When I woke up the next morning, I realized two things.
One: I was still alive.
Two: I was still wearing yesterday's ash-scorched Ascension robe. My dad had abandoned me overnight, probably filing paperwork to legally disown me.
"Rise and shine," Aryan Gosling said, leaning against his car like a magazine cover model who had accidentally wandered into Skerim. He was polishing the hood, eyes dead serious.
I groaned. "How do you even drive a car in a world with no roads?"
He didn't look at me. Didn't blink. Just muttered in that gravelly voice:
"I drive."
Of course he did.
We went to the Adventurer's Guild — the beating heart of every cliché fantasy novel. A massive building of stone, banners, and bad financial decisions. A queue of wannabe heroes stretched around the block, each clutching their swords, staffs, and tragic backstories.
"Place looks packed," I said. "What's the plan?"
Aryan adjusted his gloves, glanced at me, then at the door.
"I drive."
Before I could argue, he revved the car engine. Pedestrians screamed. The line scattered like bowling pins. And just like that, Aryan Gosling parallel parked his car inside the guild lobby.
The guild receptionist fainted instantly.
A big crystal orb sat on the counter, glowing with magical authority. The guild official — a nervous man with a moustache that screamed "midlife crisis" — explained:
"Please place your hand on the Orb of Truth and declare your class."
Aryan went first. He placed a gloved hand on the orb.
"My class is Driver."
The orb pulsed golden, beams of holy light shooting out like a divine Last & Curious trailer. The guild hall gasped in awe.
"A-rank Driver!" the official stammered. "Impossible! Such rarity! Such—such style!"
Aryan just nodded.
"I drive."
The crowd swooned.
Then it was my turn. I slapped my hand on the orb.
"I am… an Unusual Mage!" I declared proudly.
The orb flickered. Buzzed. Cracked. Then exploded in a shower of sparks.
The official screamed, "What the hell did you do?!"
I coughed smoke. "Probably just overloaded it with my… unusualness."
From the crowd, someone shouted, "Nah bro, it just rejected him."
Laughter rippled through the guild.
"Relax!" I said, holding up a finger. "Let me demonstrate."
I raised my hand dramatically. "Summon Fireball!"
A flaming rubber dodgeball appeared in my palm.
Gasps.
"Observe!" I tossed it at a practice dummy. It bounced harmlessly off the wood and rolled under a table, setting a chair on fire.
The crowd howled with laughter.
"Fine!" I yelled. "Next spell! Cure Depression!"
A wave of glittery energy burst out. For two glorious seconds, everyone in the guild felt pure joy.
Then—
"I wasted my life as a blacksmith!" sobbed one man.
"My wife left me for an orc!" cried another.
The receptionist lay on the floor whispering, "Nothing matters, not even loot drops…"
The guild had become a group therapy session.
"Oops," I muttered. "Side effects not included in spell description."
Aryan didn't even blink. He just leaned against his car and whispered, "I drive."
"Not helping, Aryan!" I snapped.
Desperate to redeem myself, I tried again.
"Summon… Cabbage!"
A glowing cabbage plopped into my hands.
Everyone stared.
The cabbage blinked. Then spoke.
"Father."
I dropped it. "OH HELL NO."
The cabbage rolled upright and began chanting, "All hail the Mage!"
Suddenly, every vegetable in the guild pantry exploded out of their crates — carrots, potatoes, turnips, even a tiny looking zucchini like the one you have . They all had eyes. And they all bowed to me.
"PRAISE THE LORD!" they shouted in unison.
The guild master fainted. Adventurers screamed. A paladin tried to smite a potato, but it bit his ankle and yelled, "WORKER RIGHTS!"
The vegetables swarmed the hall, forming a cult on the spot. A cucumber climbed onto a table and declared, "DOWN WITH MEAT EATERS!"
Chaos. Utter chaos.
I turned to Aryan, panicked. "What do we do?!"
Aryan slid into his car, put on driving gloves, and revved the engine.
"I drive."
He floored it.
The car plowed through the cabbage cult, scattering screaming vegetables across the hall. Potatoes rolled underfoot like troops. A tomato splattered dramatically against the guild wall, whispering, "Viva la revolución…" before dying.
Aryan parked the car perfectly back in its original spot. Not a dent. Not a scratch.
