Those two words echoed in Ardin’s head like a church bell tolling doom. "My. Turn."
He quivered for half a second—but glanced around and saw the crowd watching, waiting, expecting him to win.
Seraphina’s voice flowed in like honey behind him. "My hero~ it’s okay... he won’t—"
Her words flew in one ear and out the other. His gaze locked back onto Majestria.
That divine, unattainable, perfectly-chested reason he was here.
He couldn’t lose. Not in front of her. Not to a guy wearing a hoodie with slime—urine stains on it.
He slapped his hands onto the table. "Bring it, turd! I’m not afraid of some greasy rat!"
"Aww, sweetie..." Seraphina cooed, looking from Ardin to Finn. "Maybe the Trip God tripped into the wrong womb."
’What?’ Finn blinked.
’What the hell does that even mean?! Whatever. Lady, the only womb I’ll be tripping into is yours.’
He literally growled. Inside his head. Like a horny wolf with taxes due.
Behind him, Majestria watched the chaos unfold, sipping it like wine. Until—
"You ever been deep fried, lady?" The voice was muffled, slurred through mashed potatoes. Chunkus stood behind her, cheeks full of mystery meat, leering.
Majestria gave him the look. That "Touch me and die" look. She shuffled away like he had the plague, ending up behind Finn.
He glanced back. "What do you want, traitor?"
"Nothing," she muttered. "Just realized you might be the only semi-normal person here."
Finn looked forward, deadpan. "You don’t say..."
The receptionist’s voice cut through the madness like a DMV intercom. "Okay! Enough time has been wasted. Finn, you may now slap."
Ardin puffed out his chest like he’d just declared war. "Bring it on, you absolute filth wagon!"
Finn grinned. ’Oh I’m gonna slap the Hero outta this clown.’
He rubbed his hands together, warming them up like he was summoning a Hadouken.
Then he planted one hand beneath the table, raised the other—and waited.
Suddenly Ardin tripped forward for no reason.
The slap echoed through the building like thunder from God’s left cheek. Ardin’s head ricocheted off the table with perfect comedic timing.
He collapsed to the ground like a Garry’s Mod ragdoll with no bones and even fewer brain cells.
The room went dead silent.
Even Chunkus stopped chewing.
Seraphina dropped to her knees beside him—her boobs launching upward like NASA-approved physics before slamming back down. She rubbed his head, teary-eyed. "Are you okay...?"
Finn stared at the scene, dead inside. ’I wish someone cared for me like that... I deserve it.’
"He knocked Ardin clean out!" someone shouted.
All eyes turned to Finn as he casually blew on his hand like it was a freshly fired revolver. He turned to Majestria and gently grabbed her wrist. "Come on. Let’s go finish your registration." His voice was low, serious—cooler than a gas station freezer.
’OH MY GOD I BET I LOOKED SO BADASS. GOD I’M SO COOL!’
Majestria blinked, thrown off. "Okay... but get your hand off—"
He squeezed tighter, eyes flashing back at her. "Don’t ruin this cool moment for me."
The entire guild watched in awe as he confidently strutted away. "You cheated!" Seraphina cried.
Finn stopped. Slowly turned. And in a voice clearly stolen from a low budget anime villain VA, he replied:
"People who are too self-absorbed in their own ignorance will soon bear the weight of their own demise."
Then he walked off. Still milking the hell out of it. Loving every damn second. It felt like the world finally gave him a W. Reparations paid. In full.
Finn strutted back toward the desk, ego dripping off him like sweat in a gym selfie. He parked himself beside Majestria, who had just started filling out her form.
Behind them, the so-called Hero Ardin groaned and began to stir.
Instantly, the guild erupted into cheers. Applause. Praise. Someone even tossed flower petals.
Finn side-eyed the celebration.
’He was unconscious on the floor like a concussed NPC thirty seconds ago...’
He shook his head. Tried not to let it sour the lingering taste of victory.
The receptionist slid back behind the counter, totally ignoring the ongoing Ardin worship. She passed Finn with a mutter under her breath. "Damn nuisance."
She picked up his scroll, gave it a mechanical stamp, and without another word rolled it tight and shoved it into a nearby tube. The scroll was immediately sucked away like a forgotten email draft.
Then she returned, this time pulling out what looked like a steampunk receipt printer powered by a glowing blue crystal. With the tired finesse of someone who’s done this a thousand times, she slotted in a tan-white card, pressed a button, and let the satisfying ka-chunk-ka-chunk fill the silence.
After a final ding, she yanked the card out and handed it to Finn. "Here you go," she rasped. "You’re officially registered in the guild."
"Sweettt." Finn flipped it over, admiring it like it was a driver’s license from hell. Name. Height. Sex: Yes, please.
Then he saw the rank.
’The hell?’ He lowered the card and glared at the receptionist. "What the hell is a Dung Rank?"
She groaned—full dead-inside mode—but answered out of sheer obligation. "It’s the lowest rank. It goes: Dung, Worm, Damp Towel, then C, B, A, S, Mythic. You got Dung because your stats are horrible. Like, alarmingly low. Like... children have better endurance than you."
Finn bit his lip. ’This is bullshit.’
Finn’s shoulder twitched. Not again.
He turned to see Majestria holding out her form with the same blank look as before.
"Can you help me? I don’t understand some of this."
’How does she not know what this means? She’s a goddess. Of course she has experience. Look at her! She’s got first-date energy and "ruin your life" hips!’
But she looked genuinely confused, like she was trying to solve calculus in ancient Elvish.
Finn sighed. "Majestria... have you ever been in a relationship before?"