Adrian had always thought that Tuesday morning couldn't possibly be worse than Monday morning. This was before he learned that when your life involves magical bureaucracy, the universe takes personal offense to statements like "it can't get any weirder."
He woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his front door with the enthusiasm of a woodpecker on espresso. This was concerning for several reasons, not least of which was that it was 6:30 AM and nobody in the history of apartment living had ever knocked on doors at 6:30 AM unless someone was either dying or serving legal papers.
Adrian stumbled to the door in his pajamas—which, he noted with resignation, were somehow now made of fabric that seemed to shimmer with tiny embedded stars. Either his sleepwear had been magically upgraded overnight, or he was having a very specific type of nervous breakdown.
"Who is it?" he called through the door.
"Penelope Scribbleworth, Daily Magical Tribune!" came a cheerful voice that suggested its owner had consumed enough coffee to power a small city. "I'm here for the exclusive interview with Adrian the Magnificent!"
"The what now?" Adrian looked through the peephole and saw a woman in her thirties wearing a hat with what appeared to be a live peacock feather—a feather that was moving independently and taking notes on a tiny pad of paper.
"The interview! About your heroic deed! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday, but your phone kept playing harp music and telling me to 'embrace the mystery of fate.'"
Adrian glanced at his phone, which was sitting on the counter looking smugly innocent.
"I didn't schedule any interview," he called through the door.
"Oh, it's automatic! All Class A heroic deeds get mandatory media coverage. It's in the Hero Registration Terms of Service, subsection forty-seven, paragraph twelve. Didn't you read it?"
"There were terms of service?"
"Oh yes, very comprehensive. About four hundred pages, mostly written in ancient magical legalese. Most heroes just sign without reading. Very trusting folk, heroes."
Adrian realized that at some point yesterday, he had indeed signed something. Several somethings, actually. All while in a state of complete bewilderment.
"Could we maybe do this later? I'm not really... prepared."
"Nonsense! The best interviews are spontaneous! Besides, my deadline is in two hours, and if I don't file this story, my editor will feed me to her pet basilisk. She's very serious about deadlines."
Adrian opened the door because, frankly, being interviewed by an overly caffeinated reporter seemed less dangerous than being responsible for someone getting fed to a basilisk.
Penelope Scribbleworth was exactly as energetic as her voice suggested. She wore a press badge that was literally glowing, carried a bag that seemed to be bigger on the inside than the outside, and her peacock feather was indeed writing notes while simultaneously giving Adrian disapproving looks.
"Magnificent!" she exclaimed, pushing past him into his apartment. "Oh, this is perfect! The humble hero in his modest dwelling, still wearing the simple garments of ordinary life!"
She gestured dramatically at his star-spangled pajamas.
"These aren't ordinary," Adrian pointed out. "They were regular pajamas yesterday, but now they're... sparkly."
"Even better! The magic is responding to your heroic essence, transforming even your sleepwear into garments fit for legend! Reginald, are you getting this?"
The peacock feather—Reginald, apparently—ruffled indignantly and scribbled faster.
"Please, have a seat," Penelope said, settling onto his color-shifting couch as if she owned it. "Now, tell me everything about yesterday's heroic rescue. Don't leave out any details, no matter how humble they might seem!"
Adrian sat down across from her on what used to be his coffee table but was now apparently a crystal throne that had appeared overnight. This was starting to seem like a pattern.
"Well," he began, "I was late for work because my alarm clock broke, and I was running to catch the bus, and I saw this man choking..."
"Stop right there!" Penelope held up her hand. "Your alarm clock broke?"
"Yes?"
"How did it break?"
"It just... stopped working. The display went blank."
Penelope and Reginald exchanged meaningful looks.
"Classic destiny intervention," she said, scribbling notes on a pad that appeared to be made from dragon scales. "Fate manipulated your mundane technology to ensure you'd be in the right place at the right time. Continue!"
"I don't think fate manipulated my alarm clock. I think it just broke because it's three years old and I bought it at a discount electronics store."
"Humble deflection! Even more heroic! Please, go on about the rescue itself."
