Michael Carter,a black haired teenagersat slouched at his desk in the middle of the crowded classroom, his eyes half-lidded and glued to the blackboard where the teacher was droning on about some ancient cultivation technique. He wasn't exactly zoning out because the lesson was dull—well, it kind of was—but mostly because his mind was elsewhere. Somewhere far from the endless chants of "Spirit Qi Gathering Method" and "Energy Meridian Cultivation."
Around him, his classmates scribbled notes furiously, trying to keep up with the rapidly changing cultivation levels and their associated techniques. In this world, cultivation wasn't just a hobby — it was life. Everyone wanted to become stronger, faster, and reach the next realm.
Everyone, that is, except Michael.
Michael was, quite simply, average. No special bloodline, no rare spiritual roots, no sudden genius breakthroughs. Just a regular kid in a world where being "regular" might as well have been a death sentence.
His best talent? Being able to keep his sense of humor in situations that usually crushed other people's spirits.
"Hey, Carter!" A voice sneered from behind him.
Michael barely glanced back. "What now, Tony?"
Tony Chen, the self-proclaimed cultivation prodigy and all-around jerk, smirked and leaned over Michael's shoulder, deliberately bumping his arm. "Did you even read the chapter? You're still stuck on Earth Rank, Level F. That's like... the bottom of the food chain, man. I'm almost at Peak A, I'm practically a walking city destroyer."
Michael shrugged, trying not to let the words sting too much. "Well, some of us weren't born with a cultivation talent pasted on our forehead, genius."
Tony laughed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. "Maybe if you stopped playing games and actually practiced, you wouldn't be so pathetic."
Michael smirked. "And maybe if you stopped bragging, you'd have some friends."
The bell rang, saving Michael from further embarrassment. The teacher dismissed the class, and students flooded out into the hallways like rushing rivers of energy and ambition.
Michael pulled his backpack over his shoulder, heading for the exit.
"Hey, Carter! Wait up!" Tony's voice trailed after him.
Michael sighed and slowed down. "What is it now?"
Tony caught up, grinning mischievously. "Word is, there's a new cultivation competition starting soon. You should enter."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "You're just saying that so you can laugh at me failing, right?"
Tony shrugged. "Maybe. But who knows? Maybe you'll surprise us all."
Michael rolled his eyes but didn't respond.
---
Back home, Michael's parents were having dinner when he walked into the kitchen. The house was small but cozy — not much different from the average cultivator family's home.
"Hey, honey," his mom smiled, glancing up from the stove. "How was school today?"
"Same old," Michael muttered, sliding into a chair. "Got called out for being weak as usual."
His dad chuckled from the other side of the table. "Don't mind Tony. He's full of hot air. Besides, cultivation isn't everything."
Michael gave a wry smile. "Tell that to the people who keep breaking their legs trying to reach the next realm."
His parents exchanged a glance but didn't say anything more. They knew better than to discourage his cultivation dreams — even if they knew it wouldn't be easy.
After dinner, Michael went to his room and tossed his backpack on the floor. As usual, his desk was cluttered with cultivation manuals, scrolls, and a few worn-out comics he hid from prying eyes.
That's when he noticed it — a plain white envelope resting on the corner of his desk. No stamp, no return address, just his name written in neat calligraphy:
Michael Carter
He picked it up, curiosity tingling in his fingers.
"Who even sends letters anymore?" he muttered.
With a quick glance around his empty room, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside.
"You have been chosen."
Michael blinked, thinking it was some weird prank.
"Not just any chosen one. You are the next God. Not a god, but The God."
He dropped the letter on the desk. His heart started to race, but a part of him just laughed.
The God? What kind of joke is this?
He scanned the rest of the letter.
"Your powers will transcend all realms, your control absolute. But be warned — you will have no mastery at first. Chaos will follow your every command. Listen to the prayers, for they bind you."
Michael rubbed his temples, trying to process the strange words.
"Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen."
He stuffed the letter in his pocket, still half-expecting someone to jump out and yell, "Gotcha!"
But no one came.
Outside his window, the world was the same — cultivators practicing, townsfolk going about their business, the sun dipping low in the sky. But inside Michael, something had shifted.
Maybe it was just the start of a really weird prank. Or maybe... just maybe, his life was about to get a whole lot stranger.
---
And so began the story of Michael Carter — the average cultivation world high schooler who, quite suddenly, had a letter telling him he was about to become The God.
A god with no clue how to control his powers, who would soon find himself in a cosmic mess of prayers, powers, and probably a whole lot of accidental chaos.
But for now, all he could do was sit back, wonder what exactly he'd gotten himself into, and hope that tomorrow would be a little less weird.