SIR MAX!

Max coming home from school after getting denied for Mc donalds and sleeping in the bus"

A squirrel in a tiny waistcoat and monocle scampered up and saluted. “Sir Max! You’ve arrived! We summoned you from your world because the King has lost his most prized possession.”

Max rubbed his eyes. “Let me guess—magic sword? Sacred crown?”

“No,” the squirrel said gravely. “His favorite left sneaker.”

Max looked down. A sneaker—blue and sparkly—was already on his left foot. “Uh… is it this one?”

The squirrel gasped. “You’re wearing the Royal Sneaker! That makes you the new King!”

Before Max could respond, a fanfare erupted from the sky, and dozens of odd-looking creatures—part marshmallow, part marshmallow—gathered around.

Then the crowd started cheering "SIR MAX !" "SIR MAX ! " "SIR MAX!"
Being a little anxious "I DECLARE UNLIMITED WIFI SUPPLY TO THE HOMES WITH GAME CONSOLE AND THE HOMES WITHOUT GAME CONSOLE WILL BE GIVEN GAME CONSOLE!" Everyone started cheering " SIR MAX !" " SIR MAX !" " SIR MAX !"
But when he was sleeping the squirrel came and said "SIR MAX " there are some poor people who need some blows ! Max asked ' uh... what is blows ' then the squirrel said it's our currency then he said 'ok?' then the squirrel asked "SO WHAT SHOULD WE DO SIR MAX" UH... give them all the blows they want from the palace " The squirrel gasped " SIR MAX ! OUR ECONOMY WILL COLLAPSE " so they want it then give them " YES SIR MAX!" then when the economy collap

Max sat up in bed, heart pounding, still half expecting a squirrel in a monocle to pop out of his laundry basket.

But it was just Tuesday. Regular boring Tuesday. No marshmallow citizens, no sparkly sneakers, and definitely no cries of “SIR MAX!”

As he trudged to school, Max couldn't help but feel disappointed. But during math class, right as he was about to solve a problem about fractions, POOF!—his pencil turned into a banana and his desk shot up like an elevator.

He blinked—and boom. He was back on the hill in Quirkalot, wearing royal pajamas and one sparkly sneaker.

The squirrel popped up beside him again. “SIR MAX! You’ve returned just in time!”

Max groaned. “Did I break the economy again?”

“No,” the squirrel said, adjusting his monocle. “But your last royal decree angered the Breakfast Beasts. They say if every home gets free WiFi and a console, then they should get something too.”

“Breakfast Beasts?” Max raised an eyebrow.

Just then, a thundering roar echoed across the candy mountains. A giant, angry waffle stomped over the horizon, followed by a battalion of bacon knights and a milkshake dragon burping whipped cream.

“Oh no,” Max muttered. “I thought we were cool after the Pizza Friday thing!”

The squirrel handed him a golden cereal spoon. “You must challenge their leader to the ancient game of Snackball. It’s the only way.”

Max took the spoon, cracked his knuckles, and marched forward like a true king—one sneaker glowing, pajama cape flapping in the wind.

He faced the Waffle Overlord. “I accept your challenge,” Max said. “But if I win, you stop burping whipped cream on my villagers.”

The Waffle narrowed his syrupy eyes. “Deal.”

Thirty minutes, three flying Pop-Tarts, and a heroic belly-slide later, Max stood victorious, spoon held high.

“SIR MAX!” the crowd chanted.

“I DECLARE… pancake airships for everyone!” Max shouted.

The squirrel beamed. “Brilliant, SIR MAX! The Kingdom is saved once more!”

Just then, beep beep beep!—his school bus alarm blared.

Max woke up with his backpack still on his lap and a bit of drool on his hoodie. He smiled, stretched, and whispered:

“…It’s good to be King.”

Oh—sorry.
SIR MAX.
Max blinked at the bus window, trying to shake off the dream. But something was wrong. Very wrong.

The bus was empty. Parked. Silent.

Except…

“SIR MAX…”
Max turned slowly. The squirrel in the monocle was lounging in the driver’s seat, sipping tea.

“You fell asleep again, and now the Kingdom of Quirkalot faces its biggest threat yet!”

Max groaned. “Is it the Waffle Overlord again?”

“Worse.” The squirrel pointed out the window. The world had transformed. The sky was licorice. The trees were spaghetti. And stomping through the gumdrop forest was a giant broccoli monster with angry googly eyes.

“Oh come on!” Max yelped. “Broccoli?!”

“He says children waste him on dinner plates. He demands a seat on the Royal Council!”

Max sighed, adjusting his pajama cape. “Fine. But only if he takes a bubble bath first. He smells.”

The squirrel saluted. “SIR MAX! Always diplomatic!”

As the broccoli beast slipped into a foamy, glittery tub, Max settled onto his throne made of game consoles.

“SIR MAX!” the crowd cheered.

Max smiled sleepily.

“…It’s good to be King.”
Just as Max reached for a marshmallow scepter, the sky cracked open like an egg, and jellybeans rained down. The squirrel gasped. “The Dessert Portal is opening—someone from your world is coming!”

A figure emerged—a lunch lady wielding a ladle.

“MAXWELL! You forgot your lunch!”

Max groaned. “Not again…”