The afternoon sun in xxxxxxxxxxx, India, was a relentless hammer, beating down on the corrugated tin roof of xxxxx until the air inside tasted like warm dust and dried lentils. Harish sat behind the counter, his upper lip beaded with sweat that he periodically wiped away with the sleeve of a polo shirt that had seen better decades. He was currently engaged in the most grueling battle of his day: a thin, stubborn plastic grocery bag that refused to open.
His fingers, which could conceptually pluck the stars from the tapestry of the night, fumbled clumsily with the static-charged plastic. He rubbed the edges. He licked his thumb. He sighed—a long, weary sound that carried the weight of a man who had given up on the mysteries of the universe in favor of bagging two kilos of red onions.
"Harish, for the love of the gods, just blow into it!" Kaelen barked from the third aisle, where she was aggressively stocking jars of ghee.
Her movements were different now—sharper, more rhythmic. Every jar she placed was a strike; every pivot of her heel was a footwork drill. Inside her, Master Chu-mu sat cross-legged in a sea of violet light, his spectral lip curled in a sneer as he observed the "disappointment" behind the register.
The shop door chimed, a tinny, annoying sound that signaled the arrival of Shanthi Agnihotri. She didn't look like a high-born cultivator; she wore a simple cotton salwar kameez and a heavy veil, but her gait gave her away. She walked like a predator through tall grass, her eyes locking onto Harish with a terrifying, predatory focus.
As she approached the counter, she didn't say a word. Instead, she gathered her internal energy, condensing it into a microscopic, needle-sharp point of Soul-Piercing Intent. It was a technique designed to shatter the psyche of a target, to force their deepest fears to the surface and make their spirit kneel. She flicked it forward—a silent, invisible executioner aimed directly at Harish's forehead.
The needle hit.
Harish didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He was currently bringing the stubborn plastic bag to his lips, puffing his cheeks out like a blowfish.
Whoosh.
He blew a sharp, mundane gust of air into the bag. The bag popped open with a satisfying crink, but the force of the breath—entirely unintentional and devoid of any spiritual cultivation—sent a localized ripple through the air. It didn't just dissipate Shanthi's soul-needle; it caught the edge of her veil, whipping it off her head and revealing her shocked, aristocratic features to the entire shop.
"Oh, sorry about that, Miss," Harish said, finally stuffing the onions into the bag. "The static in here is a nightmare. It's the humidity. It makes everything jumpy. Can I help you with something? Or are you just here to enjoy the fan?"
Inside Kaelen's soul, Chu-mu let out a booming, derisive laugh.
"Disciple, do you see? Do you see the absolute, wretched ordinary-ness of your brother?" the Martial God scoffed, his voice echoing like grinding stones. "That woman just fired a Soul-Piercing needle—a strike that would make an Earth-Rank warrior shiver—and it simply... slid off him. Not because he is strong, but because his soul is like a flat, sun-baked rock. There are no meridians for the intent to hook into! There is no spiritual depth for the fear to drown in! He is so talentless, so utterly devoid of a 'spark,' that the laws of the Murim find him too boring to affect. It is truly a tragedy. To be a man and have the spiritual presence of a head of cabbage... it is a unique kind of curse. You must focus on your own breath, Kaelen. Do not let his stagnation infect you. You actually have a destiny; he just has a price list for legumes."
Kaelen looked at Harish, who was now scratching his neck and squinting at a fly. A wave of profound pity washed over her. Poor Harish, she thought, her heart aching. He's so empty-headed that even a high-level attack can't find anything to hit. He's like a spiritual void, but in a bad way. I really am the only one who can protect this talentless oaf.
"Harish, just give the lady her onions and stop staring!" Kaelen shouted, her voice softened by a new, maternal protectiveness.
Shanthi Agnihotri was not used to being ignored. Her eyes flashed with the heat of the solar lineage. She reached out, her hand moving in a blur, and gripped the edge of the marble checkout counter. With a sharp, controlled burst of mana, she squeezed.
