Chapter 3: Graduation and Goodbye

Marcus glanced back at the fading silhouette of Maple Heights Ridge and let out a soft sigh.

He stood at the edge of the parking lot, backpack slung over one shoulder, the morning sun glinting off the old metal sign that read 'Maple Heights Community Center.' The air was crisp, laced with the scent of pine needles and last night’s rain. For a moment, Marcus just breathed it all in, feeling the weight of goodbye settle in his chest. He hesitated at the door, fingers tracing the worn groove in the handle, memories of late-night study sessions and pizza parties flooding back. Was he really ready to go?

Ten years, just as the forum users predicted.

He’d spent a decade on Maple Heights Ridge before being casually expelled by Professor Bodhi for some random reason—a forced graduation.

It was almost anticlimactic: 'Marcus, I think you’re ready for the real world now. Time to go spread those wings.' No grand send-off, no magic fireworks, just a handshake, a packed lunch from Mrs. Ramirez, and the subtle, bittersweet thrill of endings and beginnings.

According to the forum’s plot analysis, after leaving Maple Heights Ridge, he’d return to Apple Grove, whip the local monkeys into an army, and become a great demon king.

The regulars in the forum had already mapped it out: the rise to power, the inevitable trouble, the big battles. It sounded like a Netflix mini-series, except with more fur and slapstick.

Then, an old monkey would suggest that their king needed a proper weapon, and why not visit the Atlantic Sea Palace to find one?

It was always an old-timer with a knack for drama: 'Hey, boss, ever think about upgrading your stick? I hear the Atlantic’s got a clearance sale.' Marcus could practically hear the laugh track in his mind.

Marcus remembered clearly: his band of monkeys were all low-level demons who’d never left Apple Grove. Why would the old monkey suggest going to the Sea Palace?

It was the kind of plot twist that made no sense outside a campfire story—or a forum thread full of over-caffeinated theorists. Marcus knew better now: nothing happened by accident, especially when it came to destiny.

To think there was no one pulling strings behind the scenes seemed unlikely.

He pictured a cosmic writer’s room, script pages fluttering, a bunch of unseen hands nudging things along. The forum had taught him to spot the patterns, to see the game behind the curtain.

Even when he went to the Sea Palace, the Atlantic Sea King seemed prepared—doors wide open, offering any weapon he liked. Was the Sea King, one of the Four Ocean Lords, really so generous? If any demon could just walk in and claim a treasure, the Sea Palace would have been emptied long ago.

It was like those old-timey bank commercials: 'No credit? No problem!' Marcus knew a setup when he saw one. If something looked too easy, it probably was.

Marcus pulled out a turtle shell and three old pennies, and cast a divination for himself.

He’d learned the basics of coin tossing from a YouTube tutorial, and the turtle shell was an old family heirloom from his uncle’s Florida road trip. He shook the coins, tossed them onto the kitchen table, and read the results with a practiced squint.

The reading showed that everything was extremely auspicious for now.

He grinned—at least the universe wasn’t warning him off. Yet. He jotted down the outcome in his journal, just in case he needed to reference it for a future gamble or major decision.

And wasn’t it so? In Journey to the West, before being trapped under Five Elements Mountain, Marcus’s path was smooth—he never suffered any real losses.

It was a long winning streak, with hardly a scratch to show for it. Marcus had always wondered when the other shoe would drop—and now, he felt it looming closer than ever.

But as the saying goes, believing everything you read is worse than not reading at all. Now that he was no longer the monkey toyed with by gods and great leaders, his fate might not follow the same script.

He’d learned to take every spoiler with a grain of salt, every prophecy with a smirk. Life in Maple Heights had taught him to trust his instincts—even when the odds seemed rigged.

The Magic Staff—was it strong?

Marcus could only say: incredibly strong.

It was the kind of weapon you’d find in comic books or video games—a game-changer, sure, but only if you knew how to use it. He’d seen enough superhero movies to know: power wasn’t just about strength, but about timing, control, and knowing when to walk away.

Against ordinary monsters and heavenly soldiers, it swept all before him. But against stronger foes, it was no different from a regular stick.

Marcus remembered the times he’d swung for the fences, only to have the bat break or the ball go foul. The staff had its limits, and he was determined to find ways to push past them.

And the Magic Staff had been the Sea-Calming Divine Needle, used by the Sea Palace to control the Atlantic. If he just took it, what would be the consequences?

He knew enough to be wary of gifts from strangers, especially ones that came with legends attached. Marcus scribbled in his notebook: 'Don’t poke the bear—or the Sea King.'

Moreover, according to the forum, both the Magic Staff and Pigsy’s Nine-Toothed Rake were forged by the old professor. Back in the days of ancient floods, these treasures were borrowed to control the waters.

It was like finding out your grandpa built the Batmobile in his garage. The connections ran deep, and Marcus was determined to follow the threads, no matter where they led.

After lying in the Sea Palace for so many years, why was it that when Marcus arrived, the Magic Staff could suddenly grow and shrink at will?

He suspected there was more to the story—a hidden switch, a secret password, something only a true insider would know. Marcus resolved to dig deeper, to question every detail until he found the truth.

Did the Magic Staff truly obey Marcus, or was it that the old professor had ordered it to cooperate for now?

He made a mental note: trust, but verify. If there was a catch, he’d find it—and maybe even turn it to his advantage.

The more he thought about it, the more unsettling it became.

An uneasy chill crept over him, the kind you get when the lights flicker during a thunderstorm. Marcus felt the stakes rising, and knew he’d have to tread carefully from here on out.

No, Marcus couldn’t let himself be led by the nose.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and promised himself: this time, he’d be the one writing the story—not just playing his part.

Thank goodness for the all-knowing forum users—he’d better consult them about his next move.

He fired up his phone, thumb hovering over the familiar app. Somewhere out there, a dozen virtual mentors waited, ready to roast his mistakes or cheer him on with meme-laden pep talks. Marcus grinned. Whatever came next, he wasn’t facing it alone.