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Michael pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into the dark room.
He was wearing the shiniest magic armor in the world. He looked like a walking mirror. In his right hand, he held a giant sword. In his left hand, he held a big bottle of stomach medicine.
"Never again," Michael whispered inside his shiny helmet.
He remembered his old life. He remembered the pudding cup he stole from the fridge. He remembered the terrible stomach pain because someone hid diarrhea medicine inside it. He remembered dying on the cold floor.
His only goal in this new life was simple: live a long time and never eat dessert again.
Then, he saw the boss monster.
It was ten feet tall. It was wobbly. It was yellow and brown. It smelled like sweet sugar.
It was a Giant Pudding Monster.
The monster wiggled. It made a wet, squishy sound. Squish. Squelch. Michael stopped walking. His shiny armor clinked as he shook with fear. His eyes went wide.
"No," Michael whispered. "Not pudding."
The Pudding Monster waved a jiggly arm at him. Then, a piece of pudding flew off its body and hit Michael.
SPLAT! The sticky pudding hit him right on his clean, shiny chest. It slowly dripped down.
Michael got so angry.
"DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!" Michael yelled. He ran at the monster. "I DIED BECAUSE OF YOU! I POOPED TO DEATH!"
He swung his giant sword. He cut the monster right in the middle.
But the sword did nothing. The monster just wiggled, and the two halves stuck back together. SQUISH! A big splash of pudding flew into the air.
It rained down on Michael. He was not a shiny knight anymore. He was covered in sticky pudding. It covered his helmet.
"It's in my helmet!" Michael cried. He tried to wipe his face, but he just rubbed more pudding into his eyes. "Oh no, I can taste it! It tastes like vanilla! Get it off!"
The monster turned around. It swung its big, heavy pudding bottom at him.
SMACK! The monster hit him hard. Michael flew across the room. Because his armor was so smooth and the pudding was so wet, he slid across the floor like a hockey puck.
He hit the wall with a loud CLANG! He lay there, groaning.
The Pudding Monster slowly jiggled toward him.
Michael looked up through his sticky helmet. He saw the wobbly monster. He smelled the sugar.
"Not again," he cried softly, holding up his sword like a shield. "Please. Just... don't make my stomach hurt this time."
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While Michael was dreaming about his bravery against a pudding monster, Terry was in his office looking at a contract. It was the contract that he wanted to give Michael, his son.
Knock! Knock!
"Hmm...come in," Terry said in a serious tone.
Terry may act like a big teddy bear at home, but he is very respected in his office because of his tough looks and no-nonsense attitude. However, there are some people with whom he can act normally. For example, Evans came into his office.
"Boss! I have read the manuscript you told me to read," Evans said while wiping his red eyes.
"Huh! A veteran editor who reads approximately 20 manuscripts a day is crying because of my child. I'm proud of you, Mikey!!" thought Terry.
"How was it?" asked Terry, though knowing the answer.
For some minutes Evans didn't speak. He was thinking about something.
"I have been in this industry for 5 years. I was waiting for this chance... I need to do this to become rich. My father taught me, 'If you want to become rich, follow people who have the caliber of becoming rich.'" Evans thought.
"It was fabulous; I have never seen such polished work. Not even a spelling mistake. I couldn't think of any omissions... who wrote it?" Evans said enthusiastically.
Terry, who was relishing the feeling of praise for his son, was happy and let go of his serious demeanor.
"My son, Michael Owen," Terry said proudly.
When Terry said that name, Evans suddenly clasped his hand and started pleading.
"Can I meet him please? Please? Pwetty please?" asked Evans.
Terry was erked out by Evans failed attempt of looking cute but he nodded.
"That's why I gave you the manuscript... I want you to look after my son and be his personal editor," Terry said.
"Personal?" Evans said with glint on his eyes.
"Yes, though I thought of asking you to become his manager, but that would be very risky—"
Before Terry could finish, Evans already stood up and said, "Yes! I will be his manager."
"Huh?" Terry looked at Evans like he was a mad man.