PREVIEW

... s Bellcephora. Nice to meet you."

The brown-haired girl gasped before hurriedly taking a step back and curtsying splendidly towards the pleasantly surprised boy.

"Hello, Miss Patishi. I am Zoemi. Fifteen years old, I guess. Personal attendant of lady Kierul Berra Helterose. Let's get along."

Zoemi responded by putting his right hand to his heart and bowing his head around two inches.

"Let's go deliver the food to our hungry masters~"

"Yes~!"

The bo ...

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I was stuck in a dungeon explosion while working so hard that I actually died.

But when I opened my eyes, I was back to the time of 3 years ago!

Well, I will live differently in this life. Salary is goodbye to s*ave life. I quit immediately and set up a cafe in the store my grandmother left behind.

There are no customers because she is right in front of a dungeon, but it doesn’t matter. All I want is to work two days and play five days. But.

[Class: I woke up as the cafe owner (F)] [Skill: I have the coffee in my hand (Lv.1)] [Mission: Brew 100 cups of mixed coffee (0/100)] [Item: Mixed Coffee – Increases recovery speed by 100% faster] After leaving my life as a wage s*ave, I became a coffee s*ave.

Also, the attractive regular customer who keeps bothering me is somehow unusual.

It doesn’t feel good. Isn’t it like the story of the main character of the RPG, who was just trying to run an errand, and ends up fighting the devil after getting caught up in something annoying?

Yes, I will not. I can not. I have no intention of playing more than the role of a novice innkeeper.”

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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