Adrian continued his story, and with each detail, Penelope became more excited. When he mentioned that his shirt was inside-out, she gasped.
"You performed this heroic deed while deliberately wearing your garments in a state of deliberate dishevelment?"
"It wasn't deliberate. I was in a hurry and got dressed wrong."
"Strategic misdirection! Making yourself appear vulnerable to enemies while maintaining the element of surprise! Brilliant tactical thinking!"
"Or I was just rushing and made a mistake."
"Reginald, note the hero's commitment to maintaining his cover story even during official interviews. The depth of his operational security is extraordinary."
Reginald scribbled frantically and somehow managed to look impressed despite being a feather.
"Now," Penelope continued, "tell me about the actual rescue. I understand you used an advanced Heimlich maneuver?"
"Just... regular Heimlich maneuver. I took a CPR class a few years ago."
"A few years ago!" Penelope practically bounced in her seat. "So you've been preparing for this moment for years! The foresight! The dedication! How did you know you'd need those specific skills?"
"I didn't know. My mom made me take the class because she said I needed more life skills."
"Your mother was clearly guided by prophetic intuition! Family members of heroes often receive mystical insights about their loved one's destiny. We'll want to interview her next."
"Please don't interview my mother. She still thinks I'm majoring in business administration."
"Excellent cover identity management! Now, about the actual technique—I understand you executed the maneuver with such precision that the obstructing pretzel was launched exactly seventeen feet, landing harmlessly in the crowd without injuring any bystanders."
Adrian stared at her. "How could you possibly know how far the pretzel flew?"
"We have witnesses. Several people measured it. Seventeen feet is considered the optimal distance for heroic foreign object removal—far enough to clear the danger zone, but not so far as to create secondary hazards."
"I wasn't aiming for seventeen feet! I was just trying to get the pretzel out!"
"Even better! Instinctive mastery of heroic physics! Your natural abilities are clearly off the charts."
Adrian was beginning to understand why heroes might develop drinking problems.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he offered desperately. "Coffee? Water? Something that might slow down this conversation?"
"Oh, that would be lovely! I hear heroes often have magically enhanced refreshment capabilities."
Adrian went to his kitchen and opened his magical refrigerator, which now apparently included a built-in coffee service. He pressed a button labeled "JOURNALIST SPECIAL" and the machine produced two cups of coffee that smelled like they'd been blessed by caffeinated angels.
When he returned, Penelope was examining his mail with professional interest.
"I see you've already received fan mail from the Dragon Kingdoms," she observed. "That's remarkably fast. Dragons are usually quite slow to warm up to human heroes."
"Apparently I inspired a young dragon named Sparkletooth."
"Sparkletooth the Somewhat Fierce! Oh, she's lovely! Very popular in the dragon community. Her endorsement alone will boost your heroic credibility tremendously."
Adrian handed her the coffee, and she took a sip that somehow managed to look reverent.
"Magnificent! The coffee is perfectly calibrated for optimal interview conditions! You even mastered heroic hospitality overnight!"
"The coffee maker is magic. I just pressed a button."
"The humility! The way he credits his tools rather than taking personal credit! This is going to be such a wonderful article!"
Reginald had moved on from taking notes to what appeared to be drawing illustrations. Adrian caught a glimpse of a sketch that seemed to show him wrestling with a giant pretzel while surrounded by explosions and dramatic lighting effects.
"Could we maybe tone down the dramatic elements?" Adrian asked. "It was really just a simple first aid situation."
"Oh, but that's exactly what makes it so extraordinary!" Penelope exclaimed. "You took a mundane skill and applied it in a magical context with perfect results! It's the most human heroic deed in recent memory!"
"The most human heroic deed?"
"Most heroes rely on magic, or supernatural abilities, or ancient weapons. You used nothing but basic human knowledge and genuine concern for another person's wellbeing. It's inspirational! It shows that heroism isn't about power—it's about character!"
Despite himself, Adrian felt a tiny warm glow at her words.
"Though," Penelope continued, "I do have to ask about your combat training. Our readers will want to know about your preparedness for future heroic encounters."
"Combat training?" The warm glow vanished. "I don't have any combat training."
"None at all?"
