August 11th. 9:37PM.
Thirty seconds after Magnus sent the post in, the replies started trickling in:
@WisdomWolf99:
-> SSS-Rank? Lmao what is this, a fanfic? Try harder, OP. This so-called skill isn't even listed on your profile.
@SkillSniper:
-> Literally not possible. S is the top. Always has been. This ain't some anime, dude.
@SugarVoid:
-> Oh nooo! My OC is too powerful!! Lol. Come on. At least pretend you're not trolling.
@DataCleric:
-> There is *no classification* above S. Confirmed by scientists, the developers of the tech, licensing audits, and platform regulation. If your SkillSphere UI is showing anything else, you're either running a modded clone, or you're lying.
@NullFox:
-> Reported for misinformation. Stop spreading BS. People already freak out about fake skills and entries about the conspiracies on the creation of SkillSense.
He stared at the screen and scrolled.
Magnus hit refresh and watched as his thread was buried under downvotes, laughing reactions, threats to his life, and hundreds of derogatory comments he never even knew were a thing.
He added one last comment to his post:
-> Okay. Got it. Definitely just a glitch then. Thanks.
Then he closed the browser.
"I guess I'll just go about life as normal? It's not like anything feels different."
He spent the rest of the day researching, searching, and coming up completely empty.
Nobody, aside from the occasional online troll, reported having anything above an S-Rank.
---
Magnus woke the next day with the sun bleeding through his dusty blinds. For a few seconds, he forgot about it.
He forgot all about the blue text from his mirror that had burned itself into the inside of his skull like some celestial graffiti.
About the challenges set on SkillSphere.
About his SSS-RANK SKILL: CULT MANAGEMENT.
He turned over with a groan, stared at the cracked ceiling, and muttered, "It's just a bug. A joke. A glitch in that cursed app. Or maybe a dream. Probably a dream."
Lazlo didn't move. Curled into a perfect spiral, the ginger-furred cat only flicked one ear in protest as Magnus slowly rolled out of bed.
There was comfort in Lazlo's indifference. At least he didn't care about rankings or potential. He just wanted breakfast and a clean litterbox.
Magnus, bleary-eyed, stumbled through the motions. Protein oats, cold shower, the inevitable fight with his stubborn hair, and then the WcNonald's uniform.
The greasy scent of fast food had already woven itself into the fabric of his shirt, as permanent as any tattoo.
He did not check his SkillSphere profile, nor use the scales in the bathroom before heading to work.
---
At WcNonald's, he walked in to the usual sizzle, hum, and low-level despair of underpaid employees pretending not to hate everything. The team stood at their stations, half-hearted and disengaged. Just like always.
He didn't think much when he said, "Alright. Standard operations. No mess-ups, and I'll get you all a free burger and, you know what? What the hell; an extra thirty-minute break. No complaints, no returns, and it's yours."
He didn't expect them to care.
But something was different.
There wasn't the usual groan, no eye-rolling, no snide remarks about corporate slavery.
Just… nods in agreement.
Immediate compliance, like he'd spoken in bold red letters only they could see.
He watched them move. No fumbling. No dropped trays. The fryers sang their oil-soaked songs of harmony, and for the first time in months, not a single customer glared or threw passive-aggressive sarcasm at the counter staff.
Even Mrs. Edevane, the cranky woman in her eighties who practically lived off complaints, picked up her tray with a smile so polite it could've been borrowed from a sitcom.
'What the hell is going on?' he thought.
He wasn't some charming alpha with a leadership seminar behind him. He was just Magnus.
Slightly awkward.
Perpetually tired.
Prone to overthinking.
Yet today, when he gave orders, they stuck.
They worked.
---
Magnus left the building on autopilot, a plastic grin glued to his face. But underneath, the gears were turning. A strange warmth filled his chest like the afterglow of a good argument won or a clever lie that landed.
'Control,' he thought, 'feels… kind of nice.'
Work finished without a single issue, each staff member was promised a longer break on their next shifts, and got to make their own burger to go home with.
He grabbed his usual smoothie, a Gym Rat Extreme, from the neighbouring business, and took a long, thoughtful sip as he scanned for rogue skateboarders.
'If another one of those damned high-ranking influencers knocked this out of my hand again, they'd never be able to ride a skateboard again.'
Magnus huffed.
Down the street, a sign caught his eye. It belonged to a place he'd never noticed before.
The building was wedged between a pawn shop and a vape café. The kind of storefront that looked like it had been there forever but never wanted to be found.
The type most would ignore.
Magnus read the handpainted sign at the front, written in jagged, purple lettering.
"Nora's Knickknacks."
A little bell jingled as he pushed the door open.
He immediately regretted it.
The place smelled like a war between lavender, clove, and centuries-old parchment. Shelves sagged with bizarre totems, old tomes, melted candles, rusted amulets, and half-burnt incense sticks still faintly smouldering in corners. A wall of crucifixes fought for dominance with eldritch diagrams and what might have been fake taxidermied fairies.
Magnus pinched his nose.
'This is what happens when social media meets schizophrenia,' Magnus mused.
And then a voice cut through his thoughts.
"Oh, it's good to see you again, Magnus."
His heart did something unpleasant.
He turned sharply, eyes scanning the dim shop until they locked onto her, the cryptic girl from Friday. The eccentrically dressed girl with coloured hair.
The one who spoke like a riddle wrapped in silk. The one who had haunted his mind in quiet, insidious ways.
She sat behind the counter, sipping from a cup shaped like a skull. She looked ethereal, like she belonged here, part of the furniture, or maybe the shop's soul itself.
"You know my name?" he asked, voice a little too tight.
"I saw your badge," she said, voice breezy, "at WcNonald's.
"What's your name?"
"Elaine. So... you've done it?"
"Done what, Elaine?"
"Unlocked your hidden skill. Broke through to part of your true self."
His blood turned cold.
'She knows... But how?'