COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

The staging platform thrummed beneath their feet—an anti-grav disc suspended above a death-slick expanse of glacial terrain.

Team 001 stood at the center of the disc, floating above the freshly reconfigured arena.

Three figures. One mountain. Several bad decisions away from catastrophe.

Below, the battlefield had become an abstract interpretation of someone's idea of "glacial aesthetics." Cliff ridges intersected with frost bridges in impossible angles, flickered in and out of visibility like AR projections. Mirror pools dotted the lower terrain, each one reflecting not the current field, but twisted variations of it. It was as if the mountain remembered every historical natural disaster and was replaying them on loop.

A pulse rolled across the arena as talismanic anchors recalibrated the battlefield for the upcoming standoff. Every ten minutes, the arena would rewrite itself again.

Eathan was politely hyperventilating.

He pressed a palm to his scarf, trying to look calm while spiralling into a full mental system crash. Cold air scalded his lungs. Somewhere below, a gong echoed, heavy and slow.

To his left, Esther rolled her wrist. Her pulse, judging by her posture, was a cool 48 BPM. To his right, Willow flexed her neck and cracked her knuckles. She looked like she was prepping for pre-combat yoga. The spiritual kind. With blades.

Standing between two apex predators, Eathan clutched his scarf, thinking:

Why me?

Why did the White Tiger pick me?

I work in a convenience store.

I once cried watching a washing machine ad.

Then—mid-spiral—his hand twitched. He raised it, halfway.

Across from them, on the opposite staging platform, Team 006 stood tall. Even from Eathan's near-sighted eyes, he could tell that at least two of them were multiple times his size. Their outfits were coordinated, forms suspiciously still against the roaring gust.

Eathan lowered his hand, hesitant.

Then, he forced himself to raise it again. This time, he looked up at the massive holographic broadcast floating above the arena in glitchy ultra-HD.

"Excuse me?" he called out, voice almost a squeak. "For… game rule clarity."

The arena hushed—an eerie quiet that made it all the way up to the commentators.

Yverie blinked down from her virtual perch, her teal curls shimmering. "Yes? You have a game mechanic question?"

"Y-yeah," Eathan said, voice too high. "Game One's node-core—it's identified through a spatially-anchored slip registration, right?"

There was a beat. Then Yverie brightened, clearly delighted someone was engaging the game rules mid-panic.

"Correct!" she said cheerfully. "All node-cores are linked through an exclusive spatial anchor, Ledger-sealed, and monitored in real time. Why do you ask?"

Eathan nodded solemnly. "No reason," he said. And shut his mouth.

From the far platform, Team 006 squinted at him.

Above them, Taeril stood on the Commanders' tier—arms folded, hair pinned back, aura silent. A faint, dangerous curve touched the corner of his mouth.

Without further ado, the transport glyphs activated, and Team 001 dropped. They landed mid-glacier, and the battle began instantly.

Eathan's boots hit ice and skidded, barely catching himself on a frost-sharpened ridge. His scarf whipped into his face, momentarily blinding him as he crouched to stabilise.

Around them, the arena stretched wide—fractal cliffs, mirror pools, and distant spirals of starlit bridges flickering at the edges of reality.

And in the center of their spawn platform—

A structure.

Team 001's node-core.

It sat in the middle of a crystalline pedestal—glimmering like a server rack lost in the snow. Sigil-etched pillars held up a floating disc, and embedded at the center was a faintly glowing slab of jade, pulsing with rhythm.

Eathan stepped forward, squinting at the markings.

Right there, near the edge of the core base, was a series of small glyphs arranged like a barcode. Not letters; not numerals. But what Yverie had described as an "exclusive spatial anchor."

His fingers twitched and, despite the coldness, a drop of sweat rolled down his temple.

He reached down and activated [Receipt Printer]. A low, smooth whir pulsed at his waist as the device spun up. The scanner chirped, then coughed politely.

1 Qi Tokens has been subtracted from your [PROFILE]! (110 → 109)

A slip of paper slid out, its surface glowing gold with layered hex-code seals in both mortal and divine registration formats.

Eathan stared at the slip, then at the arena overhead.

Nobody yelled at him. No divine sirens; no penalty. No screaming commentary drone accusing him of Qi Cheating.

His HUD pinged softly, as if in deliberate reassurance.

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATON

All [SYSTEM] functionality cleared for gameplay.

Eathan exhaled, so slowly it almost hurt.

"Oh thank gods," he whispered. "I didn't just commit metaphysical tax fraud."

