If Adrian had known that saving someone from choking would involve more forms than applying for a mortgage, he might have reconsidered his decision to help. As it stood, he was now sitting on a bench outside the most architecturally impossible school he'd ever seen, surrounded by people in glittering robes who kept referring to him as "the hero" while filling out paperwork in triplicate.
"Name?" asked the Magical Emergency Response Team leader, a brisk woman whose badge read "Senior Incident Coordinator Lydia Brightquill." She held a quill that appeared to be writing by itself on parchment that definitely hadn't been invented yet.
"Adrian Klutz," Adrian replied for what felt like the fifteenth time.
"Occupation?"
"Customer service representative at Reliable Office Solutions," Adrian said, then added hopefully, "Speaking of which, I really should call my boss and explain why I'm—"
"Heroic specialization?" Coordinator Brightquill interrupted.
Adrian blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Your area of heroic expertise. Combat magic? Diplomatic solutions? Monster subdual? Dark wizard containment?"
"I... make copies and answer phones?"
Coordinator Brightquill paused in her writing and looked at him with the expression of someone trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle. "That's a very unusual specialty. Is that some kind of modern divination practice?"
"No, it's just my job. My regular, non-magical job."
"Ah," she said, nodding knowingly. "Maintaining a civilian cover identity. Very professional." She made a note that Adrian couldn't read because the letters kept rearranging themselves. "What about your magical abilities? Please list all schools of magic in which you've received formal training."
"None," Adrian said firmly. "No magical training. No magical anything. I'm completely, utterly, aggressively normal."
The quill stopped moving entirely. Coordinator Brightquill stared at it, then at Adrian, then back at the quill.
"The documentation quill has malfunctioned," she announced to her team. "It's not recording his responses properly."
"What does it say?" asked one of her assistants, a young man whose hat appeared to be made from solidified moonbeams.
"According to this, he claims to have no magical training and be 'aggressively normal,'" she read.
The entire team erupted in laughter.
"Oh, that's brilliant!" chuckled the assistant. "Claiming to be completely ordinary while casually saving one of the most powerful archmages in existence. The humility alone is legendary."
"Plus," added another team member, "he did it while wearing clothing that defies at least three laws of dimensional geometry."
Adrian looked down at his shirt, which he thought he'd corrected. Apparently, he'd somehow made it worse. The shirt now seemed to be inside-out and right-side-out simultaneously, which should have been impossible but was apparently just another Tuesday in his life.
"Look," Adrian said, standing up and immediately regretting it as the world spun slightly. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not a hero. I'm just a guy who was late for work and saw someone choking. I did basic first aid. That's all."
"Even better!" Coordinator Brightquill exclaimed, scribbling furiously. "He's maintaining perfect character consistency. Notice how he deflects praise and insists on his ordinariness? Textbook heroic humility."
"But I really am ordinary!"
"The more he denies it, the more heroic he becomes," observed the moonbeam-hat assistant. "It's like a feedback loop of modesty."
Meanwhile, Archmage Eldarius had been standing to one side, speaking in low tones with what appeared to be a council of other important-looking magical people. Adrian caught fragments of their conversation:
"...unprecedented display of quick thinking..."
"...natural heroic instincts..."
"...clearly been hiding his abilities..."
"...register him immediately..."
"Register me for what?" Adrian called out, causing the entire group to turn and look at him with expressions of delight.
"The Global Hero Registry, of course," Eldarius said, approaching with a scroll that seemed to be glowing softly. "Standard procedure for anyone who performs a heroic act of this magnitude."
"This magnitude?" Adrian's voice cracked. "I helped someone who was choking!"
"You saved the Archmage of the Continental Magical Alliance," corrected a woman in robes that appeared to be woven from aurora borealis. "Do you have any idea how many international magical treaties that action has preserved?"
Adrian stared at her. "I... no?"
"Forty-seven," she said solemnly. "Plus the continued existence of the Interdimensional Council, the stability of three separate magical economies, and the prevention of what would undoubtedly have been the most embarrassing magical emergency in recorded history."
"I thought it was just a pretzel!"
"The deadliest pretzel in magical history," Eldarius confirmed cheerfully. "Ironically purchased from a perfectly ordinary pretzel stand, which makes your intervention all the more remarkable. Fate clearly guided you to be in the right place at the right time."
"Or I was just really late for work!"
"Fate," repeated the aurora woman firmly. "Working through mortal punctuality issues."
Coordinator Brightquill approached with her crystal clipboard, which was now glowing softly and making what sounded like tiny celebration noises. "I'm pleased to inform you that your hero registration has been processed and approved."
"I didn't apply for hero registration!"
"Standard emergency protocol," she explained. "Anyone who saves a registered magical person of Archmage Eldarius's status is automatically enrolled for their own protection."
"Protection from what?"
"Primarily from other people trying to take credit for your heroic deed," said the moonbeam-hat assistant. "Hero fraud is a serious crime in seventeen different magical jurisdictions."
"But I don't want to be a hero!"
"Classic hero response," Eldarius observed approvingly. "The best heroes never seek the position. It's thrust upon them by circumstances beyond their control."
"Like being late for work and having basic human decency?"
"Exactly!"
Adrian sat back down on the bench and put his head in his hands. "This is insane. This morning I was worried about being late for work. Now I'm apparently a registered hero because I helped someone who was choking."
"Not just someone," Coordinator Brightquill corrected, consulting her clipboard. "According to the automatic assessment protocol, your heroic deed has been classified as 'Preservation of Magical Leadership During Snack-Related Crisis' and rated as... oh my."
"What?" Adrian looked up. "Oh my what?"
