COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

"Ouch."

Eathan flinched as the Platinum Paladin administered the gooey substance into his arm. It slid under his skin like a cold thread, followed by a square of healing paper slapped neatly over the puncture. The seal warmed, runes pulsing once, and the Paladin had already flicked the empty vial into a disposal glyph and moved on.

"We all have to take this?" Eathan asked, watching the talisman glow.

"Standard recovery protocol," the Paladin said without looking up. "Remain still until integration stabilizes."

The cadence was crisp, memorized—every syllable the exact length required by a manual. The visor mirrored Eathan's face back at him as if he were an entry in a ledger rather than a person. Platinum Paladins had a reputation: Heaven-grade tools, excellent posture, and a devotion to statute that could sand a mountain smooth.

Before Eathan could respond, the Paladin had already turned away, moving to another patient without a backward glance. Eathan flexed his fingers experimentally, the feeling of his own body oddly foreign.

Chewie sat up on the next cot, an IV line taped to her narrow wrist. She stared at it with the withering expression of a war god forced to admire a sticker. "I feel like a lab rat."

"You'd be adorable as one," Finn groaned from the other side, lifting his head just enough to check whether the room still existed. "Tiny whiskers. Little sword."

"Out," Willow said. She scanned them, counting bruises and bandages with a field medic's eye. Seeing Eathan's pupils react properly, she gave the slightest nod. "We're the last. Others cleared out while you were practicing your impression of a scarecrow."

Eathan flexed his hand again. The serum left a metallic aftertaste at the back of his tongue and a cool eddy behind his sternum. "Feels… weird."

"That's the point," a second Paladin said, already at the next bed. "Stabilization reduces cross-realm resonance spikes post-Game. Compliance is mandatory." The phrasing was polite, the warning embedded like a blade in silk.

Cloud-Jade officers never forgot chain-of-custody—even for patients.

They rose gingerly. The arena beyond the partition was stripped to echoes: rows of chrome cots standing like disciplined ghosts, med-drones coiling their lines, the Transfer Gates shimmering as cleanly as polished bones. The usual roar of RealmNet commentary had been replaced by a blank hush.

Aside from the other teams and commanders that had already left, something still felt off.

"Hold on, where's Quine Long?" he asked suddenly, the memory of teal robes and lazy smiles oddly vivid.

"Not here. Probably left ahead of us," Willow said, though her voice carried no real certainty.

"Probably brewing tea on a thundercloud."

"Typical dragon arrogance," Chewie muttered.

At the exit, a pair of Paladins sealed an admin crate with a touch of qi and turned as Team 001 approached.

"Excuse me," Eathan said. He forced his voice steady. "About Commander Bai Hu—what exactly is your investigation process? How will we be updated?"

The nearest Paladin turned, face impassive beneath the polished helmet. "The matter is under strict investigation. Methods and findings remain confidential."

"That's it?" Finn said, blinking. "Our commander is missing, and you tell us to wait like good little pup—"

"Agents," Willow cut in dryly, but her eyes had sharpened. The Paladins were not hostile; they were precise. And precision had a way of feeling like a lock.

"We deserve to know," Eathan urged. "He risked himself to—"

"Eathan," Chewie interrupted him. "Let's go. We can choke on their rules later."

"Commander Bai Hu's circumstances involve classified protocols," the Paladin interrupted crisply, a detached politeness at most. "You will be informed of developments when permissible. Until then, maintain discipline and avoid creating further instability in Area 001."

Without another word, the Platinum Paladins turned, vanishing down the corridor.

"Real helpful bunch." Finn folded his arms.

A short moment later, they approached the Transfer Gate, stepping into its glowing field. As they emerged back into the familiar scene of Area 001 HQ, they were hit with an unsettling silence, a stark contrast to the usual banter and liveliness that typically marked their returns.

The doors were wide open, leading into an obsidian lobby. It was not the comforting silence of routine or contemplation. It was a stark silence that was impossible to ignore.

The absence of the White Tiger hung in the air—not merely a physical vacancy, but an emptiness that seeped into every corner, every breath.

As they moved through the grand lobby, staff looked up and froze mid-motion, eyes ricocheting from Team 001 to the empty space behind them where a commander should have been. Naturally, they've been keeping up with the RealmNet and SpiritTube live streams. The words that hadn't been spoken on RealmNet poured in through their faces instead: Is he—

Footsteps chipped across polished stone.