He glanced discreetly at his [SYSTEM] stats interface:

He had deposited three hundred of his Qi Tokens into enhancing his [Primary Stats]—mostly [Agility]—before entering the arena. Didn't want to risk being blocked off by the Ledger once they were in the game. But from the looks of it, Qi Tokens were usable after all.

He suspected it was because their usage didn't fall under raw qi-casting, which the commentators had explicitly announced as forbidden. Instead, the Qi Tokens in his [SYSTEM] were more accurately categorized as currency.

That made the difference.

Eathan tucked the newly printed seal away into his sleeve and didn't say a word. Esther, nearby, gave him a casual, almost-amused glance—but not enough to draw suspicion. Willow adjusted her gloves and stepped to the edge of the spawn platform.

They had about thirty seconds to thoroughly gauge their surroundings. Both teams had landed. The first squad to make contact with the Divine Egg would gain not just momentum, but also offense opportunities, camera bias, and possible Yverie squealing privileges.

Eathan took one last breath—then froze.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He blinked.

A shimmer—not light, but direction—curved away from his boots, leading up a narrow ice path toward a jagged cliff.

He blinked again.

Passive Skill [Auspicious Aura (Lv. 2)] has been triggered!

Lucky drop—listen for the golden egg!

"…Oh?"

No one heard him. Because right then, Willow launched forward without warning. She zeroed in on one of the eggs hidden at the base of a narrow frost-bridge, sprinting across with all the grace of a siege ram.

"Mine!"

She caught the orb mid-slide, flipping onto one knee. She turned it over once in her hand, perking her ears for a certain system announcement. She clicked her tongue after hearing none.

"Fake," she muttered, and tucked it under her armour anyway.

Meanwhile, Esther had already darted in a different direction of a lower ridge. She moved like she was part of the glitch pattern itself—just enough momentum to avoid triggering terrain diagnostics, but not enough to flag any threat algorithms.

Eathan, still crouched beside the spawn core, watched them both with the dazed panic of a man left behind in a group project.

But the aura shimmered again, and it was leading him up an upward trail.

Eathan started climbing.

The frost under his gloves burned. The cliffside groaned occasionally—maybe fragments of previous Games, glitch residue etched into the stone. Halfway up, his foot slipped—but his fingers found a hold in the knotted bark, and he kept going.

If someone told him he'd be raw-dogging an iced cliff-side with nothing but his hands, he'd told them to go back to sleep. But now, with his [Primary Stats] averaging level forties, although with mixed feelings, he had to admit that his physiques were no longer considered within the scope of mortal expectations.

The air grew thinner. The frost buzzed with low-grade talismanic energy.

Eathan pressed on, breath coming sharp, faster than he wanted to admit.

Higher.

The shimmer intensified.

And then he saw it.

A gnarled tree, half-fused into the cliff face, its branches fossilized into ice. At its center, nestled in a hollow wound in the trunk of talismanic frost—

Was the egg.

Not just any egg.

The Egg.

Veined with gold. Humming faintly.

Eathan reached out and pulled.

The frost cracked under his fingers.

The egg was heavier than it looked, the hum vibrating through his forearms as if it were alive.

A notification flared across both the terrain and the outside arena:

[GAME SYSTEM UPDATE]

Divine Egg Discovered!

First contact: Team 001

He stared at the egg in his hands.

Then down at the arena.

Then back at the egg.

Then cursed internally.

"…Oh no," he whispered. "I have the plot device."

With slow, reluctant care, he cradled the egg like a baby—and scrambled back down the cliff, teeth clenched the entire way. When he landed (barely), Esther was waiting for him at the base, one eyebrow raised like she'd just watched him do interpretive dance on a timer.

Willow jogged over, brushing frost off her shoulder. "Is it real?"

Eathan held it out helplessly. Esther examined the shell. Her eyes narrowed. Then she gave the faintest nod.

"Clunk secured," she said.

"Great!" Eathan handed it over immediately.

Esther and Willow exchanged glances. The latter reached into her armour and passed one of the decoys to the former. Without a word, they swapped—Esther tucking the decoy into full view, making sure it glittered just enough to be seen from afar.

Willow took the other and slid it back into her chest plate.

Eathan, meanwhile, was left with his egg untouched.

"…Why me?" he whispered.

Willow clapped him on the shoulder, surprisingly gentle. "Because you're speedy."

"And expendable-looking," Esther added.

Eathan gaped. "That's not—!"

Willow: "You're less likely to be targeted."

Esther: "You radiate civilian energy."

"I hate this team," Eathan muttered, cradling the egg like a cursed artifact.

But it was too late. Their formation was set.