"Class A Heroic Intervention," she read, her voice filled with awe. "That's... that's the same classification as slaying ancient dragons."
"I dislodged a pretzel!"
"From the throat of an Archmage," the aurora woman reminded him. "Context matters in heroic classification."
Eldarius stepped forward and placed his hand on Adrian's shoulder again. The warm, thundery sensation was stronger this time, and Adrian could swear he heard distant choir music.
"Adrian, my young friend," Eldarius said kindly, "I understand this is overwhelming. But you've been chosen by fate itself to walk the path of heroism. The least I can do is ensure you receive proper training."
"Training?" Adrian's voice came out as a squeak.
"Hero Academy," Eldarius announced. "The finest magical educational institution in this realm. You'll learn everything you need to know about being a proper hero."
"But I have a job! And an apartment! And a cat!" Adrian paused. "Actually, I don't have a cat, but the principle stands!"
"All easily managed," Coordinator Brightquill assured him, making more notes. "We have excellent relocation and career transition programs for new heroes. Your mundane obligations will be handled."
"My mundane obligations are my life!"
"Not anymore," said the moonbeam-hat assistant cheerfully. "Now your life is heroic adventures, noble quests, and saving people from various forms of peril."
"I don't want to save people from peril! I want to make copies and answer phones and live a perfectly boring existence!"
"Impossible," Eldarius said with finality. "You're in the system now."
And indeed, as if summoned by his words, Adrian's phone began buzzing with notifications. Text messages, emails, and alerts were flooding in faster than his phone could process them. He managed to read a few before the screen gave up entirely:
"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR HEROIC REGISTRATION!"
"Welcome to the Hero Academy Alumni Network!"
"Your Heroic Insurance Policy is now active!"
"URGENT: Please report for Heroic Orientation by Friday!"
"Magical Dry Cleaning services now available in your area!"
Adrian's phone screen flickered once, displayed what looked like a magical rune, then went completely black.
"The integration process has begun," observed the aurora woman. "His mundane technology is adapting to magical influence."
"My phone just died!"
"Evolved," corrected Coordinator Brightquill. "It's evolving to handle heroic communication protocols."
As if to prove her point, Adrian's phone screen lit up again, but instead of his normal interface, it now displayed what looked like a medieval illuminated manuscript crossed with a smartphone home screen. His contact list had been replaced with entries like "Dragon Emergency Hotline" and "Heroic Supply Depot."
"This isn't happening," Adrian said faintly. "This is all some elaborate dream caused by carbon monoxide poisoning from my burned toast."
"Oh, it's quite real," Eldarius assured him. "And speaking of reality, we should discuss your class schedule."
"My what now?"
"Hero Academy begins Monday," the Archmage said, producing another scroll from somewhere within his robes. "I've taken the liberty of enrolling you in our accelerated program."
Adrian took the scroll with trembling hands and unrolled it. The text was written in fancy calligraphy that seemed to shift between languages as he watched:
"HERO ACADEMY CLASS SCHEDULE - STUDENT: ADRIAN THE MAGNIFICENT"
"Adrian the Magnificent?" he read aloud.
"All registered heroes receive ceremonial titles," explained Coordinator Brightquill. "Yours was generated automatically based on your deed classification."
"Can't I just be Adrian?"
"I'm afraid 'Adrian' was deemed insufficient for someone of your heroic caliber," said the moonbeam-hat assistant. "The system upgraded you."
Adrian continued reading his schedule:
"Advanced Reality Manipulation - Professor Mysterion Voidwalker"
"Graduate-Level Dragon Psychology - Professor Flameheart (Reformed)"
"Cosmic Ethics and Universal Decision Making - Professor Infinity Paradox"
"Independent Study in Heroic Leadership - Self-Directed"
"These classes make no sense," Adrian said weakly. "I don't even know what half these words mean."
"Don't worry," Eldarius said reassuringly. "You'll pick it up quickly. Heroes always do."
"But I'm not a hero!"
"The paperwork says otherwise," Coordinator Brightquill stated, showing him the crystal clipboard. Adrian's name was now written in letters that seemed to be made of actual starlight: "Adrian the Magnificent, Savior of Archmages, Class A Hero, Registered this day in the sacred annals of heroic deeds."
Adrian stared at his name blazing on the magical clipboard and realized that somewhere between helping a choking man and this moment, his life had taken a turn that no amount of customer service training had prepared him for.
"When do I start?" he asked, his voice hollow with defeat.
"Orientation is this Friday," Eldarius said brightly. "Classes begin Monday. Don't worry about transportation—we'll send a dragon."
"A dragon."
"Standard academy transportation for registered heroes," the aurora woman confirmed. "Much faster than mundane buses."
Adrian thought about his morning sprint to catch the bus, his scattered credit cards, his inside-out shirt, and his complete inability to manage even basic Monday morning activities.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" he said.
"Oh no," Eldarius assured him. "Heroes have excellent health insurance. And besides, fate wouldn't choose someone who wasn't up to the challenge."
"Fate chose wrong."
"Fate," said Coordinator Brightquill solemnly, "never chooses wrong. It just has a very unique sense of humor."
As if to emphasize her point, Adrian's phone buzzed with a new message: "Welcome, Adrian the Magnificent! Your heroic adventure begins now! Please report any issues to Heroic Customer Service at 1-800-DESTINY."
Adrian looked at his phone, then at the assembled magical officials, then at Archmage Eldarius, who was beaming at him with the pride of someone who had just witnessed a miracle.
"This is fine," Adrian whispered to himself. "This is all perfectly fine."
But as he said it, he couldn't shake the feeling that his definition of "fine" was about to undergo some very dramatic revisions.