Warm sunset slanted through COZMART's windows, casting golden trails across the countertop and worn shelves. The antique clock on the wall ticked rhythmically, each second a steady drumbeat against Eathan’s heart.
He exhaled, sliding the final enchanted tea box neatly into place.
A month had passed since the second succubus-fey rift at Westpoint’s rooftop. Since then, the days have flown by with more aura-farming, rift-clearing, and shelf-stacking that had long turned routines into reflex.
Yet even these reflexes couldn’t stop his mind from buzzing with unanswered questions.
The bell chimed softly, scattering his introspection.
A fragrance of cherry blossoms swept inward, subtle yet unmistakably enchanting.
A figure stepped through the doorway, a picture-perfect idol with pink silk cascading across ruffled shoulders. Her gaze sparkled, greeting him with a tilt of her head. It took Eathan less than a heartbeat to recognise the visitor.
"Afternoon, Miss Millie," he said, already sliding back behind the counter.
Indeed, after Erzhong Ren’s timid debut had followed a steady procession of other odd regulars. There was Mister Jin Chan, for example, the toad-spirit that faithfully collects jelly packets every other day. And, of course, the pair of mischievous vixen spirits, who routinely fluttered eyelashes at Eathan while sniffing new shampoos and lotions.
Whenever Emily, Luke, or Sera stopped by, the spirits attempted (with varying degrees of success) to disguise themselves as ordinary humans. Mister Jin Chan, to his credit, at least found a trench coat to conceal most of his amphibious traits, though the croaking proved impossible to suppress entirely.
The vixens had less trouble, taking human forms that would’ve passed unnoticed—if not for their habit of frequently complimenting Eathan’s hair and making scandalous remarks that made him choke on his tea more than once.
Millie flashed an enchanting smile, over-leaning against the countertop as she fluttered her eyes.
“Afternoon, Manager Lin,” she purred, resting porcelain arms atop polished wood. “What relief to see you today. I feared this little corner shop might close one day without your capable hands.”
Eathan glanced up briefly, fingers still scrolling through inventory logs on his wristpad. "Temporary manager," he corrected lightly. "The capable hands are on extended leave.”
Millie’s lips quirked upwards, hair brushing across her shoulders. “You undersell yourself,” she murmured, leaning closer. “COZMART positively radiates purity under your supervision. Surely the interim manager has some… leeway to enhance things? I promise, an extra pair of hands—especially mine—could make your life significantly easier.”
Eathan didn’t miss a beat, continuing to check inventory records on his wristpad. "As tempting as that sounds, Miss Millie, hiring isn't exactly my jurisdiction."
"But surely the interim manager has some... leeway?” She pouted, folding her arms. “And surely, you wouldn’t deny COZMART some extra glamour?"
Eathan raised an eyebrow, faint amusement dancing in his eyes. “I appreciate the concern, but believe me—glamour is the one resource we’re not lacking.”
“My, my.” Millie’s smile broadened. "You’re beginning to sound suspiciously like the White Tiger himself.”
“…”
The comparison startled him, but Eathan quickly masked it behind a shrug.
"I suppose that's the hazard of extended internships.”
The vixen giggled, genuinely amused now. "Careful, manager. Another few months here, and you'll be just as impossible to charm."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
Millie gazed at him for another long second before pushing away with theatrical disappointment. “If you ever tire of running this adorable mortal shop… You know where to find me.”
The door chimed again, cherry blossoms lingering in the air behind her.
Chewie looked up from her homework. “She’s extra annoying lately.”
"Spring hormones," Eathan said, eyes lingering momentarily on the empty stool beside him.
Chewie closed her book. “Vixen spirits don’t have spring. They have year?round chaos.”
Before Eathan could comment, the bell chimed again—this time for Li Wei, already rubbing his temples as he strolled in. He briefly scanned the shop, fatigued eyes landing on the eleven-year-old.
"Ready for equestrian lessons?"
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Chewie brightened instantly, sliding off her stool, textbook disappearing into walls. “Math homework postponed?”
“For the duration of transit only.”
She grabbed her bag. “Good enough.”
Li Wei offered her a half-smile, then looked toward Eathan. “Hold the shop, intern. Try not to burn anything down.”
"No promises," Eathan said, waving them off.
The door swung shut behind them, sealing him into a quiet that he'd started to dread. Silence had become harder lately, a vacuum swiftly filled by creeping thoughts and whispered uncertainties he’d rather ignore.
Left alone, he began restocking shelves again, starting from first to last aisle—adjusting snacks, rearranging products by colours. His fingers brushed lingering dust from glass counters, each familiar pattern imprinted by countless quiet eventings.
Yet despite his best attempts, his gaze kept drifting toward Taeril’s empty stool.
“How much longer?”
Just how much longer did he have to wait?
Wiping his hands on his apron, he exhaled and rested both palms on the counter, allowing his mind to return to that day on the rooftop.
***
THREE WEEKS AGO — WESTPOINT UNIVERSITY.
It happened the second he tapped open the anonymous message.
