The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky orange as five idiots made their grand, semi-coherent departure from the beginner town.

  Four of them rode half-starved horses, and one—Unlucky Waifuwarlord—was stuck with a stubborn, balding donkey wearing a crooked wig for "cosmetic immersion."

  As the group trotted toward the capital, Waifuwarlord lagged behind, bouncing violently on his flatulent steed.

  “Hey guys!” he called out. “Can we switch mounts? This donkey smells like Curtis’s mom’s armpit!”

  Nobody looked back. Heads merely shook in a synchronized ‘No.’

  Spreadsheet—riding ahead—twisted around with cold politeness. “The fuck does my mom have to do with that, you bastard?”

  Waifuwarlord shouted back. “EVERYTHING, you dick! I’m the real victim here! You remember that beach trip? While we were playing volleyball, your mom tripped and landed armpit-first onto my face!”

  A pause.

  “My mouth was OPEN, Curtis!”

  Wiki, their navigator, kept his focus on the map. Kazap and RedFlag both choked on their laughter, doing their best to hold it in.

  “If it were a hot girl,” Waifuwarlord continued, “maybe I’d be into armpits now! But no. Your mom destroyed a potential fetish awakening, Curtis. She’s a MILF—but in the worst way. A Mom I’d NOT Like to Fuck!”

  Spreadsheet snapped.

  “That’s it, you motherfu—”

  He lunged off his horse like a budget assassin and tackled Waifuwarlord to the ground. The two rolled in the dirt, Waifuwarlord wheezing as Spreadsheet Homer Simpson’d his throat.

  “Holy shit,” Kazap gasped.

  “Guys, chill!” RedFlag cried, jumping down to help.

  As chaos erupted, Wiki calmly dismounted without ever lifting his gaze from the map. He adjusted his glasses and muttered, “Statistically, this was bound to happen.”

  Kazap and RedFlag managed to pull Spreadsheet off before Waifuwarlord flatlined into the respawn screen.

  “He’s not wrong, you know,” Kazap said, trying to defuse Spreadsheet. “It was kinda traumatic. But it’s not that deep.”

  Spreadsheet looked ready to throw hands again. “Not that deep? You think I should let that bastard keep insulting my mom?!”

  “I will never shut up,” Waifuwarlord rasped. “It's so sweaty and hasn't shaved too Curtis, WHY! I lost a fetish that day. That was your mother’s crime, Curtis!”

  A tense silence hung in the air.

  Then—

  [SYSTEM NOTICE]

  Achievement Unlocked: Trauma Bonding (TMI Tier)

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Effect: -5 Sanity to Party. +1 Unspoken Curse. Good luck sleeping tonight.

  Kazap blinked. “…Did the system just give us psychological damage?”

  Redflag muttered, “I think I lost brain cells. Real ones.”

  Before another rematch could erupt, Wiki cleared his throat.

  “Anyway,” he said, flipping the map toward them, “the townsfolk gave us a ‘shortcut’ to the capital. Said it was the fastest and safest route. Even claimed they paid off the bandits to let us through.”

  The group blinked.

  “…That sounds like bullshit,” RedFlag said.

  Wiki nodded. “Statistically probable.”

  Kazap scratched his head. “Didn’t we literally wreck their town economy? Pretty sure they just want us gone and never respawning there again.”

  “Yeah,” RedFlag added. “Makes sense they'd want our new spawn point set at the capital.”

  “All true,” Wiki agreed. “But here’s the thing…”

  He pointed at a section on the map labeled ‘Training Arc Forest – Abandon Hope All Ye Who Try To Speedrun.’

  “Would you rather take the safe, boring route—or the one that turns us into protagonists?”

  Their eyes gleamed.

  “HELL yeah!” Kazap grinned.

  “Fuck the shortcut!” RedFlag shouted.

  “Bring on the bozos!” Waifuwarlord cheered.

  Spreadsheet rolled his neck like a recovering boss fight. “…Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting your donkey.”

  The donkey's head snapped back towards him while it was halfway through chewing on its wig.

  Wiki rolled the map with a snap and swung onto his horse. “Good. Then quit wasting time. We’re bros. We forgive. We cause purposeful antic. Now let’s GO!”

  And just like that, the group galloped toward narrative stupidity—ignoring logic, rejecting shortcuts, and embracing the forest of unnecessary suffering.

  It was time to say no to the safest route.

  The sky had darkened, and the five idiots finally arrived at the infamous Training Arc Forest—yes, actually labeled that by the system. The surrounding plains were pitch black, yet the forest shimmered faintly. Neon-pale trees glowed with soft white and sickly green light, like someone installed fantasy rave lighting in a haunted graveyard.