The marble didn't just crack; it shattered into a spiderweb of white fissures, a chunk of the stone turning to dust under her palm. It was a display of raw, overwhelming power meant to end the conversation and force the "Demon King" to show his face.
Harish looked down at the broken counter. He didn't look terrified. He didn't look impressed. He looked like a man who had just seen a child spill grape juice on a white rug. He let out a long, theatrical sigh and leaned back in his creaking chair.
"Lady," Harish said, his voice flat and genuinely annoyed. "That marble was imported. It wasn't cheap. My dad spent three months arguing with the contractor to get that specific shade of 'Ivory Cloud.' You break it, you buy it. That's five thousand rupees for the damage, plus another two thousand for the 'disruption of service' fee I'm about to invent. And don't give me that 'haughty noble' look. In this shop, the only Sovereign is the person holding the receipt. Now, do you have a card, or are we doing this via cash? Because I don't take 'spiritual stones' or whatever you people use."
Shanthi froze. Her hand was still buried in the ruined stone, her internal heat making the air shimmer. "You... you're worried about the price? Do you not see the death in front of you, boy?"
"I see a five-thousand-rupee deficit in my daily ledger," Harish replied, pointing a blunt finger at her. "Kaelen, get the 'Out of Order' sign. We've got another one of those 'high-strength' tourists who doesn't know their own grip strength. Honestly, the insurance premiums in this neighborhood are going to skyrocket."
Master Chu-mu groaned in Kaelen's mind, a sound of pure exasperation.
"Do you hear him, Disciple? The audacity of the mundane!" Chu-mu's voice dripped with disdain. "A daughter of the Sun Clan stands before him, ready to incinerate his very lineage, and he is haggling over the price of a rock. He is the antithesis of the Sovereign. A true King would have turned her into stardust for daring to touch his domain. Your brother? Your brother just wants a check. He has the soul of a petty merchant, narrow and focused only on the clink of copper. It is almost impressive, in a disgusting sort of way. He is so far removed from the Martial Path that he doesn't even recognize a predator when it's baring its fangs. He sees a dragon and wonders how much the scales would sell for at the market."
"I know, Master," Kaelen whispered under her breath, watching Harish pull out a calculator. "He's... he's very grounded. Maybe too grounded. I'll make sure she doesn't actually kill him."
The tension was snapped by the sound of the shop door flying open so hard it hit the wall with a thunderous thwack. Vikramaditya, currently disguised in a grey, sweat-stained janitor's hoodie that smelled of floor wax and desperation, stumbled into the room. His new "Shadow Arm" was tucked awkwardly into his pocket, twitching with a life of its own.
He saw Shanthi. He saw her hand in the marble. He saw Harish holding a calculator.
Vikramaditya's heart skipped a beat—not out of fatherly love, but out of sheer, unadulterated terror. He knew that the boy behind the counter wasn't a merchant; he was the Universal Eraser who had deleted his limb without breaking a sweat.
"I... I'm sorry!" Vikramaditya yelled, his voice cracking. He attempted to rush forward to pull Shanthi away, but his legs, weakened by the sheer pressure of Harish's presence, betrayed him. He tripped over a slightly raised floorboard and went sprawling across the linoleum, sliding several feet until his head bumped against a display of pickled mangoes.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Harish muttered, not even looking up from his calculator. "Old man, watch where you're going. You're going to knock over the inventory. Kaelen, get the first-aid kit. The vegetable guy is falling apart again. Honestly, Four, if you can't walk and carry a bag of coriander at the same time, I'm going to have to dock your pay for the floor scuffs."
Vikramaditya stayed on the floor, trembling. He didn't dare get up. He looked up at Harish and saw not a clerk, but a void that swallowed all light. The coriander Harish was holding felt like a divine scepter of judgment.
"Master... Master Janitor!" Vikramaditya stammered, his forehead pressed against the cold tiles. "Forgive... my daughter has... she has a fever! She doesn't know what she's doing! She's just... she's eccentric!"
"Fever? Looks more like a temper tantrum to me," Harish said, finally handing a slip of paper to Shanthi. "Seven thousand rupees, Miss. Pay the janitor on your way out. He needs the practice handling money."
