COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

By the 2040s, the world had gotten used to strange things.

Paranormal glitches—brief warps in space, phantom subway cars, doppelgänger mirages—had surged in the last decade, often chalked up to tech interference. With smart architecture integrating 3D-projected AR layers and household robots running open-source consciousness libraries, "glitching reality" was just another item on the tech support list.

"It's the lithium fields," someone would say. Or, "Probably a geo-sync error. Happens with newer smart lenses."

Conspiracy micro-sects bloomed like mold in humid forums. It was trendy, now, for younger people to check "spirit static" apps before moving apartments or deciding what café to study in. One popular app even rated local hangout spots by how much spiritual static they had, like an EMF fengshui meter for vibes.

In this mildly warped reality, the average person had long stopped questioning things that didn't make sense. Sure, everyone had their own pet theory, but no one thought the world was breaking.

So when a glowing blue interface began hovering in front of Eathan Lin's face, he stared for a long time. He sat slumped by the curb, blinking at the insistently present screen.

Somewhere nearby, a cyclist rang their electric bell in annoyance. The granny, after releasing an intense one-sided roast session towards him, had gotten up and left a long time ago.

Life around him continued as if the universe hadn't just slipped off its hinges.

Eathan blinked. Once. Twice.

And then he laughed, too loud and too alone.

Because even in a world full of glitches, pop-ups like this weren't supposed to happen.

Not like this.

He shook himself roughly, hauling his backpack higher. Lying on the street gawking at imaginary holograms wasn't a great survival plan.

The screen moved with him as he walked—almost mockingly patient—following just outside his direct line of sight, as if respecting some unspoken courtesy zone.

Alright. Cool. Normal. Totally fine.

As he weaved through the dense evening crowds, Eathan opened the translucent panel properly. The interface unfolded smoothly, projected neatly across his vision like a video game HUD.

At the top, embossed in faint silver characters:

[HeavenOS v0.4 · 11-Qβ]

Beneath it, a cluster of data bars blinked into view:

He flicked the panel upward, expecting to see a good old-fashioned [Defense] line. Nothing.

He scrolled again. Still nothing.

"Hello?" Eathan muttered into thin air, prompting a passing auntie to give him the side-eye. "Did somebody forget to ship the armour stat in this patch?"

The HUD stayed stubbornly blank—no shields, no toughness, no anything between his squishy mortal frame and the next eldritch curb-stomp. A cold knot formed in his gut.

"Great," he whispered. "The [SYSTEM] wants me to cosplay a glass cannon."

The list continued, oblivious to his panic:

On the right of his [PROFILE] was a tab for what the [SYSTEM] called "quests." His gaze steered to the right, and the tab pulled out by itself:

[TUTORIAL]:

Initialize [SYSTEM] Reboot (Completed)

[MAIN QUEST]:

Collect the Shattered Fragments (Ongoing)

[SIDE QUESTS]:

Complete Beginner Tasks (Ongoing)

Eathan squinted at it all, feeling weirdly like he was reading a particularly aggressive midterm syllabus. He had to internally confirm, for the third time, that he did not wear his AR lenses today.

Qi Tokens… Karma… What in the world were [Integrity] and [Humanity] percentages?

And why was his [Luck] literally broken?

Not to mention, "passive anomalies" and the fact that he was apparently brittle by design?

Eathan had no idea where to even start.

Attempting to stave off the incoming migraine, he pressed on down the sidewalk. The shortcut led him deeper into the older end of town, lights here seemingly flickering less from voltage and more from spiritual interference.

And then he saw it.

COZMART.

Nestled between a nail salon that hadn't updated its posters since 2027 and a boarded-up laundromat, the corner shop looked like it had been left behind by time, and possibly by zoning laws.

Most convenience stores by now were self-checkout, security-drone monitored, and employee-optional. You ordered on your wristpad, grabbed your stuff, and left. No cashier needed. No human interaction required.

But COZMART?

