“He’s The Chosen One? I thought he would be taller?” says a woman in the crowd.

  “A Vashrin being The Chosen One. What does the church think about this?!” exclaims a man in the crowd.

  “I’ve never seen a Vashrin with red eyes. I thought they always had purple ones,” a guardsman says behind me.

  As the deluge of questions grows, so does my worry that I’m way in over my head. That fucker! Ten thousand gold just for impersonating some random dude? He forgot to tell me that this random dude was The Chosen One! I should’ve known that this job smelled funny. It was practically an outhouse after Jeb's famous bean dip casserole.

  What am I going to do? I could tell them the truth, but based on how they’re looking at me. I think I’m in too deep to cut my losses now.

  “Chosen One, would you like to address your classmates?” the old man says as he gestures to the podium.

  With a stoic face, I walk up to the podium and look out amongst the crowd of students. I’ve got this. It’s just like that one time I got caught stealing a cow while pretending to be a butcher. I just have to commit.

  “Hello, my academic fellows. Today, we embark on a journey of self-discovery that will last a mere six years, but will be with us for far longer. So, although I am The Chosen One, I want you all to know that I am like the rest of you. An individual with a thirst for knowledge and hopes for the future. For the six years that we are together, I want you to think of me not as The Chosen One, but instead as a fellow traveler on this journey we call academia. That is all.” I say with the full confidence of someone who feels no shame.

  The auditorium sits in silence as I close out my speech. What was that crock of bullshit that just spewed out of my mouth? I didn’t even understand half of what I said. What kind of flowery speech was that? Why did I say all of that? It didn’t even really mean anything. It was like a pretty empty bowl. Nobody's going to bel-

  My thoughts are interrupted as the silence is broken by a slow clap that grows into full thundering applause. Students stand cheering and hollering. Some are even crying. You’ve got to be kidding. That actually worked. Surely the adults didn’t buy that. As I turn back to the old man, I recognize a single tear running down his face.

  “That was a splendid speech, Chosen One. In my entire tenure as Headmaster, I’ve never seen a more genuine and heartfelt speech. Amazing and humbling,” the headmaster says, fighting back tears.

  With a slow blink, I respond, “Of course. We are all equal in the presence of knowledge after all.”

  With that, I walk back to my seat in a daze and wonder how in the hells that worked. As I do, the headmaster continues.

  “What a lovely speech from The Chosen One. We can expect great things from him and all of you. Don’t let yourself be discouraged because The Chosen One is part of your year. I want to see you all giving it everything you have,” he says as he wipes a sheen of sweat off his brow. “Now don’t tell your upperclassmen, but I see great potential in this year's students. More than I’ve seen in decades, and that’s not just because The Chosen One is in your year.”

  Soft laughter ripples through the crowd as the Headmaster continues to speak. I’m screwed. I’m so fucked. There’s no other way to put it other than I’m screwed. I don’t know what the punishment is for pretending to be The Chosen One, but I can imagine that it’s not nice. Ok. Enough freaking out. I made it through the first big hurdle. I just need to do that for six more years. Fuck.

  “I refuse to accept this,” she says, having taken the podium from the Headmaster.

  It seems that as I was distracted, a Half-Elf woman with autumn red hair, vibrant green eyes, and snow white skin stormed the stage. She’s wearing the same uniform as everybody else, so she must be a student, but even from here, I can tell she’s a special type of rich. Filthy rich.

  “Princess Penelope, this is undignified for someone of your station. We-” he says before being interrupted.

  “How can we take his word on whether or not he is The Chosen One?” she says as she pushes back a curl of her hair.

  “Princess, he has the paperwork proving his identity. What more could we ask for, or you’re not saying we should bring the Holy Maiden down here to verify?” the Headmaster says, trying to steer the conversation back into control.

  “Of course not! I’m not so callous as to bring the frail Holy Maiden down in this cold,” she says with a devious grin.

  “Thank the Gods. Well-” he says before being interrupted again.

  “But he could show us his [Stat Window]. That would prove that thi- he is The Chosen One,” she says as she stares daggers into me.

  The moment she says that, the auditorium gasps in unison. Even I’m not immune to the surprise and almost reflexive gasp myself. Did she really suggest that? She must be out of her mind, but considering that she’s royalty, nobody seems to be speaking up. They’re all whispering to themselves instead. As if that’s going to do anything.

  The Headmaster goes to object, but one glare from Penelope makes him think better of it. How am I going to get out of this?