"Eathan—Team 001!" Xenis Yan reached them in a hurry: robes slightly crooked from running, ribbon-inked hems flashing, spectacles already halfway down his nose. Relief swept his features so fast it tripped on itself. "Thank the heavens, you're back. You will not believe the chaos since—"

Eathan's mouth twitched into a tired smile. "Hi, Xenis." He lifted a hand—then the floor tilted.

The serum's cool eddy suddenly ran cold, unfurling into a low thunder under his ribs. He caught a handful of air and found it insufficient. Xenis blurred; the lobby narrowed to the shape of Eathan's own pulse.

"Oh," Eathan said conversationally, as if he'd misplaced a receipt. "Side effe—"

He folded. Xenis lunged, and the world cut to black.

***

By the time Eathan woke up, it was already the following morning. He blinked, forcibly adjusting to the sunlight filtering through the familiar curtains of his living quarters.

For a moment, the quiet felt ordinary. Then the quiet remembered what it was.

"Great timing," he muttered, touching the seal at his arm. "Side effects, you dramatic cowards."

He sat up, fingertips grazing the back of his neck as he silently evaluated his current state. His body felt clear, almost too clear. Other than a faint headache that pulsed, he felt startlingly refreshed otherwise. Whatever concoction the Platinum Paladins had injected him with had evidently worked, despite the lingering unease about their silent methodology.

Eathan glanced at his interface. He blinked, and HeavenOS danced into place:

[Humanity]: 50%

The number stared back, a coin on its edge. He exhaled, long and thin, then shoved the sheet aside and stood.

The hallway's tension pricked like static. Staff moved quickly and with purpose, speaking in fragments, their eyes over- and under-bright. Somewhere a monitor chirped; somewhere else, someone swore softly they'd recheck a node map for the fourth time. Protocol Dormancy had a sound: pens carving straight lines across plans. He stepped into it.

Eathan watched as more staff hurried past, expressions tight and whispers barely audible. Before he could ask, Meng Yao appeared from the hall's end.

"Eathan," she said. Her poise had not cracked; it had been honed into something you could slice paper with. "Briefing Room Three. Now."

Minutes later, he slid into his usual seat in a room pulled taut like a bowstring. The old Strike Team Z was here—Willow, Finn, Chewie—along with senior officers clustered around a table buried under holopads and coffee mugs. Xenis had changed into a fresh robe and looked as if he'd written three reports while Eathan slept and apologized for each footnote.

Meng Yao stood at its head, hands braced against the tabletop. She wasted no time with preamble.

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"Effective immediately, we activate Protocol Dormancy." She braced gloved hands on the table, gaze passing over them one by one. "All politically sensitive and inter-area cooperative operations are suspended. Maintain core duties only. We'll keep node maintenance, civilian protections, and registry compliance at exemplary standards. Anything that risks audit entanglements waits."

The senior staff exchanged uneasy looks, morale visibly sinking.

Finn sank into his chair. "So… no more field trips across the ocean for the annual Marmot Hunt?"

"Correct," Meng Yao said.

"Tragic," Willow murmured.

"Until Commander White's situation stabilizes," Meng Yao continued, "I will assume interim administrative leadership. Paperwork, budget, Council messaging, staff rotations—run it all through my office. We remain clean, we remain visible, and we do not give anyone an excuse to 'help' us." The last word was boiled down to its bureaucratic bones.

Chewie folded her arms, eyes half-lidded with thought. "Containment and optics. Reasonable."

Xenis gave a soft laugh that sounded like it wished it were braver. "We thought we'd finally breathe, with the commander back," he said. "Now we're… more exposed than ever."

"That," Meng Yao said, "is why we will not blink."

She tapped the nearest map; the tiny lights of Area 001's anchor sectors glowed like constellations.

"Hold the lines. Watch the numbers. If anyone tries to leverage our dormancy to poke holes in our walls, we will present receipts—literal and otherwise."

Finn raised a hand weakly. "If this is the part where you ask for volunteers, I would like to volunteer Willow."

Willow didn't look up. "I accept on his behalf."

"Me too," Eathan added.

No one posed questions. They didn't need to. The Paladins could follow their manuals, and the Council could posture; Area 001 would do the work that mattered—quietly, relentlessly, and on record.