Aside from being the home of expired sodas, bulk ramen, and exactly zero consistent customers, COZMART clung to the traditional model like cigarette ashes on cardigan. The counter was still manned. The bell above the door still chimed. Cash—actual, physical cash—was still accepted.

And yet, somehow, despite all odds... it endured.

Why? Eathan had no idea.

But he wasn't complaining. A part-time job was a part-time job, as long as it paid.

Taking in a silent breath, he pulled open the door.

A small overhead bell chimed at the action, sharp and almost musical. Inside, COZMART smelled like old pine cleaner and slightly burnt microwave popcorn. The overhead fluorescents buzzed with passive aggression. The shelves were crammed with an eclectic mix of snacks, incense sticks, retro toys, and possibly cursed energy drinks that hadn't been approved since the early 2030s.

Behind the worn counter, casually leaning back on a stool, sat Mister Taeril White.

The man looked up as the bell rang. He always did—a habit so natural it seemed almost wired into his spine.

Tonight, he wore a light beige dress shirt open at the collar over a fitted black turtleneck, paired with loose, tailored slacks in a matching tone. There was a timeless casualness about him, as if he should be managing an indie café in an upscaled Kyoto alley, not running a dusty corner shop off an unstable leyline.

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It struck Eathan again—subtly—the man had barely changed at all in the past fifteen years.

Aside from the occasional hairstyle rotations—messy half-bun during summer, cropped curls during winter—he looked exactly the same as he did when Eathan first met him on that rainy day: lean, effortless, strange in a way that the mind could never quite pin down.

Some people would've been unsettled by it—the way he seemed to exist slightly out of sync with the rest of the world.

But Eathan no longer found it strange.

He'd long since stopped trying to fit Mister White into a category. These days, even if someone appeared a little out of the norm, people didn't ask questions. They just assumed it was either gene therapy, ancestral luck, or another glitch in the world's increasingly flexible physics.

Some people glowed on camera. Some people could never be tagged by face recognition. Some people just… aged sideways.

And if Mister White also happened to chain-smoke like a chimney, survive off coffee and expired bread, but still get to look forever twenty-nine, well... he was just another oddity in a city full of weirdness people didn't have time to process.

"…"

In 2044, you learned to nod at the unexplained and keep walking.

Mister White had always existed just slightly outside the normal rules—like a beautiful, caffeine-fuelled natural disaster quietly running a corner store.

Taeril White lifted a hand in greeting, lips curving into a familiar, lazy grin.

"Evening, Eathan. You look like you saw a ghost."

Eathan, who still had the [SYSTEM] pulsing faintly in his peripheral vision, gave a nervous laugh.

"Long day," he said, setting his backpack down with a heavy thud. "Class. Homework. You know. The usual."

Taeril nodded, pulling a crumpled receipt from his pocket and absently smoothing it out on the counter. His movements were relaxed, yet oddly deliberate—as if even in rest he measured every breath. His hands wrapped around a matte coffee mug, bringing it to his lips.

"You're tough. Bet most college kids would've quit by now."

"Maybe I'm just stubborn," Eathan said, allowing a small smile.

The easy banter was familiar. Comfortable.

He had known Mister White since he was five—since the night of the accident, when the strange man had walked through the rain and offered his hand.

Eathan had never really asked why. He supposed some debts were better left sacred and quiet.

They chatted a little longer about small things, like how his classes were going, or whether Luke was still dragging him into car shows.

Mister White asked if Emily had finally noticed he existed yet (she hadn't).

Eathan answered the questions one by one, but through it all, he couldn't help but kept glancing sideways at the [SYSTEM] panel. If Mister White sensed anything irregular, he gave no sign. Either he couldn't perceive the interface like everyone else—or he was far better at pretending than Eathan gave him credit for.

He decided on the former.

Around ten o'clock, Mister White stretched lazily and stood up. Downing his third (at least) cup of coffee he'd had since speaking with Eathan, he tossed his car keys into his palm with an idle spin.

"Gotta pick up the gremlin from equestrian class," he said casually.

"Equestrian class?" Eathan blinked. "Isn't she, like, eleven?"

