So, I’ve been thinking. Big plans. Grand schemes. The kind of life-changing ideas that make you look in the mirror and say, “Wow, I’m really about to be something!” The plan? Get stronger. The problem? I have absolutely no idea how.

  I mean, what am I supposed to do? Walk up to some all-knowing, long-bearded mage and ask, “Hey, any pro tips on how to stop being absolutely garbage at magic?” Yeah, that’ll go over well. So, my next genius move? The Forbidden Library.

  Doesn’t that sound dramatic? Like a place dripping with ancient secrets, glowing runes, and whispers of forbidden spells that could turn me into an unstoppable force overnight. Spoiler alert: it’s not. When I get there, it’s just a glorified basement. Dust thicker than my enthusiasm for training, cobwebs in every corner, and the air smells like it’s been fermenting regret since forever. Honestly, if this place were a person, it’d be that grumpy old man yelling at kids to stay off his lawn.

  After playing dodge-the-cobweb and trying not to make eye contact with the spiders (seriously, they were huge), I stumble across the book. The cover looks like it lost a bar fight, the spine is barely hanging on, and the title? How to Fake Your Way to Cultivation. Jackpot.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  I crack it open, ready to unlock all the secrets of the universe. Step one: “Identify your strengths.”

  Alright. Strengths. What am I good at? I think really hard. Like, really hard. Uh… breathing? Breathing’s good. I’m crushing it at existing, too. Top-tier existence, if I do say so myself. That counts, right?

  Step two: “Harness your hidden potential.”

  Okay, hidden potential. Sounds promising. I close my eyes, get into the meditative zone… and immediately start wondering what’s for lunch. Five seconds in, and my "hidden potential" is screaming, “Feed me!” I guess my stomach’s the only thing with ambition around here.

  At this point, meditation is a bust. But I’m not giving up yet. There has to be something useful in this book. I flip through a few more pages, but it’s like the author wrote this while half-asleep and mildly intoxicated. Still, it’s my only lead.

  So here I am: no teacher, no clue, and stuck in this dusty old basement with a book that’s as helpful as a rock. But you know what? At least I’m trying. That’s gotta count for something. Maybe? …Probably not.