Definitely Not My Problem

The day started like most others in Merefield:

With mud in my boots, a cold potato in my mouth, and Tax Collector the chicken staring at me like he owned my soul.

Because he does.

I've long accepted that I'm not the protagonist of this town.

At best, I'm background NPC #46, occasionally hired to move crates or absorb blame.

Today was supposed to be another routine blend of mild suffering and quiet invisibility. But no.

Fate decided, "Let's spice things up with a localized apocalypse."

It all started when someone screamed.

Now, screaming in Merefield isn't uncommon. People here scream about everything:

Overcooked stew.

Undercooked stew.

Goats that look suspicious.

The concept of taxes.

But this one had range.

Genuine panic. High soprano. Carried well across the market square.

I turned the corner and saw the problem immediately:

The bakery was on fire.

Not, like, metaphorical fire.

Actual, flaming, bread-igniting, "oh-no-the-scones-are-exploding" kind of fire.

And in front of the inferno stood the cause:

A young boy, maybe ten, shaking like a leaf and glowing faintly at the edges.

His arms were outstretched, his eyes wide, and the space around him shimmered with heat.

Oh no.

He'd awakened.

You'd think someone awakening their Will would be a beautiful moment.

In the middle of town? With no control? Surrounded by flammable pastries?

Not so much.

People were already backing away. Shopkeepers were shouting. A few older villagers pulled out Will anchors — glowing stones used to suppress unstable surges — but no one dared get close.

Because here's the thing:

A Will Surge during awakening is like giving a toddler a flamethrower fueled by unresolved emotions.

And guess who was standing closest to him?

Hi. It's me. The guy with no powers and flammable eyebrows.

Someone yelled, "Get back, Riven! You'll trigger him!"

Another shouted, "He's dangerous!"

The baker screamed, "MY SWEETROLLS!"

I looked at the boy. His skin was starting to glow red — not magic red. Overheating red.

His Will was fire-based, clearly — maybe born from fear, shame, or panic. Probably all three.

And if no one helped him stabilize it…

He'd explode.

So I did what any logical, sane, rational person with no abilities would do.

I walked straight toward him.

"Don't move!" someone shouted.

"Too late!" I yelled back.

"ARE YOU STUPID!?"

"Statistically, yes!"

The heat was suffocating. It felt like walking into an oven built by someone with abandonment issues.

I crouched in front of the boy.

"Hey," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You're okay. You're not in trouble."

He blinked. "I… I didn't mean to—"

"I know," I said. "Believe me, I'm very familiar with doing things you didn't mean to do. Like existing."

He looked confused. Good. Confusion is a great way to interrupt emotional meltdowns.

"You're not bad," I said. "You're just scared. And that's okay."

He sniffled. "But I can't stop it."

"You don't have to. Just listen to my voice, alright?"

"Will it help?"

"No. But it's very distracting, and that's basically the same thing."

I kept talking — nonsense, mostly. Jokes. Ridiculous metaphors. At one point I compared awakening to flatulence. It worked.

The heat shimmer faded.

The glow dimmed.

The fire stopped spreading.

And just like that, the Will Surge passed.

The bakery still looked like someone had barbecued it from the inside out. But the town was intact. The kid was alive. And I wasn't flambéed.

Small wins.

The crowd stared at me like I'd just tamed a dragon using interpretive dance.

Someone muttered, "Did he just… talk it down?"

Another whispered, "I thought he was useless."

I dusted off my shirt and said, "Still am. But now I'm useless with style."

Later, the boy's mother thanked me with tears in her eyes. The baker gave me two half-burnt muffins as tribute. One of them wasn't even cursed.

And for the first time since arriving in this world, I felt something strange.

Not a power awakening.

Not divine destiny.

Just… respect.

A sliver of it.

Tiny. Fleeting. But real.

That night, I sat outside the shed, chewing my celebratory muffin while Tax Collector pecked at my toes.

I still had no Will.

No power.

No answers.

But I'd made a difference.

And for once, I didn't feel like a walking punchline.

(Okay. Maybe just a less punchable one.)