1 Conspiracy & Crazy

I read a lot of stuff—from newspapers to conspiracy articles. Why? It was because… I knew the truth. Aliens. Ghosts. Demons. Angels. Area Unknown. They were all real. I knew people would call me crazy, and that was why I always tried my best to pretend that everything was… normal.

When in fact, nothing was normal.

"I just knew it..."

This world was wrong.

Why were there two moons in the night sky? Why, instead of seven continents, did we only have one? Why didn’t this world have a concept of nations, when we should have so many of them? It must be because the timeline was broken… or something…

I didn’t exactly have any proof.

After all, only I could see it.

Name: Greg A. More

Class: Conjurer

Gift: Moe Touch

Level: 1

Stats—

Willpower: 7

Mentality: 4

Freedom: 5

Skills: N/A

This system interface appeared to me only recently… after my very close encounter with one of them. Ugh… I still had no idea what it was, but I was certain I’d been run over by a truck with four human limbs rather than wheels… Really creepy…

As someone who was way into adulthood at 25 years old, I should’ve stopped believing in conspiracies, right? Unfortunately, I was more stubborn than a mule.

It didn’t help that I had an uncle—more like a foster father to me—who believed in them just as strongly.

To be fair, I didn’t always believe them to be true.

It was only after that… truck ran me over that I started believing them. How should I say it? When that truck ran me over, I felt like a series of visions flashed by me… and like… I experienced another lifetime. It was very weird.

I looked at my calendar. Today was Sunday. I had to go to bed early, knowing I still had work tomorrow.

The convenience store wouldn’t be selling itself.

I slept, woke up, did my morning routine, and then went to work.

My house was only a short walk from the convenience store, so it didn’t take much time to go from Point A to Point B.

“I should try cycling… a hobby isn’t so bad, but…”

It wasn’t like I could afford to hire more staff, especially with the recent recession. If I did, I’d probably be sleeping in the store or something. I was shortly in front of my convenience store, Speed King, which I had inherited from my great-great uncle. I was already in my uniform. Ms. Chen, simply Alison, was waiting by the counter. She had strong oriental features and had been working part-time in my store. She was also taking an architecture course.

“I’ll take over, so you can go home now.”

The convenience store, Speed King, was a small but well-worn building, nestled at the corner of the street, just far enough from the hustle of the main road to feel like a quiet sanctuary but close enough to be easily accessible. The exterior was modest, a faded sign with bold red letters proclaiming its name, the edges of the sign worn down by time and weather. A flickering neon light above the door buzzed occasionally, giving the whole place a faint, unsteady glow at night.

Inside, the store had a narrow aisled layout with shelves stacked high with an assortment of products: snacks, drinks, cleaning supplies, toiletries, and a few more unexpected items like small tools and trinkets that seemed oddly placed but never out of place. The smell of stale coffee and the faint scent of plastic lingered in the air, mixed with the faint traces of whatever fast food had been consumed by the few customers who passed through. The floors were scuffed with years of use, tiles cracked here and there, but nothing that made the place feel unwelcoming—just lived-in.

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The counter was situated near the back. It was a worn and wooden counter with an old register that occasionally jammed when trying to ring up an item. Above it hung a small shelf cluttered with oddments: packs of gum, a few stray candies, and a row of tired, forgotten lottery tickets. A small fan hummed on a nearby shelf, attempting to fight the midday heat. Behind the counter, a small freezer housed ice cream and frozen meals, things that didn’t quite make the store’s reputation but were popular enough for those in need of a quick fix.

“Thank you, boss,” Alison smiled as she walked to the back of the store, probably heading to the locker to change her clothes.

I walked over to the counter and saw everything was in place.

Alison came out of the backroom and informed me, “The electric bill just arrived, boss. It’s under the first cabinet from the left. Also, I’ve cleaned the beverage dispenser, but not the coffee vending machine. Marie just left, and she asked if it was fine that she wouldn’t come to work tomorrow because she has a game.”

“It should be fine… I can handle tomorrow by myself…”

My day at Speed King usually started with the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights flickering to life. The store always felt a little empty in the morning, before the rush of customers, but it was comforting in its own way. I’d unlock the door, take a deep breath, and step inside, already mentally preparing myself for another day of monotonous yet oddly satisfying routine.

I started by checking the shelves—making sure everything was in place. Sometimes I’d rearrange things if they’d been knocked out of order the day before. It wasn’t much, but it kept the store looking neat. After that, I’d walk behind the counter, my usual post, and take a quick glance at the cash register. I’d wipe down the surface, straighten the lottery tickets, and make sure the little snacks by the register were well-stocked. It was all part of the process.

When I was sure the front of the store looked decent, I’d move to the back, where the hotdog roller awaited. I’d grab the pack of hotdogs from the fridge and set them up, slowly turning the roller until the smell of sizzling meat filled the small space. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a job I didn’t mind. People came in for hotdogs, and I made sure they always had fresh ones waiting for them.

Throughout the day, I kept an eye on the register, scanning items with a quiet rhythm. A bottle of soda here, a pack of chips there. Some days were busier than others, with customers stopping in for quick grabs before heading out again. Other days were slower, and quieter, where I could just watch the minutes crawl by as I read a magazine or glanced at my phone for a bit of distraction.

Ms. Alison Chen, the part-timer, was always around to help with things. She usually took care of restocking the shelves or cleaning the beverage dispensers. Occasionally, she’d pop in with updates—like when Marie needed time off for a game or when bills arrived. I’d listen, nod, and make a mental note of the tasks. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was steady.

By the end of the day, I’d sweep up the floor, wipe down the counters again, and make sure everything was locked up for the night. Sometimes, I’d stand there for a moment, just looking at the place, wondering how much longer I could keep up this routine. But then I’d shrug it off, thinking about aliens and stuff.

I glanced at the time—it was 9 o'clock pm. By midnight, my other store clerk should be arriving soon.

I glanced at my system interface again, the one I still had no clue how to use. I was familiar with games and the LitRPG genre. However, that didn’t mean I was suddenly and magically aware of what in the world this system interface was.

While working, I’d been mulling over the significance of this system interface. What did it mean? What was its purpose? I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just some random glitch, but I had no idea how to figure it out.

The door to Speed King swung open, and I looked up from behind the counter. A young man walked in, dressed in a sleek black suit and wearing dark shades, despite the dim light in the store. His presence had an air of authority about it, something that felt out of place in my little convenience store.

He walked up to the counter with measured steps and then stopped right in front of me. He removed his sunglasses slowly, revealing a sharp, calculating look in his eyes.

"Mr. More," he said. His voice was calm and professional, "Please call me Smith or Mr. Smith. I represent the Department of Paranormal Oversight. You’ve been selected for recruitment."

I blinked, unsure if I had heard him right. I tried to make sense of what he’d just said. "Recruitment? For what, exactly?"

He smiled, almost knowingly. "For a position as a 'special agent' with the World Government.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I didn’t like one bit where this was going.

"I’m sorry, but... I think you have the wrong guy," I stammered, shaking my head. "I run a convenience store. I don't know anything about... agents or government work."

Mr. Smith didn’t seem fazed. He slid a small black card across the counter toward me. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up. The card was smooth, almost too smooth, with no logo—just a string of numbers and letters. It felt... strange like it didn’t belong in this world.

"The Department of Paranormal Oversight monitors and manages cryptid activity and supernatural phenomena," he explained. "We’ve been keeping an eye on you for some time now, Mr. More. Your accident isn’t exactly low profile.”