'Wait, I'm Supposed to Become a Goddess?! But I'm a Guy!'

They approached the reception desk, where a well-dressed woman stood behind a polished counter.

Her posture was perfect, her uniform crisp, but there was something off about her expression.

Liam didn’t even pause.

With a casual flick of his wrist, a card slipped out from his sleeve, landing neatly on the counter.

The receptionist’s gaze dropped to the item.

And then, something changed.

Mize watched, intrigued.

The woman had started out indifferent, her professional mask firmly in place. But the second her eyes landed on the card, her entire demeanor shifted.

From absolute neutrality.

To something like confusion.

No.

Not confusion.

Fear.

Her hand twitched against the desk, fingers gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Mize tilted his head. Now that’s interesting.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then.

The receptionist straightened, her movements a little too stiff, too forced.

"Umm, L-Lord and Miss," she stammered, smoothing her skirt before stepping out from behind the desk. "Please, I will see the two guests to the room."

Mize glanced at Liam.

Liam? Still smiling.

"Of course," he said smoothly.

The woman swallowed hard before turning on her heel and guiding them toward a side door, half-hidden behind a large decorative display.

If Mize hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have even noticed it.

Interesting.

The second they stepped through the hidden door, the entire atmosphere changed.

The warm glow of the chandeliers? Gone.

Replaced with dim, cold lighting that stretched down an endless corridor, lined with rows of identical doors, each with thick glass windows set into the frame.

Mize’s first thought?

Interrogation center.

And then, a whisper.

"Hey, Liam," Mize tiptoed slightly, voice dropping into a hushed tone as he leaned closer to the man beside him.

Liam barely glanced down.

"What?"

"Did you threaten her?"

"Hm?"

"The receptionist," Mize clarified, nodding toward the woman leading them. "Why does she look so scared?"

Liam paused mid-step.

Then, he smiled.

"Umm…" His eyes trailed lazily over the walls, as if considering the question. "Well… I didn’t threaten her."

Mize squinted suspiciously.

"I’m not that kind of person," Liam added smoothly.

"...Really?" Mize gave him a long, slow look, his gaze piercing right through Liam’s little act.

Liam?

Still smiling.

Still looking completely unbothered.

Doubting me? Go ahead. I’ll just keep smiling.

After a few more seconds of silence and still zero explanations, Mize finally gave up.

His eyes drifted toward the rows of doors instead.

"So many rooms…"

"For customers," Liam supplied.

"Then why aren’t we there yet?"

The receptionist stiffened.

"Sorry for the inconvenience of the distance, dear guests," she said quickly, her voice a little too tight.

Mize caught it. The faint sweat on her forehead. The way her fingers trembled slightly when she reached for the hem of her uniform.

And the way her entire body tensed whenever Liam so much as looked at her.

"But please, follow me," she continued, forcing a smile. "The appointed room and the manager have been called to serve the two of you."

Mize exhaled softly, eyes half-lidded.

Hah.

Liam was hiding something.

And Mize was going to find out what it was.

The corridor stretched on, long and seemingly endless. It had been at least five minutes since they started walking, yet there was no sign of reaching their destination.

Mize frowned. This place wasn’t that big from the outside. How the hell did they fit all of this inside?

His brows furrowed as his mind ran through possible explanations before finally landing on something that almost made sense.

"Space-related formation," he muttered under his breath, recalling something he’d once read online.

Beside him, Liam chuckled. "It is."

Mize’s ears twitched. So he heard that.

He turned his head slightly, curiosity flashing across his eyes. "Is it a special ability?"

Liam shook his head, lips curving. "No."

He lifted a finger into the air before them, drawing a single stroke midair.

A deep purplish glow followed the movement, like ink bleeding into the fabric of reality itself.

Mize’s breath hitched.

"It’s a side profession," Liam explained smoothly. "I’m an example myself."

Even the receptionist had to pause for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the floating mark with barely concealed surprise.

Mize stared, fascinated. His eyes flicked from the trace of energy back to Liam, then back again.

"Amazing…" Without thinking, he grasped Liam’s arm, wrapping himself around it like a koala.

Liam stiffened for half a second, but quickly recovered, amusement flashing in his gaze.

"Teach me, teach me, Liam!" Mize beamed, blinking up at him. "Can you teach me later?"

