Night-Shift Convenience Store: There's No Back Door Behind the Shelves

As soon as the closing bell rings, the shelves reroute themselves, and even living people can be marked "near expiration."

Shen Zhaowan has died once. Reborn on her first night at work, she hears checkout chimes no one else can hear: price tags cry out who will be cleared out, and receipts mark who will take the blame. Her coworker cries and dumps the blame on her, the store manager smiles as he collects surveillance footage, and a text from headquarters has already listed her as "prepared for inventory."

The system wants to recruit her as a weapon. She refuses to sign, but still has to survive.

Every price change, shelf reassignment, and intercepted supervisor notice costs work hours. When the hours hit zero, she'll be cleared out next. A white van waits outside, its arrow pointing toward the check-in point. The fake handbook is replaced with a new version again and again.

Whoever wants to put on an act will be the first to become a replacement. Whoever dares feed the content database will write their name in the near-expiration bin.

There's no back door on the night shift. Only checkout.