"I took karate when I was eight, but I quit because I kept getting distracted by the belt colors."
"Fascinating! So your fighting style will be completely improvisational! That's either brilliant or terrifying."
"I'm hoping for 'completely unnecessary,'" Adrian said.
"Oh, that's adorable!" Penelope laughed. "As if fate would register you as a Class A hero and then not provide opportunities to use those skills!"
"What kind of opportunities?"
"Oh, you know—monster attacks, evil wizard schemes, interdimensional invasions, the usual heroic portfolio. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure!"
Adrian's coffee cup began trembling in his hands.
"I can't handle any of those things!"
"That's what makes it exciting! The best heroes always start out thinking they're completely unprepared!"
"Because they ARE completely unprepared!"
"Exactly! It builds character! Speaking of which..." Penelope consulted her notes. "I understand you're starting at Hero Academy on Monday. Any thoughts on your educational goals?"
"Survival," Adrian said immediately. "My primary educational goal is surviving whatever this has turned into."
"Perfect! Reginald, make sure to highlight his commitment to personal growth through adversity."
Reginald scribbled approvingly.
"One last question," Penelope said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Any advice for young people who might be inspired by your example?"
Adrian thought about this seriously for a moment.
"Learn basic first aid," he said finally. "You never know when you'll need it. And maybe read the terms of service before signing magical contracts."
"Wonderful! Practical wisdom from a practical hero! This is going to be front page material!"
She stood up, and Reginald flew over to perch on her shoulder, looking satisfied with his work.
"Thank you so much for your time, Adrian the Magnificent. I think our readers are going to love this story. Look for it in tomorrow's edition!"
"Wait," Adrian said as she headed for the door. "What exactly are you going to write?"
"Oh, the usual! 'Local Hero Saves Archmage Using Nothing But Skill, Determination, and Heroic Coffee!' Plus a sidebar about proper first aid technique and maybe a feature on heroic fashion choices."
"Please don't mention the heroic fashion choices," Adrian said weakly.
"Too late! It's already in my notes! 'Hero Demonstrates Advanced Tactical Dressing Techniques!' This is going to revolutionize heroic fashion!"
With that, Penelope Scribbleworth whirlwinded out of his apartment, leaving Adrian standing in his transformed living room, wearing sparkly pajamas, holding a cup of magically perfect coffee, and contemplating the growing certainty that his life had become a runaway train driven by cosmic forces with a severely warped sense of humor.
His phone chimed with a new notification: "Congratulations! Your first heroic interview has been completed! Media training courses are available through Hero Academy's continuing education program!"
Adrian looked at his phone, then at his crystal coffee table, then at his pile of fan mail from dragons.
"I should call in sick to work," he said to his apartment.
The floating lights dimmed sympathetically, and his refrigerator hummed what sounded suspiciously like a lullaby.
Outside his window, he could swear he heard the distant sound of wings flapping and what might have been a dragon practicing landing techniques on the building's roof.
Friday was still three days away, but Adrian was beginning to suspect that time worked differently when you were a registered hero. Three days suddenly felt both like an eternity and nowhere near long enough to prepare for whatever Hero Academy had in store for him.
His phone chimed again: "Reminder: Dragon transportation requires appropriate luggage. Heroic supply stores now delivering to your area!"
Adrian sat down heavily on his color-changing couch and put his head in his hands. Through his fingers, he could see his reflection in the crystal coffee table—a confused young man in magical pajamas, surrounded by the impossible, preparing for the unthinkable.
"This is fine," he whispered to himself, though he was no longer sure what "fine" even meant in his new reality.
The floating lights pulsed gently, his houseplants rustled encouragingly, and somewhere in the distance, Majestic Kevin the dragon was probably practicing his landings and wondering if his passenger would remember to bring dramamine.
Adrian's heroic adventure was only just beginning, and already he was learning the first fundamental truth of heroism: nothing—absolutely nothing—ever goes according to plan.
But then again, he reflected as he sipped his perfectly crafted magical coffee, when had anything in his life ever gone according to plan? At least now when things went catastrophically wrong, there would be health insurance.
And dragons.
Definitely dragons.