The One Where Max Discovers Shiny Things (And They're Probably Important)

Featuring: One exhausted teenager, way too many mysterious boxes, and a guardian who really needs better labels on his ancient artifacts

Here's the second chapter, which is to help pass the time and to get a bit of insight to Max's character as well as more of the setting that takes place, and introducing us to a certain cinnamon roll!

Hope you like it!

The days after I woke up in Mr. Chan's shop blurred together during my recovery. During that time, I slowly got stronger, moving from barely sitting up to taking wobbly steps around my room. Mr. Chan helped me the whole time, supporting me physically and mentally.

One morning, I was making my way to the bathroom on shaky legs when I saw myself in the mirror. I stopped cold, staring at the stranger looking back at me.

The messy brown hair, brown eyes behind black glasses, and super skinny body seemed kind of familiar, but not quite right. Like someone had taken my photo and changed it just a little.

My oversized T-shirt hung loose on my skinny shoulders, and I had to roll up the pajama pants so I wouldn't trip. I looked about 12, but something in my eyes seemed way older and more tired than a kid's should be.

I ran my fingers through my messy hair, watching my reflection do the same. A weird chill went down my back when I touched my head - it felt normal but strange at the same time. I knew it was me in the mirror, but why did that feel so weird?

"Max?" Mr. Chan called from the other room. "Are you alright in there?"

"Yeah," I called back, forcing myself to look away from the mirror. "Just... thinking."

Who am I?

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

One morning, I was lying on my bed looking through comic strips Mr. Chan had cut from the newspaper for me. Then I noticed the date at the top:

JUNE 14, 2006.

"That can't be right," I said, frowning.

Mr. Chan looked up from his cleaning. "Did you say something, Max?"

I showed him the comics. "The date... it's two thousand and six?"

He nodded curiously. "Yes, that's correct. Is something wrong about it?"

I shook my head, trying to clear it. "I... I'm not sure. It just feels wrong somehow. Like it should be... later?"

Mr. Chan put down his duster and came over, his eyes showing both worry and wisdom. "Ah, the mind is a mysterious garden, Max. Sometimes, the flowers of memory bloom out of season. What makes you feel the year is incorrect?"

I paused, feeling dumb. In my head, I could've sworn it was two thousand and twenty-four, but saying the date was almost twenty years off seemed crazy. So I just said, "I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."

Real smooth.

Mr. Chan stroked his beard, thinking. "Perhaps it's a whisper from a dream or a story you once read. The imagination is a powerful force, after all."

He patted my shoulder gently. "Would you like me to bring you my copy of 'Journey to the West'? It's a fascinating tale that might help take your mind off things."

I nodded, glad for something else to think about. "That would be nice, thank you."

While Mr. Chan went to get the book, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The date bothered me more than it should've, and I didn't know why. I tried to focus on "Peanuts" and "Garfield" (turns out Mr. Chan really liked that lasagna-loving cat), but the weird thoughts kept hovering at the edge of my mind, refusing to go away completely.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

While exploring the shop during my recovery, that weird feeling of déjà vu got stronger. Every shelf, trinket, and old book seemed to whisper memories I couldn't quite catch.

Two days after finding out the date, I finally got up the nerve to ask what was bugging me.

"Mr. Chan?" I started nervously. "Where... where exactly are we?"

He looked up from his appointment book, raising his eyebrows. "We're in my shop, of course."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "I mean, what city? What country? I still can't remember how I got here."

"Ah," Mr. Chan nodded, getting it. "We're in New York City. The Lower East Side, to be exact." He watched my face carefully. "You... you did know we were in New York, didn't you?"

I blinked in surprise. New York? How'd I end up here? "I... I'm not sure," I admitted. "Everything's still pretty fuzzy."

Mr. Chan nodded with sympathy, his eyes twinkling with something I couldn't figure out. "Perhaps exploring the shop might jog your memory. Would you like me to show you some of the artifacts?"

I hesitated, feeling confused. "I'm not sure how looking at old stuff will help me remember who I am or how I got here."

Mr. Chan smiled kindly and put his hand on my shoulder. "Memory is weird, Max. Sometimes familiar things can help you remember. Besides," he added more cheerfully, "you need to move around and keep your strength up."

I thought about it. He had a point about exercise, and I had to admit, I'd been curious about all the artifacts since I woke up. Something about them pulled me in, though I didn't know why.

"Alright," I agreed, nodding slowly. Carefully, I got out of bed. I shivered when my bare feet hit the cold floor and quickly slipped on the old slippers Mr. Chan had given me. "I guess a little walk couldn't hurt."

Mr. Chan beamed. "Excellent! And who knows? You might surprise yourself with what you already know."

As we walked around the shop, I found myself drawn to each artifact. I barely heard Mr. Chan as I looked at a delicate jade figure, running my fingers over its smooth surface. Without thinking, I said, "Ming dynasty, right? Late sixteenth century?"