Rules were one thing. Resolve was another. And Team 001 had always been better at the second.

***

It didn't take long for Meng Yao's warning to prove prophetic.

Within mere hours, Area 001's reception hall transformed into a political battlefield. Delegations from various realms flowed steadily through the headquarters' main doors. Each envoy adorned with pristine robes or armour, expressions perfectly crafted into masks of polite concern.

Meng Yao stood at the forefront, the embodiment of diplomatic efficiency wrapped in ice.

Eathan lingered by the wall, arms folded, watching as a vixen-spirit ambassador from Area 008 slipped through the entrance. She inclined her head, golden eyes glittering.

"Truly, Meng Yao, our queen sends her deepest condolences. The Nine-Tail Court is most eager to support Area 001's... stabilization efforts during this regrettable period."

"Your generosity is appreciated, Lady Mei," Meng Yao replied. "But our internal operations remain fully functional. Rest assured, stability is firmly maintained."

The vixen ambassador smiled. "Of course. But remember, the Court stands ready, should you find yourselves requiring…assistance."

"We'll be certain to keep your generous offer in mind."

Observing from the sidelines, Eathan felt a creeping unease as he watched the delegates' veiled maneuvering. Behind each exchange lay carefully concealed agendas, barely disguised beneath layers of diplomatic veneer.

Xenis, standing nearby, adjusting his round spectacles. "These vultures… Not even bothering to hide it, are they?"

"No," Runan said, arms crossed. "But Meng Yao can handle them."

Their optimism barely even lasted a full minute as the doors swung open.

A flamboyant procession from Great Peng swaggered into the hall, their golden-feathered cloaks shimmering under the office lights. Their leader, a SpiritTube celebrity named Zhan Yu, swept forward, his eyes already scanning the room as if measuring angles for the best camera shots.

"Friends, Area 001!" Zhan Yu proclaimed. "Great Peng sends you strength and solidarity during your time of—unfortunate instability. Let us assist in managing the spiritual turbulence! Imagine the resonance on SpiritTube—the unity of two great areas!"

"Your concern is admirable, Lord Zhan." Meng Yao smiled. "But Area 001 has no need for external aid."

"Nonsense! Think of the public reassurance!" Zhan Yu continued, ignoring the frosty undertone. "Your citizens must see cooperation and harmony—!"

Meng Yao's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. Before she could respond, a familiar voice shattered the silence from behind her.

"Enough." Chewie brushing past her, crimson eyes blazing. "They'll see plenty, starting with your feathers flying out our doors. And tell Great Peng that Area 001 doesn't need reality shows or influencer antics to manage our affairs."

The delegates recoiled, masks of cordiality slipping as surprise and irritation surfaced. "We merely intended—"

"To gain views and clout at our expense," Chewie finished. "You're done here."

Zhan Yu sputtered, feathers ruffled literally and figuratively, but the eleven-year-old's gaze offered no quarter. With a final, flustered flourish, the missionaries departed, their robes rustling indignantly out the door.

Yeeko, arms crossed, coughed once. "Typical scavengers."

Meng Yao offered the team a subtle nod, approval clear in her eyes, but said nothing further. The tension among the gathered staff, however, was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm yet to break.

"But I suppose we're still somewhat lucky." Xenis released a shaky breath, adjusting his spectacles for the ninth time in the past minute. "At least this isn't the first time our commander disappeared under concerning circumstances."

"Yeah—did they seriously imply we're helpless without Commander White?" Finn said. "He's been absent for fifteen years. What makes them think Area 001 will fall this time?"

"And even before that, too," Willow added. "Remember when Commander White vanished for three weeks and we found out he'd just decided to personally reprimand some celestial bureaucrats?"

Runan shook her head. "At least last time he left a memo. 'Gone reprimanding immortals. Back soon.' Hard to misunderstand."

A ripple of laughter ran through the group, humour dark and edged, but a much-needed relief from the tension.

Eathan's wristpad vibrated suddenly. A new notification flashed across the screen:

You've been invited to join the group chat:

"Team 001 Crisis Hotline (Missing Tiger Edition)"

Eathan raised an eyebrow, accepting quickly. Willow, Finn, and Chewie were already active, messages flowing rapidly in succession.

[NOTFINN]: Hey, guys. Officially opening our support group. Everyone still alive?

Eathan typed back, his fingers heavy yet eager for the comforting banter.