  “We’re here at least,” Spreadsheet muttered.

  “Adventurers!” Wiki raised his fist. “Let’s march!”

  Their horses—plus one depressed donkey—took exactly one step inside before a massive red system notification slapped itself across the sky:

  [WARNING] Plot-Heavy Zone Detected!

  Recommended for Chosen-Ones who’ve unlocked specific VIP paths via obscure Herbalist subclass questline or similar.

  They all raised eyebrows.

  “Are they kidding?” Kazap asked, squinting at the UI.

  “They’re not,” Wiki added flatly. “This reeks of goddess's manipulation.”

  “Man, fuck that warning,” RedFlag said, flipping it off.

  And that’s when it happened.

  A feminine hand—graceful, radiant, and ghostly transparent—phased out of the system notification and slapped RedFlag square across the cheek before vanishing.

  SLAP!

  Everyone froze.

  Waifuwarlord whistled. “Damn, even the system’s got attitude. Low-key, if it slapped me, I might’ve enjoyed it. That hand was kinda hot…”

  RedFlag, red-faced and glaring, muttered, “Of course you would, you horny degener—”

  “Anyway,” Wiki coughed, brushing past the degeneracy, “the forest awaits. Lore. Hidden loot. Let's move forward.”

  They pressed onward. But after some moments—a rustle in the bushes.

  They dismounted and crept forward, eyes narrowed, ears sharp. Peeking through the leaves, they saw a lone Chosen One, glowing title and all:

  [“I Was Trained by a Forgotten Master from the Magical Forest”]

  Next to him, perched on a rock, sat a cloaked figure—clearly his “legendary mentor.” Except he looked like an underpaid NPC with DLC armor mods barely clipped on right.

  Kazap whispered, “Damn… real original plot.”

  “Statistically,” Wiki muttered, “this trope’s so overused it’s practically copy-pasted.”

  “My grandma could write better,” Spreadsheet added.

  “…Not gonna lie,” Waifuwarlord said, squinting at the master, “that dude—or lady—is looking kinda hot. Like, forest chic meets sad dad energy.”

  “Wanna know what that master’s really thinking?” Wiki smirked. With a flick, he opened his skill menu and slotted points into [Thoughts Subtitle].

  A glowing subtitle floated into view, each word appearing one letter at a time as the master’s inner monologue echoed:

  > “God… this is painfully boring. Fifth ‘Chosen One’ this week. Always the same setup. Villagers whispering rumors. A powerful hermit in the forest. Blah blah.”

  The group winced.

  > “Sometimes they try to ‘outsmart’ me. Save me from a fake curse. Force me into a ‘deal.’ Hell, last week one brought cookies. Cookies, the fuck.”

  Kazap: “Yikes. Man’s losing it.”

  > “And sometimes, why do they always master my ‘secret spell’ in two tries? Plot armor so thick they could tank a goddamn nuke. What is the Goddess feeding these clowns?”

  They watched as the Chosen One failed to cast his spell yet again. The master gave a dead-eyed smile and a weak thumbs-up before sighing.

  > “I swear to God, after this contract’s up I’m infusing myself with demon essence. I’ll become a fucking raid boss. Weekly hours. Optional dialogue. No more character-building BS.”

  The five idiots stepped out of the bushes like a support group leaving a brutally honest therapy session.

  “...I’m kinda rooting for the master now,” Kazap muttered.

  “Same,” Spreadsheet said. “Guy’s barely holding it together.”

  Suddenly, a System Notification popped up in front of them in flashing gold letters:

  [Achievement Unlocked: "Emotional Support Bush"]

  You have eavesdropped on a weary plot device’s inner monologue without interrupting his downward spiral.

  +1 Empathy.

  +10 Lore Fragment: Sad NPC Backstories.

  +1 Hidden Stat: Crippling Awareness of Narrative Repetition.

  Waifuwarlord nodded. “Well-earned. I feel spiritually aged.”

  “Ten years older in plot years,” RedFlag added, still rubbing his cheek from the earlier slap.

  They hopped back onto their mounts and continued their ride through the glowing forest. The atmosphere shifted—thicker air, a colder breeze, like the story itself was inhaling.

  Then: rustling.

  A low growl.

  A massive, silver-furred wolf leapt into their path, landing with a thunderous crash and a cinematic howl under the moonlight. Eyes glowing. Fangs bared.

  The party tensed.

  The wolf stared at them, blinked, sniffed—

  “…Wait. Are you guys not the assigned Chosen One party?”