All eyes in the guild turned to Finn and Majestria the moment they stepped inside—like they were two feral crackheads that walked into a gas station.
Finn stood there, panting, hoodie half-shredded, mentally on the brink of a full system shutdown. He glanced down at himself and winced. Still torn from the slime. Embarrassed, he yanked off the ruined hoodie and tried to act like he wasn’t two seconds from sobbing into the floor.
Majestria, on the other hand, rose to her feet with royal flair—smoothing out her hair like she was about to walk a runway. She adjusted her dress with a graceful flick that made her divine bazoongas bounce like some gacha character idle animation.
As Finn walked forward nervously—like a kindergartener on the first day of school—Majestria glided behind him like she owned the entire building.
While a few eyes flicked to Finn, most were on her.
Majestria smirked to herself. "Hmph. They simply can’t handle the beauty of a goddess," she muttered.
"Why is she barefoot...?"
"Ew. It’s probably all swampy under there."
"Her hair’s the same color as piss. You think she’s with that piss guy?"
"I mean, she’s hot, but she definitely gives off ’would curse your bloodline’ energy."
Majestria’s face twitched. Her pride cracked like glass under a toddler’s heel. She was one insult away from drop-kicking someone just to prove how clean her feet were.
But just as she was about to go full divine tantrum, Finn called out over his shoulder:
"Come on, Majestria."
She blinked, snapped out of her rage-spiral, and hurried to catch up. "R-Right."
They approached the front counter, where a tired elf receptionist stood. Her uniform was crisp, her hair brown and tied back, her face radiating the soulless aura of someone who had worked way too many customer service jobs.
She looked them both up and down before asking in a voice so flat it could be used as a spirit level:
"Are you here to register?"
"Yeah... I’d like to register and start my first quest! Earn some money, y’know?" Finn grinned for the first time in hours. Finally, something normal.
The receptionist blinked at him.
Without a word, she reached down and slammed a scroll onto the counter. It unrolled with a thud, stretching out like a damn yoga mat.
’Why the hell is it that big?!’
His eyes skimmed the form.
First question: Full Name.
"Heh. Easy." Finn’s smirk returned as he picked up the quill. ’This is my chance to reinvent myself. Something badass. Something legendary...’
He twirled the quill like a wand and wrote with pride:
He leaned back with satisfaction. ’Ohhh, that’s so cold. Straight villain energy. That’s a name that slays dragons and lays maidens.’
Majestria peeked over his shoulder. "Pffft..."
A deafening magical buzzer went off like someone had just failed a lie detector on national television.
"Huh?!" Finn jumped back, nearly knocking over a barrel-chair.
The receptionist didn’t flinch. "You can’t lie on the form. It’s enchanted."
Finn blinked. "Wait... what?"
"Magic lie detection. It reveals any falsified answers." She pointed to the scroll, where "Sir Ebonnmaur" faded and was overwritten by:
Majestria snorted and covered her mouth. "Finn Wiggles..."
"I hate this place," Finn muttered, scribbling over the shame with his real name.
Next question: Estimated Power Level.
’What the hell am I supposed to put? I don’t even know how to use magic!’
Majestria tilted her head smugly, clearly waiting for him to embarrass himself. Her smug aura radiated so hard it almost cast a shadow.
"I... I don’t know my power level..." he admitted quietly to the receptionist.
She stared at him. The disappointment in her eyes was maternal.
She sighed, reached under the desk, and pulled out a smooth, white orb. "Place your hand on the power crystal."
Finn’s eyes widened. ’Oh damn. It’s like my big reveal scene! This is it. I’m about to awaken some broken legendary skill—’
The orb began to glow...
The light disappeared. The orb went dead white again.
"...Wait," Finn said. "Did it break?"
The receptionist checked it. Then checked him. Then back again.
The room went silent. Then—
"HE’S A ZERO?!" someone yelled.
"NOT EVEN A BABY’S A ZERO!!"
The entire guild exploded into laughter.
Finn’s soul left his body. His lips quivered. He was one insult away from ugly-crying.
Majestria clutched her stomach, doubled over in laughter. "Bwahaha! This is divine punishment!"
Finn stared into the void.
’I will show them. I will show them all. That blonde bitch included.’ He clenched his jaw like an edgy anime isekai protagonist ranting in his head how he will act on revenge.
’This world is gonna eat the ground with my trip powers.’
He looked back down at the scroll.
Next question: Magic Affinity.
"...Is this like a class test?" he asked weakly.
The receptionist pulled out a thin silver pin. "Hold out your hand."
Finn held out his hand.
The receptionist took the strange silver pin and began drawing symbols across his wrist. Up, down, left, right, zig-zag — like she was casting an Etch-a-Sketch spell.
His wrist started to glow.
’Okay... this is kinda cool... but after everything else, I have zero expectations.’
She stepped back, eyes slightly wide. "Now we shall see what divine blessing you were given."
The light on his wrist pulsed.
Her brow lifted. "Oh my... you may not be completely useless."
Finn’s heart jumped. "W-Wait, what is it? What do you see?!" he asked, hope flaring like a lighter in a hurricane.
The glow faded down into faint letters.
The receptionist leaned back and deadpanned:
The guild went silent again.
Every single head in the building turned to stare at him like he just announced he married his cousin.
Finn blinked. "I— I’m sorry, did you just say—"
"Trip. God." she repeated, as if it hurt her soul to say it again.
Majestria completely lost it, clutching her sides and howling. "HAHAA—OHHH THIS IS BETTER THAN DIVINE JUSTICE!"
The receptionist’s face was blank, but her words cut like sacred steel.
"This is the worst ability I’ve ever seen recorded. Worse than the legendary cursed blessing: ’God of Flatulence.’" She leaned in, lips tightening. "You are officially the weakest person to ever step foot into this guild."
Finn’s entire soul detached and hovered above his body like a confused ghost. His pride? Gone. His dignity? Vaporized. He was just a hoodie-wearing husk standing in the center of fantasy Twitter.
Everyone in the guild started whispering again.
"What does that even do—make people stub their toe?"
"Worse thing to be born with."
"Maybe he’s into that."
"I bet he tripped into a bucket of piss this morning—he looks like it."
Finn’s eye twitched. ’I’m going to kill all of you with tripping. I swear on whatever is holy. You will all know shin trauma.’
He looked down, hoping the scroll would move things along—just give him something, anything to distract from this.
And then he saw the next question.
"Do you have any history of sexually transmitted curses?"