One real egg, two fakes, and three players racing against time.

The moment the arena confirmed Team 001 as first contact, the spectators instantly reacted. Yverie pressed her hands together, nearly knocking her mic off its levitation pin. "And we have confirmation! Team 001—yes, you heard that right—is starting as the carrier team!"

Brother Woo sipped his oolong tea. "The heavens do have a sense of humour."

[@CryoLornStan_44]: The mortal has the egg?

[@ChewOnThis108]: Ethan???

[@ChewOnThat99]: Eathan**, to correct the above comment

[@WenHeLooks]: Please protect him like the endangered species he is.

Across the frost-rippled arena, a sound thundered.

It belonged to Cragtooth, a member of Team 006.

Seven feet of nightmare-furred avalanche. His build was all brute: massive shoulders, back hunched, skin like frozen obsidian wrapped in fur. He roared again before charging forth. Fissures erupted beneath each step, opening a hairline crack that raced across the field, splitting half the glacial zone with nothing but his momentum.

Mid-sprint, Eathan's knees buckled as the ground rumbled beneath him.

He yelped. "Why is the earth making decisions for me—"

The crack raced toward their formation.

Willow moved.

She didn't flinch. Just stepped up, armour humming with node-reinforced plating. She turned just as Cragtooth slammed into her with enough force to qualify as a crime in five provinces.

However, the 5'6 woman didn't budge.

"Is that it?" she asked dryly, staring him down like an annoyed barista watching someone drop their drink.

RealmNet exploded.

[@BaiHuSimp]: Willow = new tank god confirmed.

[@LetThemFight.mp4]: She just absorbed him.

[@ImNotOnSpiritNet]: D-rank drip and S-rank defense holy sh—

But it wasn't over.

From the left, Mistbreaker emerged—tall, narrow, elegant in a way that felt surreal. With a pale blue armour and a matching shield in each hand, his movements were slower, but calculated nonetheless.

Mistbreaker raised both shields high, then brought them down on Willow's chest like a divine hammer.

The arena winced.

Willow exhaled through her nose. Then scoffed.

"Tickles."

Esther—already out of line of sight—reappeared behind Mistbreaker like a silent ghost.

No warning. No chant. Just one sharp, surgically precise drop kick.

Crack.

Mistbreaker's body launched into a frozen pond. Ice shattered on impact, shards spraying like confetti.

But just before he disappeared under the surface, he snagged her ankle.

"Esther!" Eathan gaped.

Both team members went under, the water roaring like a sealed node screaming. Ice closed over them.

At that exact second, the ten-minute terrain shift hit.

[TIME REMAINING]:

20:00

The mountain howled.

Geography folded.

Cliffs rotated like puzzle locks. Mountains inverted into each other. Bridges disintegrated mid-span, reforming upward into floating disks. A piece of the arena literally tossed itself into the rift storm below, causing a commentary pause while someone recalibrated the map.

"Uh—Team 001 is now officially scattered," Yverie said in a panicked tone. "I repeat, scattered!"

Brother Woo nodded. "The mountain teaches us that unity is fragile. So is your spine."

Esther disappeared beneath the water's new coordinates. Eathan and Willow—somehow—landed on the same spiralling frost shelf, barely reassembled from the last phase.

They regrouped. Then, a flicker. Something blurred into the mirrored pools.

Violet—the final member of Team 006.

Without warning, her body phased into mirrored terrain, slipping between reflections like a slippery slime. Every angle she passed through twisted—bending the light, reshaping echoes.

Eathan's [Calamity Radar] went off like an airhorn in his brain.

[Calamity Radar β]

Status: Auto-online

Warning! Hostility Extremely Confirmed!

He spun around just as something silver flickered in his peripheral vision, barely dodging a dagger swipe that cut through the air.

Eathan's life flashed before his eyes. He caught the briefest glimpse of the assassin before she blurred again, a shadow melting seamlessly into the mirrored terrain.

He gulped audibly. "Any chance we can talk this out over iced tea—?"

Another flash. Another dodge. Tea invitation apparently declined. Violet pursued, flipping off ice branches like a spirit-slaying parkour demon. Eathan yelped, scrambling up the nearest frost-bark tree as he bolted, adrenaline thundering through his veins.

Thank you [SYSTEM] thank you passive stats I'll never doubt you again—

He leaped from the ridge, grabbed a frost-bark tree limb, and swung upward into a frantic half-spin, landing in a crouch atop a mirrored platform suspended midair. The platform rocked dangerously under his weight.

"Please don't break, please don't break—" he begged, voice climbing several octaves.

