

Eathan checked the "I Agree to Terms and Conditions" box without even opening the package. The moment he logged into his newly created account, a shimmer of blue light flooded his vision, and the mortal web browser he was used to shrivelled into irrelevance.

RealmNet didn't just feel bigger. It was bigger—a sprawling, multi-server behemoth where deities, spirit beasts, ancient bureaucrats, and occasional lucky mortals flung information around like chaotic toddlers with finger paint.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The interface was split neatly into different platforms:

First was FeatherScroll—the primary news-and-gossip hub. The platform was divided into one half government memos, the other half divine shitposting.

Right now, the trending top post was:

@AuditHater77:

"Which Council official would you most trust with you credit card?

[1] Captain Li (45%)

[2] Lady Foxfire (33%)

[3] Great Peng (22%)

#FinancialMenace

Then, there was SpiritTube, the official (and unofficial) livestream center. Eathan clicked into the homepage. Here, minor deities duelled each other for cloud parking spaces, water rights, or just for fun. Currently blowing up was:

[LIVE]: Two rain spirits throwing water balloons at each other over a stolen storm license.

2.6M Views | 234k Likes

The comment section was a glorious bloodbath of popcorn emojis.

Next was WishingPond—originally intended for serious matchmaking between realms, now better known for exposing date horror stories.

Top viral post:

@RunawayPhoenix:

"Went on a date with a Sea Dragon. Woke up and my apartment is now a marine sanctuary. HELP."

(Trending under #WorstFirstDates)

And last but not least, CloudBo, your handy anonymous rumor board. No accountability, maximum drama. Eathan's gaze lingered on the supposed "fresh leak".

[Anonymous Tip]:

"Commander Ao Bing seen ice-skating down the Council Chamber's main hall... after losing a chess bet to Lady Foxfire. Witnesses report he froze two clerks by accident. #SoreLoser"

Eathan's soul left his body for a second. He'd vaguely experienced the absurdity when Mister White had raided his CHN 104 class that one time, but the site wasn't just internet chaos. This was divine chaos, honed over millennia, served up daily in HD quality.

He sat there, slack-jawed, as the realization sank in. Although RealmNet had been theoretically built for serious matters like cross-realm administration, stabilizer node updates, and cosmic border patrols...

In practice, 80% of it was memes, prank wars, and high-level immortal beef.

And somehow, Li Wei had said it with a straight face:

"Technically a government platform."

He slumped over the counter in awe, ascertaining once more that immortals really were just oversized children with cosmic power. He scrolled for a bit longer until the inevitable thought struck:

What if I search for COZMART?

Curious, he typed the corner shop's name into the search bar, only to be immediately, flooded with hundreds of posts. Eathan blinked. Apparently, COZMART had its own small mythos among young immortals:

"Found it once. Got blessed with free ramen. Life's been uphill ever since."

"GhostStoreChallenge: Attempt #7. Still can't find it. Starting to think it's a scam."

"Heard that if you accidentally trip in front of COZMART, your entire debt gets karmically forgiven." (Unverified, obviously.)

Even among young spirit beasts and minor gods, #GhostStoreChallenge was trending, treated like an urban legend pilgrimage.

Eathan blinked. Was there some sort of barrier than hid COZMART from the rest of the realms? He looked up from his wristpad, his eyes sweeping the entire store. He stood up, strolled through the aisles, made his way outside, checked the corner shop's location pin on Moogle Maps, then made his way back in. After ensuring the corner shop wasn't just a metaphysical concept, Eathan leaned back in his chair, a weird swelling pride creeping up.

Mister White... really is kinda amazing.

He hesitated, then searched "Taeril White" directly.

Nothing.

Eathan clicked his tongue, having expected the null results. The white-haired man didn't seem like the type to be active on social media anyway. Yet unwilling to give in, he backtracked—hacked through Li Wei's "Following" list—and finally unearthed a barren, dry account:

Username: @TWhiteOfficial

Profile: A default grey photo

Bio: "Account registered for bureaucratic purposes. Please direct paperwork to Department of Oversight. Thanks."

Staring at the screen, Eathan found a single slow thought crossing his mind:

This is absolutely the divine equivalent of a dad refusing to download apps properly.

Just as he prepared to spiral further into existential amusement, his wristpad buzzed again—this time with an incoming call.

[Caller ID]: Li Wei - Mor(t)al Support Division (Unofficial)

Eathan tapped the "answer" icon cautiously, and Li Wei's voice came through, casual and abrupt: "Get ready. I'm picking you up."

Eathan sat up. "Wait, what? For what?"

"Training," Li Wei said flatly. "You're excused from COZMART today."

"Mister White didn't tell me anything about this," he demanded, alarm rising.

On the other end, he could practically hear the man shrug. "He's busy with... matters."

A pause.

"Probably trying not to murder someone before noon."

Eathan: "???"