[EATHAN-LIN]: Barely...

[WILLOW]: Spare me. The bugs floating around Area 001 are really testing my patience.

[CHEWQUICC]: Diplomacy through fist to face is allowed yet?

[NOTFINN]: Encouraged, actually. Might go viral. Any news on the Azure Drama King? Could really use the distraction right now.

[WILLOW]: Anyone actually have his number? Serious question.

[CHEWQUICC]: No.

[NOTFINN]: Nope.

[EATHAN-LIN]: He called me once, but it was via COZMART's landline.

[WILLOW]: …

A brief pause, as if each person digested that realization, followed by Willow's message.

[WILLOW]: On another note, RealmNet is blowing up again. Split between premature mourning for Commander White and spreading conspiracy theories. Some folks think it's a political assassination by other Guardians.

[EATHAN-LIN]: Great. Just what we needed. Anyone heard anything from the Platinum Paladins?

[WILLOW]: Silence. They said to "stay calm and wait." Bureaucracy at its finest.

[NOTFINN]: Funny. Especially when our entire Area's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

[CHEWSQUICC]: Without Bai Hu's core fracture, we'd be having this chat in the afterlife.

[EATHAN-LIN]: Chewie's right… Guess we're lucky to still have the privilege of panic attacks.

[WILLOW]: Silver-linings, huh.

A brief pause stretched through their digital conversation.

[EATHAN-LIN]: On the bright side, no delegates dead yet. Small victories?

[CHEWSQUICC]: Day's not over yet.

[EATHAN-LIN]: …

Eathan sighed, finding faint solace in the trauma bonding. Despite the digital banter, the weight of Bai Hu's sacrifice settled deeper with each passing second, mingled with the collective anxiety about Area 001's future.

His attention drifted toward the ongoing RealmNet feed on his wristpad, coiling tighter with each scrolling comment:

[@CelestialWatcher]: Is Bai Hu actually gone? Area 001's vulnerable now…

[@SpiritTubeAddict]: Great Peng just got kicked out of Area 001's lobby on livestream! Drama's real!

[@GuardianFanatic]: Anyone else think this feels planned? Two Guardians in crisis at once seems too convenient.

He stared at the speculations for another second, then closed the site altogether.

***

Two days slid past in a blur, each hour an effort to reassemble normalcy.

Eathan moved through Area 001 HQ mechanically—patching minor rifts alongside Willow, helping Meng Yao reorganize stacks of incident reports that piled high in the command centre, and checking his wristpad obsessively. The device stayed silent, no updates from the Platinum Paladins, no reassuring pings about the White Tiger's core integrity.

Aside from "Team 001 Crisis Hotline (Missing Tiger Edition)", he'd also joined several other support chats spanning the HQ. However, they provided grim camaraderie rather than genuine relief. It was hollow comfort at best.

Even as he busied himself, Eathan felt vacant within—like walking through a house stripped of furniture, every familiar corridor empty and heavy with the absence.

Even he could tell. This was unlike the previous fifteen-year absence, which left the territories anxious but still resolute. Back then, the hope of the White Tiger's return always lingered at the edges, bolstered by whispers from Meng Yao, reassurances in RealmNet chatter, or even Quine Long's intermittent appearances.

Now, this new void felt brittle. And terribly real.

Mister White's absence wasn't just noticeable—it was tangible, filling each corner of Area 001 with unspoken dread.

The morning of the third day shattered whatever fragile calm they'd built.

Eathan had been standing in the operations room, clutching his half-cold coffee, staring blankly at a stack of unprocessed incident alerts. Suddenly, monitors lining the central wall flared bright crimson, alarms blaring through speakers in shrills. Staff members paused mid-motion, exchanging glances before converging toward the screen.

Meng Yao moved to the controls, tapping commands with precision. The displays resolved into a live RealmNet broadcast, the mechanical voice of a Platinum Paladin delivered, utterly devoid of empathy.

"This is an official statement regarding recent developments. Investigations conducted near Mount Kunlun have uncovered fragments of a divine jade scale confirmed to belong to the Azure Dragon, Qing Long."

Meng Yao froze, fingertips hovering over the console. Her face paled as the Paladin continued:

"All residual traces of Qing Long's divine aura have vanished."

A beat.

"Effective immediately, the Azure Dragon is officially declared deceased. Further details are classified pending ongoing investigation."