  As I pull up my [Stat Window], I look at the glaringly obvious flaw in showing everyone my [Stat Window]. The words [Fake Chosen One] blink at me as if counting down my impending doom. What does this title even do?

  That’s a funny description, and by funny, I mean useless. It does nothing. In fact, it does the opposite of being useless. It’s actively hurting me. I can’t even use another [Title]. This is some- Wait! If I weren’t being stared at by an auditorium of people, I’d be wearing the most devilish smile I own. I see a path to victory, and oh, how sweet it will be.

  With a stoic face, I stand up and walk to the stage. As I walk up to Penelope, she gives me a smug smirk. As if she has already won.

  “Have you come to apologize to your betters, charlatan?” she whispers to me.

  “Charlatan? You seem confident that I’m not The Chosen One,” I whisper back.

  “Of course I am. Someone like you could never be The Chosen One,” she whispers as she flips a curl behind her.

  “Want to make a wager on that?” I ask.

  “Trying to scare me? Your futile attempts to escape your fate are… charming like a dog, but I’ll amuse you. After all, it’s not really a wager if you already know the outcome,” she whispers with a chuckle.

  “Then it’s a deal. Right here, right now, if I can prove I’m The Chosen One, then you have to pay for all my meals for the next six years.”

  “Is that it? Fine. If I can prove you're not The Chosen One, then you have to kneel before me and beg for forgiveness.”

  “Deal,” I whisper before talking to the auditorium, “I can tell that tensions are high and that my position as The Chosen One is under scrutiny. I do not blame anyone for these accusations," I say as I wink at her. “So, I’ll put them to rest. Right here, right now.”

  This has to work or I’m dead. As I panic, I focus on showing a small part of my [Stat Window]. The smallest part imaginable. The three beautifully placed words in the description of my [Title]. As I zoom in, the rest of the description falls outside of view, leaving my chosen words.

  The window appears above my head with a slight mistake that hopefully nobody catches. Yeah, that period isn't normal in a [Title], but when was the last time anyone saw The Chosen One’s [Title] anyway? Maybe it does end in a period. You never know. You weren’t there.

  As the window appears, the crowd that was waiting with bated breath lets out a small chuckle, but to my right, a different and far more satisfying scene is unfolding. Penelope has an undeniably shocked expression that quickly morphs into frustration as she storms off the stage. Ah, nothing like taking candy from a baby. You were right, Penelope. It isn’t a wager if you already know the outcome. Maybe this won’t be that hard after all.

  With a long stretch, I exit the Main Hall after what felt like an eternity of listening to the Headmaster talk about tradition and expectations. I mean, come on, how many ways can he say the same thing over and over again? Does he have the [Blessing] of repetition or boredom? With a yawn, sleep threatens to take me. Which dorm was mine again? Hastily, I pull out a map of the university that I’ve somehow crumpled into a ball. Oh, I remember, I did that around the time the Headmaster told the same joke for the third time. Someone should really check on that old man.

  Using one of my horns, I flatten out the map until it's readable again. Let’s see. I’m here in the courtyard, and this is the Main Hall. Then this should be my dorm. Azalea Hall. As I look up, I see a large red building that I was told houses all of the first years, and based on the size of this thing, I believe it. Walking through the doors, I see crappy paintings that look expensive, furniture that looks like you could sink into it, and a whole lot of students. It’s like a town square in here.

  As I take a second to breathe, I remember that the Headmaster said the left half of the building is for the men and the right half is for the women. Which was thankfully one of the first things he said before he went on to talk about his cat again. As I walk down the left hall and up a couple of flights of stairs, I’m met with the door to my dorm room.

  This is it. I’m finally getting a room. No more back alley streets, no more garbage blankets, no more fighting smelly Doug for a garbage can. This is where my life of luxury begins. With my own room.

  With a heavy swing, the door opens to a small room with a beautiful window that faces out towards the courtyard. Then there are the wooden walls that keep the heat in and muggers out. And let us not forget the desks and beds. The carpeted flo- Wait. Why are there two beds and two desks? There are even two closets. This makes no sense. Why would I need two of these things? Do alternate between them every day or- My thoughts are interrupted as a scrawny man with snow white hair, red eyes, and big bunny ears enters my room.

  “Oh, hey, you must be my roommate. I’m Hopper Lightfoot. It’s nice to meet you, Carlos,” he says as he extends a hand out to me.

  You’ve got to be fucking with me.