023 Night Shift Hustle - Part 1 - Mirai’s POV

023 Night Shift Hustle - Part 1 - Mirai’s POV

School was tough.

Not tough enough to stop me from making money, though.

The past few days had been hectic—tests, training, stupid punishments from Master Reina. But I was settling into a routine. Wake up, survive school, endure training, avoid getting scammed by Mark, then head to work.

Because, unlike certain white-haired freeloaders, I actually had a job.

The automatic doors slid open with a chime as I stepped into the convenience store, the cool air brushing against my skin. The scent of instant noodles, cheap coffee, and disinfectant filled my nose—familiar, almost comforting in a way.

I adjusted the cap of my uniform and strode inside.

“Good evening, Matt.”

Behind the counter, Matt barely looked up from his phone. His uniform was wrinkled, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. “You’re two minutes early. Who are you, and what have you done with Mirai?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Uh-huh.” Matt snorted. “You’re either up to something, or you need the extra time to raid the expired snacks bin.”

I gasped. “I would never—”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…Fine,” I muttered. “Maybe.”

“Figured.” He yawned, stretching before shoving his phone into his pocket. “Anyway, my shift’s over. You know the drill. Try not to let the drunks knock over the ramen display again.”

“No promises.”

Matt waved me off and headed out the door, leaving me alone with the gentle hum of the refrigerators and the flickering fluorescent lights.

I took my place behind the counter, resting my elbows against it. The night shift was usually quiet, aside from the occasional late-night shoppers or weirdos who wandered in.

The pay wasn’t great. But money was money.

And money meant independence.

I had plans—big plans. ESPer Academy was a means to an end, not just some elite school to show off my skills. I needed funds. Connections. And most of all, leverage.

I wasn’t just going to graduate. I was going to win.

I drummed my fingers against the counter, my mind already drifting to the next step in my grand plan. But for now, I had a shift to finish.

The convenience store wasn’t exactly the most exciting place to work, but at least it was predictable. Clock in, deal with customers, restock shelves, pretend to be busy when the manager walked by—same routine every night.

Which is why I noticed immediately when something was off.

Matt was humming.

Not just humming—singing under his breath while refilling the ice cream fridge.

I raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

Matt flinched, nearly dropping a tub of vanilla. “Huh?”

I smirked, leaning against the counter. “There’s more pep in your step now. What changed?”

Normally, Matt was quiet, awkward, and about as lively as the store’s fluorescent lights—dim and buzzing under pressure. But lately, he’d been throwing out quips, making comebacks, and now this? It was weird.

Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Uuuh… nothing…”

I folded my arms. “Oh, come on. Spill.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Maybe… because it’s my last day?”

I blinked. “Wait. What?”

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. I put in my notice a while ago. This is my last shift.”

I frowned. “Since when?”

“A couple weeks ago?” He winced. “Sorry. Thought you knew.”

I did not know. The store always had two people on shift, which meant someone had to be replacing him.

“Who’s your replacement then?” I asked.

Matt sighed. “I don’t know… sorry.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know? Shouldn’t management have told you? Wait, do we have a ‘management’ or maybe an ‘HR’ or stuff?”

“I don’t know… Probably, but I didn’t ask.” He shut the ice cream fridge and straightened up. “All I know is that this is the last time I have to wear this stupid hat.”

He flicked the brim of his uniform cap, looking way too smug about it.

I leaned on the counter, processing the news. It wasn’t like I was close to Matt or anything, but we’d been working together for a while now. His awkward presence had become part of the routine.

“So, what’s next for you?” I asked. “New job? Winning the lottery? Becoming a full-time ice cream fridge stocker at a fancier store?”

Matt snorted. “Nah. I can’t tell.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Huh? Won’t or can’t?”

“Family business,” he clarified.

“Huh.” I nodded. “Guess that explains the good mood.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Kinda nice knowing I won’t have to deal with weirdos at 3 AM anymore.”

I scoffed. “That’s the best part of the job.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “You say that now. Wait till some guy tries to pay for cigarettes with Monopoly money again.”

I snorted. “Okay, fair.”

The bell at the front chimed as a customer walked in, ending our conversation.

Matt glanced at the clock. “Welp. One more hour, then I’m free.”

I watched as he grabbed a mop and started cleaning up an imaginary mess just to kill time. Something about the whole thing felt weird.

Matt leaving meant change. And change?

I wasn’t sure if I liked that.

The convenience store smelled like burnt coffee and artificial lemon cleaner—an odd mix that had somehow become familiar over the past few days. My hands worked on autopilot as I refilled the coffee machine, tapping the buttons to start a fresh brew.

I was just about done when the store’s bell chimed.

I turned my head and immediately frowned.

Karl.

Just my luck.

He strolled in like he owned the place, hands stuffed into his pockets, wearing that smug expression I wanted to slap right off his face.

I sighed, straightening up. “What do you want?”

Karl raised an eyebrow, pretending to look innocent. “That’s a cold welcome.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hope you aren’t here to pick a fight.”

Karl smirked. “Me? Never.”

I crossed my arms. “And no, you can’t have beer.”

He clicked his tongue, making a show of looking around. “Wow. Can’t even browse in peace? What kind of customer service is this?”

“The kind that knows you’re full of crap,” I muttered, watching as he wandered toward the fridge section anyway.

Karl wasn’t exactly a regular, but he showed up often enough to be a headache. Most of the time, he was just annoying, lurking around, making snide comments. Other times, he pushed his luck—trying to sneak drinks past the register, harassing customers, and generally being a pain.