Kaelen rushed over with a band-aid and a bottle of antiseptic. "Are you okay, Uncle? You really shouldn't work so hard if your legs are this weak. Here, let me help you up."
Internal Monologue (Kaelen): 'This poor delivery man. He's so frail he can't even walk over a floorboard without collapsing. And my brother is just bullying him about floor scuffs. I really need to take over the management of this place before Harish drives all the elderly staff into an early grave.'
Internal Monologue (Chu-mu): 'Pathetic. A weakling who cannot even navigate a wooden floor. This entire shop is a collection of the spiritually bankrupt and the physically inept. Kaelen, do not look at them. Their mediocrity is a miasma. Your brother is a clerk, the janitor is a klutz, and the girl is a hot-head. This is not a shop; it is a circus of the mundane.'
Vikramaditya looked at Kaelen's sympathetic face and then at Harish's bored one. He was sweating bullets, his hoodie clinging to his back. He realized that in this room, he was the only one who could see the truth—and the truth was a Demon King who used a grocery list to dictate the fate of gods.
"Yes... yes, a fever," Shanthi whispered, her pride warring with the absolute terror she saw in her father's eyes. She slowly withdrew her hand from the marble, leaving a jagged hole. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a stack of crumpled bills.
"Keep the change," she spat, though her hand trembled as she handed the money to Harish.
"Oh, I intend to," Harish said, pocketing the cash. "Now, if you're done remodeling my furniture, we have a sale on detergent in aisle four. It's great for getting 'Soul-Intent' out of silk. Or so I've heard."
The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the shop floor. Shanthi and Vikramaditya beat a hasty retreat, the former Patriarch practically dragging his daughter out the door before she could say another word.
Inside, the shop returned to its usual, stagnant peace. Ravi was still snoring in the back, the sound occasionally punctuated by the rhythmic thump of Kaelen stocking the last of the ghee.
Harish went back to his plastic chair. He looked at the broken counter and then at the bag of onions.
Internal Monologue (Harish): "Seven thousand rupees. Not a bad profit for a Tuesday. I should probably fix that counter before Dad wakes up, or he'll think a ghost did it and try to hire a priest. Priests are expensive. They always want 'blessed oil' and 'untainted grains.' Too much overhead."
He reached out and placed a hand over the shattered marble. He didn't use a spell. He didn't chant. He simply... decided that the marble was whole.
The fissures vanished. The dust pulled itself back into the stone. The "Ivory Cloud" pattern returned to its original, pristine state, as if time itself had been politely asked to move backward a few minutes.
"Harish!" Kaelen yelled from the back. "Did you fix that counter yet? I'm coming out to sweep!"
"Almost done, Sis!" Harish called back, quickly pulling a stack of flyers over the spot he had just fixed. "Just... uh... dusting. You know how I love a clean workspace."
Kaelen walked out, broom in hand. She looked at Harish, who was once again trying to swat a fly with a rolled-up newspaper.
"You're a strange one, Harish," she said, her voice softening. "You have no talent, no ambition, and you're obsessed with money... but I guess the shop would be pretty quiet without you."
"Quiet is good, Kaelen," Harish said, his eyes drooping. "Quiet is the only thing that doesn't charge interest."
In her mind, Chu-mu let out one last, weary sigh. "A merchant's wisdom. Truly, I have fallen far to be bound to a lineage that values 'quiet' over 'conquest.' But at least you, Disciple, have the spark. We shall train tonight. And we shall do it far away from your brother's snoring. I cannot have his 'Spiritless' energy dampening your breakthrough."
"Yes, Master," Kaelen thought, a determined glint in her eyes.
Harish watched her walk away, a faint, almost invisible smile touching his lips.
Internal Monologue (Harish): "Go ahead, Master Chu-mu. Train her well. Make her a Sovereign. The world needs someone to stand in the light while I take a nap in the shade. Just... try not to break the backyard fence. I just painted it."
He closed his eyes, the creak of the blue plastic chair the only sound in the growing dark. The Demon King was off the clock.