From a young age, Sawyer Yates had a straightforward dream: to become the daughter of a local snack shop owner so she could enjoy all the snacks she desired, like instant noodles, chocolate, chips, spicy treats, and ice cream.
After nearly working herself to the bone with overtime, Sawyer vowed to quit her job as soon as she was able and finally chase her childhood aspiration.
A week after leaving the hospital, Sawyer accepted a generous severance package from her company, resigned, and used the funds to pursue her dream. Rather than becoming the daughter of a snack shop owner, she became the owner of a small supermarket.
The large payout from the ruthless corporation was a result of Sawyer's cleverness. She timed her departure during the company's crucial IPO, a period when any negative publicity could be detrimental. Ultimately, the situation worked out in her favor.
With her savings, she purchased a two-story building on the city’s outskirts. The first floor became her supermarket, and she lived on the second. It was an ideal setup.
People around her criticized her choice, claiming she lacked vision. “In this online shopping age, who would bother going to a physical store?” they said. Even popular supermarket chains were shutting down, so why would hers succeed?
Most anticipated that her business would fail within two months, expecting Sawyer to suffer significant losses.
However, having narrowly escaped death, Sawyer took a relaxed approach. She wasn’t looking to get rich—if the shop covered her daily expenses, she would be satisfied. Her new life motto was simple: staying alive was the most important thing.
Little did she know, on the very night she finished stocking her shop, an unexpected customer would show up.
As Sawyer enjoyed a self-heating hot pot as a reward for her hard work, she heard a strange noise from downstairs.
“Could it be a mouse?” she worried, concerned about the grains she had just stocked. She quickly set her chopsticks down, slipped on her shoes, grabbed a broom, and dashed downstairs.
“Didn’t the previous owner say there weren’t any mice here? What happened to trust among people?” she complained.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she froze at what she saw.
The side door of the supermarket was surrounded by a rainbow-colored light. A young boy stood in front of it, blood smeared on his face, dressed in fine clothing, and leaning on a sword. His wide eyes were filled with amazement as he took in his surroundings.
Earlier that day, the boy’s father had led a hunting party with other nobles. They had been ambushed by assassins, resulting in the deaths of all his personal guards. Severely injured, he had barely escaped, only to be knocked off a cliff by his pursuers.
“Is this… hell? Are you the Grim Reaper, here to take me to my next life?”
The Grim Reaper?
A Grim Reaper with a pink broom?
Sawyer, being practical, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Does your hell look like this?” she asked, gesturing at the shelves stocked with goods. “If hell is like this, sign me up!”
The boy, Linden Zane, fell silent.
“Also, I’m a woman. Have you ever seen a female Grim Reaper? This is my home!”
Sawyer walked past him, casually grabbing a frying pan from the kitchenware section. It could serve as both a weapon and a shield.
“Young lady, I owe you my life for saving me. I will repay you greatly,” Linden said, bowing deeply.
Startled, Sawyer instinctively raised the pan. But before she could react, the boy collapsed face-first on the floor.
She looked at him, then at her raised arm, muttering, “Is this some kind of scam?”
As a modern, upstanding citizen of the 21st century, the worst thing Sawyer had ever done was copy her classmates’ homework during school breaks. Seeing someone faint in front of her was entirely new.
Instinctively, she rushed upstairs to grab a first-aid kit. She cleaned the boy’s wounds, stopped the bleeding, and bandaged him up. Though she wasn’t a doctor, she knew enough first aid to manage. Thankfully, his injuries didn’t seem life-threatening—he had likely fainted from exhaustion, stress, and blood loss.
Sawyer dragged the boy to a small rest area by the stairs and put some porridge in a rice cooker before checking the glowing side door.
She carefully reached out—not with her hand, but with the frying pan. The pan easily passed through the glow. When she leaned out to examine it closely, she discovered that nothing beyond the pan could enter the light.
She was ecstatic!
But her excitement quickly turned to annoyance. She banged the door frame in frustration. “What kind of door are you? You let a frying pan through but not me? Are you saying I’m less important than cookware?”
The door remained indifferent to her outburst.
Sawyer sighed and knocked gently on the door. “Come on, don’t be like this. If you let anyone in, what if it’s a robber or worse? I could get hurt!”
To her surprise, she heard a faint, elderly voice reply.
“The Gate of Life will not permit those with malicious intent to enter. If any visitor threatens the master, they will be dealt with swiftly.”
Sawyer blinked, tightening her grip on the pan. “Who are you? Why are you in my house? And how has my supermarket door become the ‘Gate of Life’?”
“You ask too many questions. If you seek answers, concentrate on your business. It’s late; time for an old soul to rest.”
Sawyer was taken aback.
Frustrated, she kicked the door frame. “Were you messing with me earlier? Old soul? What kind of nonsense is this—”
“Ah, a young woman taking advantage of an elderly, defenseless man in the dead of night… Is this a sign of moral decay?”
Sawyer: “!!!”
She immediately bowed deeply, offering profuse apologies.
A door that could understand internet slang? Clearly, it was clever!
Now she regretted everything. Why had she opted for cheap materials to make the side door? Now it seemed her door had somehow gained a personality!
With a heavy sigh, Sawyer returned to the lounge and grabbed another self-heating hot pot. Nothing solved problems like a good meal.
After a long day filled with work and fear, one hot pot wasn’t sufficient—she needed two.
While eating, she glanced at the young boy resting on the small bed.
He appeared to be only eleven or twelve, wielding a sword that looked sharp enough to slice through iron.
His hairpin was gold, adorned with agate, and the jade pendant he wore was of exceptional quality—enough to buy a luxury apartment in the city.
Clearly, this boy came from a wealthy family. Now that her door had prompted her to “do her business well,” she smirked. This boy was practically a little lamb ready to be sheared.
