Chapter 1 1.Chapter 1: The Rant That Started It All

Chapter 1: The Rant That Started It All

If Nate Flanders had known that his impromptu speech about "vibrational hustle alignment" would go viral, he would've at least zipped up his wizard robe.

To be fair, the robe was comfortable. And technically, it wasn't even his-it belonged to his ex-girlfriend's dog, repurposed into a makeshift outfit for Magic & Muffins Mondays, a forgotten side hustle that once combined street magic with baked goods. It tanked, naturally. Muffins got soggy. Doves escaped.

But now, here he was, standing on top of an overturned recycling bin in Lincoln Park, waving a coffee-stained wand and preaching nonsense to a group of six bored joggers and a guy eating peanuts directly from his hoodie pocket.

"Listen!" Nate shouted, adjusting his crooked wizard hat like it was a crown. "You've been conditioned to believe you're ordinary! But you're not. You're a goddamn spiritual Roomba! You absorb dirt, you make noise, you occasionally get stuck under the couch of society-but you keep going!"

A man clapped. Ironically, or perhaps out of confusion. A pigeon landed on Nate's shoulder, looked him dead in the eye, and then pooped down his back.

He didn't stop.

"You don't need a job. You are the job. You are the hustle. Hustle is not something you do-it's something you are! Wake up! Embrace the grind! Be your own MLM scheme!"

The peanut hoodie guy wept. Actual tears.

Someone else-a teen filming for TikTok-whispered, "This dude's spitting facts," right as Nate tripped over a yoga mat and landed flat on his back, limbs splayed like a starfish doing taxes.

And just like that, the universe clicked.

📱 The video got uploaded.

🎶 Someone remixed it with a trap beat.

💻 Reddit declared him "The Wizard of Woke."

📈 And within 48 hours, the #Flanderism hashtag had 3.6 million views, two fan art tributes, and a disturbing number of shirtless followers declaring "THE TRUTH IS IN THE VIBES."

Nate didn't know any of this the next morning. He woke up on his friend Trevor's couch-having been evicted three weeks ago after an incident involving expired lasagna, a raccoon, and one unfortunate smoke alarm-and checked his phone with the resigned dread of someone waiting for bad news from a dentist or their ex.

What he got instead was a barrage of text messages.Mom: "Nathan, are you leading a cult? Please say no. Also your uncle wants in."

Ex-Girlfriend: "Can I have the robe back? Mr. Wiggles misses it."

Unknown Number: "I have 47,000 followers. You're my god now."

He blinked. Sat up. Squinted at the screen like it had personally offended him.

Then he opened Instagram.

And screamed.

His face-still mid-pigeon-poop speech-was now on mugs, T-shirts, and a neon poster that read "WAKE UP, YOU MAGICAL BISCUIT."

Back in Lincoln Park, things had gotten weird. Someone had erected a cardboard shrine. There were candles, glitter, a bowl of Funyuns, and a plaque that read:

"Here Spake the Flander."

"Trevor," Nate whispered later that day, clutching a lukewarm Pop-Tart, "I think I accidentally became a spiritual leader."

Trevor, a conspiracy-loving DJ who lived in a converted van and had once claimed to be allergic to clouds, just nodded. "Yeah, bro. I felt your energy shift yesterday. Like... you leveled up. Ascended. Hit Guru 2.0."

"I fell on a yoga mat and got poop in my hair."

"Exactly," Trevor said, with alarming sincerity. "Symbolic rebirth."

Nate buried his face in his hands. "This isn't happening."

"It is. You can either fight it... or monetize it."

By 5 p.m., his new follower count was 83,000.

By 9 p.m., a woman claiming to be "a prophet of the future vibes" offered him a speaking gig in San Francisco.

By midnight, someone tagged his location with the words: "Enlightenment Zone: Approach Barefoot."

And Nate Flanders-unemployed, under-showered, and wearing a dog robe-realized something terrifying.

He had no idea how to stop this.

And worse?

Part of him... didn't want to.

END OF CHAPTER 1