Taeril gave a helpless shrug, as if admitting that he, too, didn't fully understand how his daughter managed to talk him into these things.

"You want her running unsupervised at a shooting range instead?"

Eathan wisely chose silence. Sometimes, and rightfully so, he couldn't help but be apprehensive as to how his corner-shop boss managed to secure fundings to enrol his daughter in all these types of crazy extracurriculars.

With a final ruffle of Eathan's hair—a move that felt far too casual for the man's otherwise precise manner—Taeril headed for the door. The bell chimed again, the door swinging shut behind him. Eathan leaned back, his spine hitting the scratchy wall as he wheezed out a long sigh.

COZMART was his.

For now.

And, apparently, so was whatever cosmic bug in the system had decided to attach itself to him.

Eathan rubbed his face, dropping onto the creaky stool behind the counter. He pulled the [SYSTEM] menu open again. Somehow, absurdly, two new prompts were flashing:

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION

[Side Quest (new!)]

Beginner Task #1

▸ Restock shelves (0/5 items)

Reward: +50 Karma, +5 Qi Tokens

[Side Quest (new!)]

Beginner Task #2

▸ Clean front counter (Progress 0%)

Reward: +50 Karma, +5 Qi Tokens

Well. Better than being flattened by cars, I guess.

Resigning himself to absurdity, he stood, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

The quests were simple acts he would do even without the command. The [SYSTEM] pinged softly as Eathan wiped down the sticky front counter from top to bottom, not forgetting to get to the crevices as well.

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION

You have completed [Side Quest]:

Beginner Task #2

You have been rewarded: +50 Karma, +5 Qi Tokens

He stared at the blinking notification, feeling like he had just beaten the tutorial level of the weirdest RPG imaginable. He then placed five types of newly released potato chip flavours into the first, second, and fourth shelves.

You have completed [Side Quest]:

Beginner Task #1

You have been rewarded: +50 Karma, +5 Qi Tokens

Almost immediately, another prompt slid into view.

[Side Quest (new!)]

Beginner Task #3

▸ Organize the snack aisle by colour scheme! (Progress: 0%)

Reward: +50 Karma, +5 Qi Tokens

"...Are you serious," Eathan muttered under his breath.

But honestly, he wasn't about to argue. Organizing chips by colour was significantly preferable to fighting whatever existential horror he half-expected from the floating interface. He tucked the rag back under the counter and made his way toward the snack aisle, which smelled faintly of processed sugar and plastic wrap.

"…"

Eathan found himself sorting neon-orange chip bags from blue corn snacks, stacking everything into a loose rainbow. The action was strangely satisfying, but also quite absurd, given the situation he was in.

Halfway through aligning a precarious tower of Doritos, the front door creaked open.

The little brass bell above the entrance gave a half-hearted chime, immediately followed by a cold gust rolling into the shop. The chilliness snaked around Eathan's ankles, rustling the dusty magazines on the rack by the door.

Eathan poked his head out from behind the display.

A customer.

A tall, broad-shouldered customer, clad in a black hoodie drawn tight over a baseball cap. Long, raven-dark hair spilled down past his shoulders, reaching nearly to his waist. It gleamed faintly under the fluorescents, sleek as polished ink.

Eathan's first thought—admittedly, ridiculous—was that the guy was some kind of cosplayer.

Or maybe a runaway celebrity trying to dodge paparazzi.

In any normal reality, he would've snapped a stealthy photo and uploaded it to his story, maybe tagging it with something clickbaity like #mysteriousidol?, hoping Emily Lutin would reply.

Tonight, though, his mind was too preoccupied with the glowing blue interface still faintly hovering at the edge of his vision.

Besides, COZMART had an unspoken rule: Never question the customers. Especially the seemingly odd ones.

It was against their diversity policy.

Eathan watched from the corner of his eye as the man headed straight for the counter, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and placed it on the counter without a word.

Silent.

Efficient.

Honestly, par for the course for late-night shifts.