***

Half an hour later, a sleek black flight-convertible—window-tinted darker than common sense—pulled up in front of COZMART.

Li Wei rolled the window down just enough for Eathan to see his dark sunglasses and dead-inside expression.

"Get in, intern. Training awaits."

Eathan hesitated for a grand total of two seconds before diving into the passenger seat. As the car pulled smoothly away from the curb, he couldn't help but glance around.

The ride was... absurdly nice. Leather seats. Holographic dash. A quiet hum that screamed I'm definitely not as broke as I claim.

"You always say you're broke," he said suspiciously, buckling in. "But you drive this?"

Li Wei adjusted his sunglasses with a sigh. "Priorities. Car first. Food later. Sleep never."

They sped through familiar streets for a bit—until Li Wei suddenly made a sharp turn into a side alley that Eathan was 90% sure didn't exist five minutes ago. The windows were tinted even darker as the car passed through tunnels he couldn't even remember turning into.

Around the third spiral ramp and sixth suspicious glimmer of reality distortion, Eathan gave up trying to track their route altogether.

"...Is this a kidnapping?"

"Security measure," Li Wei said. "Activated a ward spell for secrecy. You'll thank me later."

Eathan nodded solemnly, deciding that if he was going to die, at least it was in a fancy car.

Finally, they emerged in front of what looked like an utterly normal corporate high-rise—tinted windows, beige stone exterior, rows of oblivious office workers inside. Li Wei flashed a black card at the underground checkpoint.

The guards, armed with runic pistols and suits woven with subtle glyphs, saluted instantly and pressed a hidden switch. The walls shimmered, reality peeling back like film—and a hidden elevator shaft opened. Li Wei guided him inside without ceremony, and the elevator chimed softly as the doors closed behind them.

When they reopened, Eathan had stepped into an entirely different world.

A massive underground command floor stretched before him, buzzing with hyper-organized chaos. Agents in black-grey uniforms zipped between terminals, their screens alive with glowing rift diagnostics, node stabilization updates, and scrolling karma ledgers. Holographic graphs painted glowing constellations across the high walls.

"Good morning, Captain!"

"Commander Li!"

"Boss!"

"Sir, priority or backlog first?"

Everywhere they went, sharp salutes followed Li Wei like falling dominoes. Eathan straightened instinctively, feeling like he was accidentally tagging behind a one-man military parade.

...Damn. Captain Li's actually kinda badass.

For a second—just a second—he imagined himself under the command of a noble, stoic mortal hero.

Maybe working for Captain Li wouldn't be so bad after all—

The fantasy shattered the moment they turned into Li Wei's personal office.

Eathan stepped inside... and nearly tripped over a tower of unstable paperwork.

Stacks of talisman-rune files teetered like drunk skyscrapers, and broken magical devices sat smoking in the corners like abandoned pets. Sticky notes covered every inch of the walls: random formulas, sarcastic to-do lists, and crude doodles of what Eathan suspected were various audit officers drawn as pigs.

A single cracked whiteboard stood proudly at the back, with exactly two things written in massive, angry letters:

FIX RIFT

DON'T DIE

Eathan stared, hollow.

"...This is your office?"

Li Wei tossed his jacket onto a chair—which promptly snapped one leg and keeled over—and collapsed into the main seat like a war-weary soldier.

"Welcome to Area 003 Command Central," he deadpanned, waving vaguely at the chaos.

Eathan flopped into another chair, equally defeated, and blinked around. "Captain... is this really how you spend your days?"

Li Wei didn't even look up, scribbling incomprehensible notes onto a rumpled report. "Mornings: stabilize reality nodes. Afternoons: suppress unauthorized rifts. Evenings: pretend the pile of sabotage flags isn't multiplying like rabbits."

He peeled the seal off a questionable-looking thermos, sniffed once, and drank something that smelled strongly of acetone and coffee.

"Some call it 'cosmic administration.' I call it divine janitor work."

Eathan tilted his head, absorbing this betrayal of fantasy. "But... but everyone outside called you 'Commander,' like you're in charge! Shouldn't you have, like... a team? Assistants? Secretaries?"

Li Wei chuckled dryly, the sound bitter but strangely good-humoured. "Oh, I do. They're great. But ranks don't change reality." He tapped irritably on a battered holopad, a scowl forming on his face. "You think getting promoted means you escape the grunt work? Ha. Joke's on us. You just graduate to bigger disasters with flashier paperwork."

He gestured vaguely to the office's cracked whiteboard.

"Most of the so-called higher-ups don't touch frontline work anymore. But someone's gotta patch the cracks before the mortals notice something's wrong."

Eathan absorbed this in stunned silence. He thought of Li Wei—snarky, cynical, exhausted—and realized for the first time that beneath all the sarcasm and memes, this man was quietly, stubbornly holding the seams of reality together, one overtime shift at a time.

And somehow, the realization didn't make Eathan feel disillusioned.

It made him feel—absurdly—a little inspired.