At eleven at night, the Sunny Mart convenience store was bright and empty.
Kenji Sato, the manager, stood behind the counter with a .
He was forty-two years old, and he had worked here for eighteen years.
Tonight, again, someone had called in sick.
And again, the manager covered the shift himself.
"It's fine," he said to nobody. "I'm used to it."
He straightened the melon bread on the shelf — his favorite item.
Perfect rows. Perfect labels. A perfect little world.
His phone buzzed once — a message from head office, not from his daughter.
His daughter had not sent him a message in two years.
Kenji looked at the screen for a moment, then put the phone away.
"Right," he said. "."
Then the room turned, very slowly, like a shelf falling in a dream.
"Ah," Kenji thought. "I forgot to eat dinner again."
The bright ceiling of Sunny Mart went dark.
He woke on a cold stone floor, inside a circle of blue light.
Tall candles burned around him.
Robed figures stood in a ring, in a strange language.
Kenji did what eighteen years of training told him to do.
He stood up, bowed, and said, "Welcome. May I help you?"
The stopped.
A small green creature with big ears looked up from a .
"Uh," it said. "You are not a hero."
"I'm sorry?"
"The summon. We asked for a hero. A strong one. With a sword."
The creature turned the around, very worried.
On a of black stone, a young woman sat up.
She wore a crown, a long coat, and the face of someone who had not slept well in years.
"Grib," she said. "What is this?"
"Your Majesty, the circle chose him! The words were clear: 'Bring the one who can save us.'"
"That," said the woman, "is a tired office worker."
"Store manager," Kenji corrected politely. "Sunny Mart, Harbor Road branch."
The woman — Mora, the Demon King — put her face in her hands.
"We are doomed," she said.
They checked him for weapons.
His pockets held a name tag, a box cutter, and a stock list.
"What is this magic paper?" Grib asked, holding the list upside down.
"It tells you what the store has, and what it needs."
Grib's eyes became very large. "It... knows?"
Mora waved a tired hand.
"Send him back. We need a warrior, not a shopkeeper."
"We cannot, Your Majesty. The circle needs years to gather power again."
Mora looked at the ceiling and made a long, quiet sound.
"The dungeon is falling apart. The kingdom wants us gone."
"And the hero they summoned is burning our floors, one by one."
"Wait," Kenji said. "There is another summoned person? A real hero?"
"A boy," Mora said darkly. "He shouts his own name when he attacks."
Kenji nodded slowly. "A difficult customer. I see."
While they argued about him, Kenji looked around the chamber.
He could not help it. It was a sickness, maybe.
The candle boxes were stacked to fall.
Precious-looking scrolls lay on the floor, next to a bucket.
A of glowing stood in the middle of the walkway.
"Excuse me," he said, moving the to the wall. "Slipping ."
He lined up the candle boxes, heavy ones on the bottom.
He picked up the scrolls, dusted them, and sorted them by size.
The robed figures watched in complete silence.
"What?" one whispered. "What is he doing?"
"I think... he is cleaning?"
Mora watched him too, and something woke up in her tired eyes.
Then it happened.
A soft sound rang inside Kenji's head, like the store door chime.
Small letters appeared in the air, floating over things and people.
Over the candle boxes: STOCK: MESSY. NOW BETTER.
Over Grib: STAFF. LOYAL. UNPAID FOR 3 MONTHS.
Over Mora: OWNER. : VERY LOW.
And over the whole dark hall: THE DUNGEON. 312 STAFF. CUSTOMERS FALLING. CLOSING SOON?
Kenji rubbed his eyes. The letters stayed.
"Your Majesty," Grib whispered. "Look! The summon gave him a skill!"
"What skill?" Mora asked.
Grib read the small golden words above Kenji's head.
"STORE MANAGER," he read. "...That's it. That's the whole skill."
Somewhere far above, the "hero" was probably shouting his own name.
Here, in the deepest hall, stood a man with a name tag and a box cutter.
"Unpaid for three months," Kenji said quietly.
"Excuse me?" Mora said.
"Your staff. Three hundred and twelve of them. Unpaid for three months."
He looked at her, and his tired eyes were suddenly not tired at all.
"No wonder is low. No wonder customers are falling."
"Customers?" Mora repeated. "They are adventurers. They come to kill us."
"They come, they pay nothing, they take your goods, and they leave," Kenji said.
"In my world, we call that ."
The hall went very quiet.
Mora slowly sat up straight on her , for the first time in years.
"Who... are you?" she asked.
Kenji straightened his name tag.
"The night manager, apparently," he said. "Before I go home, one question."
"Show me your stockroom."