Violet surged up behind him, her reflection splitting and multiplying in the surfaces.

Eathan sucked in a breath, then began the most graceless parkour run in RealmNet history.

Behind him, the purple assassin moved like living water. Her dagger swept arcs through ice reflections, each strike missing him only by the virtue of panicked sidesteps, poorly planned rolls, and frantic leaps that would make even spiritual acrobats reconsider their careers.

Indeed, the game had become a high-speed aerial tag scene, and the audience was thriving.

Up at the commentator's platform, Yverie leaned forward, jaws dropping. "Incredible display of improvisation! Eathan of Team 001 is—how do I put it?"

"Failing upward magnificently," Brother Woo finished.

On the big screen, commenters spammed egg-and-monkey emojis at near-light speed.

[@EggHunt69]: the mortal's got MOVES

[@WTFanclubOfficial]: Somebody please teach him a basic evasion charm!

[@ChewiesTanghulu]: you're telling me he can't even levitate?

Eathan vaulted a spinning bridge, nearly losing his footing as gravity gave up beneath him. His arms windmilled, his balance teetering on the edge of absolute disaster. Violet lunged from below—dagger glinting, eyes narrowed—forcing Eathan to scramble upward once more onto an ice ledge so thin it could've been sculpted by Quine Long to spite him.

Across the way, he caught a glimpse of Willow exchanging blows with Cragtooth, both of them silhouetted dramatically against shards of refracting ice. But Willow didn't look worried; she looked focused—as though smashing the living avalanche was nothing more inconvenient than swatting an overly aggressive fly.

"Willow, any assistance would be great!" Eathan yelled.

"Busy," the woman shouted back, deflecting another crushing strike from Cragtooth. "Try diplomacy!"

"What do you think I've been trying—" He ducked beneath Violet's dagger again, squeaking embarrassingly. "—it's not working!"

Another slash. Another near miss. Violet smiled faintly, slipping through reflections with an elegance that infuriated Eathan beyond reason. This was personal now: he didn't appreciate being hunted by someone who clearly practiced professional parkour.

[TIME REMAINING]:

10:00

Before they knew it, the ten-minute mark hit with a seismic chime.

The arena shuddered violently, and for the second time, reality rearranged itself. Cliff spirals rotated as bridges flipped, rearranging themselves mid-span.

Caught mid-leap, Eathan felt gravity betray him once more. He floated, flailed, and crashed painfully onto a freshly repositioned ice shelf.

[HP] has been decreased by 14%! (99% → 85%)

Before he could breathe, another calamity arrived:

Cragtooth—respawned and annoyed—careened across a mirrored spiral. He slipped with a roar of disbelief, then barrelled straight into Eathan's flight trajectory like a freight train.

They collided spectacularly.

[HP] has been decreased by 20%! (85% → 65%)

Eathan let out a shriek as they went down together, hitting ice hard enough to jar loose fillings. The Divine Egg flew upward, sparkling and unguarded as it arced through the air.

For a heartbeat, everything slowed—

Violet materialised mid-spin. With a perfect flip, she plucked the egg from the air—and ran.

Straight toward Team 001's node.

Eathan lay on the ground, cheek pressed to the ice.

"NOOOOO—!"

Despair washed through him—until Willow emerged nearby from an ice slab, eyes narrowed. In her gauntlet, the decoy egg—having been stuffed with powder at some point—appeared with inexplicable, strategic absurdity.

"Catch this," she deadpanned, and hurled it directly into Violet's face.

Back at the commentator's stage, Yverie cheered. "Creativity at its finest!"

"A masterful tactical choice," Brother Woo commented in approval. "Although—when did she even stuff that decoy?"

Violet stumbled backward, momentarily blinded by a cloud of glittering powder. The Divine Egg juggled in midair—and Eathan, fuelled entirely by desperation and a powerful unwillingness to lose more dignity, lunged forward, snatching it inches before impact.

He scrambled upright. Then bolted, screaming at decibels that risked breaking metaphysical noise ordinances:

"SOMEONE TANK PLEASE—!"

In front, Mistbreaker emerged from an icy crater. Cragtooth staggered upright, snorting frost. Behind, Violet regained her composure and accelerated after him.

Willow was coming—slowly, methodically—but with that confident, strategic slowness that whispered, "This was planned."

But there was one critical piece still missing:

Esther. Nowhere in sight.

Which, Eathan realized with mounting dread, meant either she was absolutely planning something horrific or something had gone horrifically wrong.

He sprinted toward whatever might pass as safety, the Divine Egg clutched to his chest, thinking numbly:

This is officially the worst internship ever.