Eathan wiped his palms on his jeans, scanned the item, and chirped the total. The man dropped exact physical change onto the counter—coins clinking softly against the register tray—and exited without a backward glance. The bell chimed again, and a gust of cooler air swept through the shop as the door swung shut.

Then silence.

"…"

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION:

You have completed [Side Quest]:

Beginner Task #3

You have been rewarded: +50 Karma, +5 Qi Tokens

With the completion of the final beginner's task, [SYSTEM] blinked contentedly, with no signs of offering Eathan new side quests. For the first time that night, the screen simply hovered, quietly observing, waiting.

Eathan allowed himself to sag against the counter, letting the faint electronic buzz of the overhead lights fill the void.

Maybe... this wasn't so bad.

Weird? Sure.

Potentially the beginning of some bizarre psychotic break? Possibly.

But right now, it felt almost... manageable, like life had finally thrown him a curveball he could actually hit. Eathan nodded to himself in satisfaction.

And so, the rest of his shift passed without incident.

The clock ticked over to midnight, then one, then two. When Taeril returned near three in the morning, with Chewie in tow (half-asleep, scowling, and clutching a bag of hay-scented riding boots), Eathan waved goodnight, clocked out, and trudged home under the blinking streetlights.

***

THE NEXT DAY. 12 HOURS BEFORE COZMART'S EXPLOSION.

Campus buzzed with the usual weekday chaos.

Smartboards flickered live class notes, magnetic skateboards hissed past with bad playlist choices, and someone near the AR fountain was playing screen guitar so poorly the audio modulator kept auto-correcting the chords.

Eathan stifled a yawn, adjusting his backpack as he merged into the current of students. Luke Tam materialized beside him, dressed like an off-duty influencer and looking far too smug for someone not powered by caffeine.

"Damn, man," Luke said, giving him a sideways glance. "You never sleep?"

Eathan shrugged.

"I get by."

Luke shook his head, incredulous.

"Dude, you missed out last night. Total rager. The place was packed. Some guests from the underground scene did a live-loop set—it almost glitched the whole sound field. Felt like my spleen was vibrating. I also got some girl's number and said I would hit her up with you—"

"Shhh," Eathan hissed, elbowing him. "What if Emily hears?"

Luke rolled his eyes.

"You're hopeless."

Eathan grinned unrepentantly.

They were passing the outdoor basketball courts when someone misaimed a pass.

The ball—moving far faster than it should have—arced toward them. At that range, even an athlete would have flinched too late.

Instinct moved Eathan before thought caught up. His hand snapped out, intercepting the ball mid-air with a sharp smack that stung down his wrist.

He blinked, stunned.

Across from him, Luke gaped openly.

"Dude," he said, voice half-accusation, half-awe. "Since when were you, like... Neo?"

Eathan just gave a sheepish shrug, tossing the ball back toward the court. The player shouted an apology, jogging away.

Inside, though, Eathan was marvelling.

The reaction time, the strength—none of those were natural. His reflexes weren't bad before, sure—but they weren't superhuman either.

Last night…

He remembered wiping down the coffee machine.

Restocking shelves.

Cleaning, sweeping, organizing.

And then, idly, dumping every single Qi Token he had earned (except one) into [Agility] and [Intelligence].

The [SYSTEM] pulsed faintly in his mind:

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION

14 Qi Tokens have been subtracted from your [PROFILE]! (15 → 1)

[Primary Attributes Updated!]

[Agility]: Lv. 1 → Lv. 2

[Intelligence]: Lv. 1 → Lv. 2

Host [Level]: Lv. 1 → Lv. 2

[Side Quest (new!)]

Helping Hand

▸ Perform a good deed for someone in need (Progress: 1/3)

Reward: Provided upon full completion of Side Quest.

The [SYSTEM] pulsed faintly in the back of his mind now, like a battery icon he hadn't fully acknowledged yet. Eathan tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket, heart thudding with a strange mixture of excitement and disbelief.

He still wasn't sure what it was, where it came from, or why it picked him. But as his pulse calmed and his hand stopped tingling, Eathan realized something:

Whatever the hell this [SYSTEM] was…

It was very, very real.