Reality pixelated, and the rooftop dissolved under his feet.
Eathan felt as if his vision had momentarily glitched—pixels blurring reality as his consciousness was tugged downward into a sealed digital chamber.
The environment stabilized into something like a secure chatroom, walls scrolling endlessly with encrypted runes and code. Eathan blinked. It felt like he’d just arrived at a place that didn’t exist on any part of RealmNet anyone sane would access.
Then, something flickered into being.
Before him appeared a tiny ghost—or at least what a ghost would look like if were stitched from half-broken brackets, stray ciphers, and pure anxiety.
[???]: omg. you actually opened it!
Eathan stared blankly. "Who…?"
The little figure flickered, text appearing rapidly on the virtual screen:
[???]: ahh can’t believe it worked! sorry for the clickbait, but this is very real!! okay. um. sorry. ><
[???]: i'm friendly, promise! well—not exactly allowed to message directly. pls don't report me, but it's urgent, like super-super urgent. White Tiger urgent!!!
"Who are you?" Eathan blinked. "How did you find me?"
The tiny digital ghost froze for a second, then the symbols reformed, text pooling in frantic bursts
[???] er, sorry, you don’t acc know me, and i can’t actually tell you who i am. security purposes. will DIE!! or get archived or both! but LISTEN—important!
[???] Bai Hu’s core—it wasn’t lost or dissipated when the nightmare collapsed!
That hit so hard Eathan forgot to breathe.
“His core—”
[???]: YES YES YES EXACTLY THAT THING so pls pay attention, this part’s super critical:
Then, the firewall ghost’s form flickered as if losing stability. Digital static crackled, text distorting as more frantic messages emerged:
[???]: his core is still intact! kinda! currently drifting in rop (realm of passing) like a sad divine balloon while being hidden and super unstable but alive!!
[???]: im tracking leak-signatures rn but they’re also hunting it! the [REDACTED] know and they’re relentless!
[???]: (sry, surveillance censorship kicks in whenever I mention them directly.) but basically—big heavenly trouble! bai hu’s core recovery is paramount. integrity dangerously fragile. if you delay, it could shatter permanently!
“Wait, slow down—” Eathan’s blood chilled. "How do you know all this?"
Cipher’s text blurred across the screen, anxiety intensifying visibly:
[???]: can’t slow down!! surveillance coming—got seconds at best and also
[???]: wrong question!! instead of “how do u know” ask “why tell ME?”
“…Why tell me?”
The ghost froze—a single frame of stillness—before soft text appeared:
[???]: because he trusted you
The ghost added, quieter:
[???]: which is statistically rare and emotionally devastating (Ｔ▽Ｔ)
[???] even if ur a vessel, he must’ve believed in u deeply. so pls—pls pls pls—find his core before they do!
“But…” Eathan exhaled shakily. “How? What do you need me to do?”
[???]: YOU
must get STRONGER
fast fast FAST
so when I drop coords you don’t die (important!!)
I’ll keep tracking core drift
when it STOPS moving
you move
“Just—who are you?”
Another pause.
This time, the ghost avatar’s response came with less panic and more… embarrassment?
[???]: someone he saved, someone who owes him
[???]: you’ll know eventually
[???]: ok surveillance coming bye— ⊙﹏⊙!!
Abruptly, the entire digital chamber shattered, dissolving into static. Eathan gasped, forcibly slammed back into the rooftop reality—
—and saw Chewie mid-swing, fishing-rod sword an inch from cracking his jaw.
“Eathan!” She lowered the weapon with a scowl. “You dissociated hard for five solid minutes. Thought you finally glitched permanently.”
“I— huh?” He shook himself slightly, steadying nerves that rattled in his chest. “Sorry, my mind just…went somewhere else.”
Chewie sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s just leave before security sees your ghost face.”
Eathan nodded numbly, his thoughts still spiralling. He drew a slow breath, forcing the image of the White Tiger’s fragmented core and desperate warnings from the forefront of his mind.
“…”
Not dissipated.
Not lost.
Still intact.
His grip on his barcode scanner tightened.
***
PRESENT TIME — COZMART.
Eathan inhaled. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the blood coursing through him. The shop’s interior resolved around him, ordinary shelves and counters returning to focus.
He wiped his palms slowly on the counter, grounding himself in the mundane textures of COZMART—the scent of instant noodles, the distant rattle of the old AC unit, the quiet tick of the antique clock.
It kept ticking, steady and patient.
Time, which had felt frozen since the White Tiger shattered his core, was moving again.
Eathan drew a long, steadying breath, opening his eyes to stare out through the shop’s window into the city night. Neon shimmered on glass panes, like stubborn lights within shadows, guiding lost souls homeward.
He stared at his reflection in the counter glass.
Not the same person who entered the Games.
Not the person who fell apart when Taeril White disappeared.
No.
He was someone who had a task now. Someone who would not be dead weight when the moment came.
Eathan straightened, breath levelling.
"Realm of the Passing,” he murmured.
The clock ticked.
“I’ll be ready.”