The guild was silent.
Aryan stepped out, dead serious. "Vegetables. Handled."
The room erupted in cheers.
For him.
Not me.
The guild master finally regained consciousness. His face was pale, his voice trembling.
"M-Mr. Gosling, sir… welcome to the guild. You are officially ranked A. Please… never leave us."
The guild master then turned to me.
"And you… Ashok, was it? The board has decided your spells are too… disruptive. You will be given the provisional rank of F. For… Fiasco."
The guild roared with laughter. Someone threw a potato at me.
I caught it. It blinked at me with teary vegetable eyes and whispered, "Father…"
"Shut up," I hissed, shoving it into my pocket.
Above, the gods were watching. Again.
Zeus69: lmao did he just summon a union of vegetables
AphroditeFanclub: I can't, the cucumber was kinda hot tho
Odin420: 10/10 would watch again, please crash more cars
GodOfAccounting: who's paying for that orb btw???
I could practically hear them laughing. My suffering was prime-time entertainment.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the guild master slammed down a notice.
"Your first mission. Bandits have been terrorizing the trade route. Clear them out. Mr. Gosling, we trust you to lead the team."
The crowd cheered again.
I raised my hand. "Uh, excuse me, I'm on the team too, right?"
The guild master sighed. "Fine. But please… no vegetables."
The bandits blocked the dirt road like they owned it, swords and rusty spears gleaming under the sun. Their leader, a greasy man with more missing teeth than a broken comb, puffed up his chest and shouted:
"Hand over your valuables! This road belongs to the Crimson Fang Bandits!"
I muttered to Aryan, "They look more like the Crimson Tooth Decay Association."
Aryan didn't even flinch. He just slid his gloves tighter, stepped calmly into the car, and muttered the only two words his vocal cords apparently knew:
"I drive."
The bandits laughed.
"What's he gonna do? Run us over with that tin—"
And then it happened.
Aryan Gosling slammed the accelerator. The car roared like a dragon with muffler problems. He spun the wheel, and in the blink of an eye, we were inside a medieval Tokyo trift scene.
The car drifted sideways, kicking up dust as wheels screeched. A bandit screamed as he was yeeted fifteen feet into a bush. Another got caught on the hood, waving his sword wildly, until Aryan calmly flicked on the windshield wipers. The sword clattered away, and the bandit slid off like a bug.
The leader raised his shield, yelling, "Stand your ground, men!"
Aryan reversed. Then parked on top of him.
The shield folded like cheap aluminum. The leader groaned beneath the tires.
Aryan stepped out, expression unreadable, brushing invisible dust from his jacket. His words dropped like a death sentence.
"Mission complete."
Silence fell over the road. Bandits crawled on the ground, groaning, clutching their injuries. One wheezed, "That was… oddly stylish." Another whispered, "Did he just… drift kill our boss?"
I, naturally, couldn't let him hog the spotlight.
"Wait! I have powers too!" I shouted, raising my hands dramatically. "Behold! Summon Applause!"
The spell activated. Suddenly, every single bandit — broken, bleeding, coughing up dirt — started clapping. Slowly at first, then uncontrollably, like their lives depended on it.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
One poor bastard with a fractured arm clapped using his face and his one good hand. Another banged his head against a rock in rhythm just to keep up. Even Aryan was forced into slow, mechanical claps, his face still stone serious.
I bowed theatrically. "Thank you, thank you, your applause means the world. Don't forget to like, share, and subscribe."
The gods above nearly choked on their ambrosia.
Zeus69: LMFAO HE MADE THE BANDITS HIS FANCLUB
AresWarCrimes: bro gosling drifted like a goddamn anime protagonist
PoseidonFishDaddy: clap clap clap clap clap clap
Aryan gave me a long look, his clapping still magically forced. He leaned closer, voice flat.
"Never do that again."
But the bandits wouldn't stop. They clapped as we loaded the car. They clapped as Aryan revved the engine. They clapped when we drove away, the sound of their battered palms echoing behind us like the world's saddest applause track.
And I realized something important.
Sure, Aryan was the cool hero, the deadly driver, the silent badass.
But me?
I was the circus act the gods couldn't stop watching.
And in this world… that might actually be more dangerous.
And me? I realized something terrifying.
I was the punchline of my own life.
I am god in human clothing.