Tonight, he seemed to be in a mood.

He grabbed a can of energy drink and spun it in his hands. “Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“That’d be a first.”

Karl chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way to the counter. He placed the can down and leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “You always this hostile, or am I special?”

“You’re special, alright,” I muttered, scanning the drink.

Karl just grinned. “You wound me.”

I ignored him and told him the total. He tossed some cash on the counter, then lingered, cracking open the can and taking a sip.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching me like he was waiting for something.

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

Karl tilted his head. “You always work nights?”

I stiffened slightly. The question seemed too casual, like he was fishing for information.

“Why?” I asked.

He smirked. “Just curious.”

I didn’t like that answer.

Before I could say anything else, the bell chimed again, and another customer walked in. Karl took that as his cue to leave, flashing me a lazy salute before heading out the door.

Karl Brandt. Pyrokinetic. Anger issues.

And last time I checked, currently ranked third in our class.

Elena was second. No surprise there. But Ron? He was unexpectedly first. That part still baffled me.

Meanwhile, Mark and I were comfortably stuck at the bottom. For reasons.

Not that I cared. Rankings were just numbers, and numbers didn’t pay the bills.

I was still mulling over Karl’s visit when Matt spoke up from the counter.

“Oh, my replacement’s here.”

I turned, expecting some random new hire. Instead, walking in with a ratty hoodie and a dumb grin was—

“Heyo~!”

What the fuck?

Mark.

Mark Valentine.

I stared at him like he was an anomaly, which—let’s be real—he was. “Aren’t you a rich kid?”

Mark wiggled his fingers in a vague who-knows gesture. “Hey, I can be poor too while being rich.”

I squinted at him. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Mark shrugged. “Doesn’t have to.”

Jackass.

I wasn’t sure what annoyed me more—the fact that he got a job here or the fact that he was standing in front of me with that smug expression like he was enjoying my reaction.

Was he stalking me?

I folded my arms. “Why are you here?”

Mark placed a hand on his chest, looking offended. “I needed a job. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Matt excused himself to change out of his uniform, leaving me alone with Mark.

Which would’ve been fine, except Mark just stood there. Staring at me.

Like. Just. Staring.

I shifted uncomfortably. “W-what? You’re making me nervous.”

Mark smirked. “You look cute, by the way.”

I scoffed. Heh~ Cute. Nice try. I had long since grown immune to his dumb flirting attempts. He was shameless, but that wasn’t news to me.

What was news was that he somehow thought getting a minimum-wage job here was a good idea.

I watched him carefully. I’d always known him as a psycho, but this guy really had a screw loose. What was his angle? Was he really just here to work?

Before I could interrogate him, Matt walked back out, now in his casual clothes. “Alright, I’m out. Mirai, take care of the noob for me.”

Then, to my absolute horror, he and Mark exchanged a fist bump.

What the hell?

Since when did these two become bros?

Mark noticed my confusion and smirked again. “What? You think I don’t make friends?”

“Yes.”

Matt laughed, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “He’s alright. Anyway, later!”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone with Mark.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to be an even longer night than I thought.

Sure, me and Mark made an unstoppable team during tag matches. We were an absolute horror to deal with—our classmates even called us a super duo. And yeah, we exchanged dumb jokes like we weren’t at each other’s throats half the time.

We also went home together.

And, fine, maybe I was kind of obligated to teach him how to ride a bicycle. Which, honestly, was entertainment in its own right. The guy had zero balance. Watching him struggle, wobble, and nearly eat dirt every five minutes was the best free comedy show I had ever witnessed.

But this? This was new.

Mark, in a convenience store uniform. Mopping the floor.

And worse—he looked… good doing it.

I leaned against the counter, watching him work. The uniform fit him surprisingly well, and that focused look he had as he moved the mop around—sheesh…

Wait. What was I thinking?

I shook my head violently. Nope. Not going there.

To distract myself, I cleared my throat and crossed my arms. “So. Since when did you decide to become a minimum-wage worker?”

Mark glanced up at me with an easygoing smile. “Since I realized I needed pocket money. A man’s gotta have funds, you know?”

“You’re literally rich. I saw your dormhouse”

“Hey, I can be poor and rich at the same time.”

I groaned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Mark just grinned. “It does if you don’t think about it too hard.”

I was so going to regret this shift.

Or maybe not?

Meh…

Who knew?

For someone who had probably never worked a day in his life, Mark was doing rather well. He mopped the floor without issue, restocked shelves without knocking anything over, and even handled the register with a decent level of competence.

Maybe—just maybe—I had underestimated him.

Then he got to the shaved ice dispenser.

I turned just in time to see him struggle with the syrup bottle, tipping it too far and splat—a cascade of sticky red liquid splashed all over the counter. He flinched, stepping back, only to bump into the beverage dispenser. His elbow hit one of the levers, and suddenly, a steady stream of soda was spilling onto the floor.

Mark froze. I froze.

A solid three seconds of silence passed before he slowly turned his head towards me.

"You didn’t see that," he said, voice completely deadpan.

I let out an exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Idiot… Of course I saw it!"

Mark looked between the mess he made and me, before giving an exaggerated shrug. “In my defense, this job is harder than it looks.”

I scoffed. “No, you’re just terrible at it.”

“Rude.”

“Truth.”

He sighed and grabbed the mop again, muttering something about workplace hazards. I crossed my arms, watching him clean up his mess. This guy… He was an absolute menace to society.

And yet, somehow, I wasn’t even surprised.