Liam sighed. "I can."

Mize pumped a fist internally.

"But—"

Mize froze.

Liam gave him a side glance, voice dipping just a little. "You’ll need talent. It’s hard for normal people to even begin."

Mize’s lips parted slightly.

Normal people?

Was Liam… calling him common?!

His expression darkened immediately.

"Well, I’m not," Mize huffed. His hand curled into a tiny cotton punch, which he delivered straight to Liam’s side.

Liam barely reacted, looking more entertained than anything.

"Sure, sure," he said, tone dripping with playful mockery. "I’ll be sure to adjust my expectations."

Mize’s eye twitched.

Ah yes. The classic joke about looking down on a short person.

[Host, I think he’s mocking you. Please be aware.]

‘I KNOW.’

[Really?]

‘YOU SHUT UP NOW!’

Before Mize could launch a proper counterattack, the receptionist finally came to a stop.

Mize tilted his head.

This… wasn’t a normal door.

It was a wide passageway, veiled by thick crimson curtains. Two medieval-style blue torches flickered on either side, their flames giving off an unearthly glow.

Mize wrinkled his nose.

"Looks shady."

Liam only chuckled. "Come on." With an effortless push, he swept aside the curtain, pulling Mize in with him.

The moment they stepped inside, Mize’s gaze darted around, scanning the interior.

It was… different.

The room felt old, filled with antique decor, an elaborate wooden table, two expensive-looking couches, and various antique vases scattered across the shelves.

Mize let out a whistle. "Woah, the dollar store really stepped up its game."

Liam choked on a laugh.

"Now, now," he mused, one finger gently tapping Mize’s nose. "Don’t say that."

He pulled Mize onto the couch beside him, a little too close.

Judging from the posture and distance, they looked less like business partners and more like a newlywed couple.

Mize didn’t notice at first. He was too busy rearranging his bangs, his ears twitching slightly.

Then, something clicked.

"Wait." He straightened. "You said don’t say that because…?"

Liam smiled meaningfully. "Because the man in front of you might take offense."

Mize blinked.

A man?

Before he could ask, Liam reached out, placing one hand on Mize’s shoulder while extending his other hand toward the air.

His fingers glowed once again, that same deep purplish light.

And then.

"W-wait, dear customer!" A flustered voice cut through the room.

Mize jerked.

The air in front of them wavered, like a rippling bubble, before suddenly distorting and dissipating.

A hidden illusion.

And behind it?

A lavishly dressed old man materialized in the seat opposite them, looking extremely uncomfortable.

One hand tugged at the collar of his robes, as if he was letting out steam from pure nervousness.

The old man immediately analyzed the two, his eyes wary.

'He’s not a regular awakener… Tier 2? Tier 3?'

His breath caught for half a second before he forcefully shoved the thought away.

Nope. Not thinking about it. Not my problem.

The old man cleared his throat, struggling to keep his composure.

"I apologize," he said stiffly, hands spreading to his sides in a formal gesture of regret. "It was my mistake to be so disrespectful just now."

Then, without hesitation.

"As an apology, I will be offering a 30% discount on all purchases today."

Mize blinked.

Oh. A bribe.

Smooth.

Liam leaned back, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable.

Mize, on the other hand? He wasn’t planning on doing the talking.

This was Liam’s scene.

Sure enough, Liam’s voice finally broke the silence, deep and commanding.

"Summoning cards," he said lazily. "All of them. Bring them here."

The old man visibly flinched.

"...Ah?"

His expression twisted for a split second before he quickly recovered, forcing a nod.

"Of course," he said, snapping his fingers. Immediately, the workers outside the door rushed in, carrying stacks of inventory.

The wait after that?

Awkward.

One person sat like a pampered little princess, waiting to be served.

One person stared down the old man with absolute, soul-crushing indifference.

And one person?

Dripping with sweat, wiping his forehead with a tissue every two seconds, internally screaming.

‘Please, dear customer, don’t look at me like that as if you’re about to kill me,’ the old man wailed inside.

Liam did not blink.

Mize found this hilarious.

A small chuckle slipped past his lips.

The old man did not react, but deep inside?

‘Hah. His wife finds my suffering amusing'

…Wait.

Wife?

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

‘Endure. Endure and wait for a raise from headquarters later. Endure…

......

‘I wanna go home.’