Mr. Chan's eyebrows shot up and he smiled big. "Very good, Max! Your knowledge of Chinese art is impressive."

I blinked, surprised by what I'd just said. "I... I don't know how I knew that." A weird feeling hit me, stronger than déjà vu. Like I was remembering something I never learned. How did I know that?

Mr. Chan's eyes twinkled mysteriously. "Perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye, my boy."

We kept going through the shop, stopping at different displays. With each artifact, I kept spouting facts and history I shouldn't have known. It was like someone had opened a door in my brain, letting out information I didn't even know was there. My head felt buzzy with each new surprise, mixing excitement and confusion.

When we got to a small, worn bronze figure, I felt that surge of recognition again. "Is that... an Etruscan votive offering?" I asked, leaning closer. "Late fourth century BCE, right? The patina and those stylized features are pretty distinctive."

Mr. Chan's eyebrows went way up, looking surprised and proud. "Very good, Max. You're exactly right. This piece is from the Etruscan civilization, and your dating is spot-on."

I ran my fingers through my hair, confused by how I knew all this. "I... I don't know how I knew that. It just popped into my head." My heart was racing as I tried to make sense of all this random knowledge.

"The mind is amazing," Mr. Chan said softly. "Sometimes, even when we think we've forgotten, the knowledge is still there, waiting to be found again."

I blinked, still surprised by what I'd just said. Rubbing my side absently, I looked up at Mr. Chan. "Wow, that's pretty cool. But, uh... where'd you even find something like this?"

Mr. Chan's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Ah, that's quite a story. I got it during an... interesting trip to Italy years ago. Let's just say it involved a midnight adventure, some unusual methods, and a race against time."

My eyes got big as I figured out what he meant. A small grin spread across my face. "Wait a second. Mr. Chan, did you... steal it?"

Mr. Chan totally lost his cool. He waved his hands around, almost knocking over a vase. "No, no, no! Absolutely not!" he sputtered, his face turning red. "I would never... I mean, it wasn't exactly... Oh, dear."

I couldn't help laughing at how flustered he got. "Relax, I'm just kidding."

He cleared his throat and straightened his Hawaiian shirt. "Yes, well... As I was saying, I made sure the artifact would be preserved and studied here, instead of getting lost in some private collection." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Sometimes, Max, to preserve history, you have to...bend the rules a little."

I nodded, still chuckling, but I could tell there was more to his story than he was saying. The way he talked about his methods made me wonder if he meant more than just knowing about antiques.

As we moved to the next display, I felt excited but confused. Who was I before the accident? How much more was locked up in my brain?

But even with all the cool old stuff around, I kept looking back at one thing - the gramophone. It sat on a shiny wooden table, its brass horn gleaming in the shop's soft light. Unlike everything else in the shop, that old record player gave me such strong déjà vu.

I rubbed my sore side from all the walking. But even the pain couldn't distract me from that mysterious gramophone. What was it about that thing? And why did it feel so... familiar?

"What about that gramophone?" I asked, pointing to it. "It seems... different from the other stuff."

Mr. Chan's face changed slightly - was that worry? - before he quickly hid it. "Oh, that old thing? Just a vintage piece I picked up years ago. Nothing special. Now, let me show you this fascinating scroll from the Qing Dynasty..."

I noticed how fast he changed the subject, and made a mental note about it. Why did that gramophone seem so familiar to me, and why was he so quick to avoid talking about it?

What are you hiding, old man?

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Nearly three weeks had passed since I'd first woken up in Mr. Chan's shop. As I got stronger, I started helping out where I could - cleaning up after clients, organizing stuff, and learning to make the special teas Mr. Chan served. It was the least I could do after everything he'd done for me, plus it helped with the restlessness I'd been feeling.

During the day, Mr. Chan worked his magic on his clients. The sounds became familiar - soft music, quiet instructions, happy sighs of relief. Still, I felt like a burden. Each little task I managed to do felt like a small win against feeling so helpless.

Today was different though - my first time alone since whatever happened to me. Mr. Chan had to run an errand, looking worried as he got ready to leave.

"I'll be back soon," he'd said, his eyes full of concern. "Remember, no overexerting yourself. That wound may look healed, but we can't risk reopening it."

I nodded, looking at my stomach. The angry red gash had faded to pink - a constant reminder of something I still couldn't remember. Mr. Chan was right to worry; even though it looked better, it still felt tender underneath.

When Mr. Chan left, the silence felt strange. I was alone with my thoughts and all these questions about what happened to me.

I tried keeping busy - fixing up the massage tables, restocking stuff. But I kept looking at this old gramophone. It just sat there, like it was daring me to check it out.

The shop got weirdly quiet. I could hear my heart beating and felt goosebumps whenever I got near that record player.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of it. My heart raced as I touched the smooth surface and traced the dragon designs. Something nagged at my memory - a code, a secret, something hidden.

"What are you hiding?" I whispered, hovering my fingers over the dragons. "Why do I feel like I know you?"

I stopped and sighed. "I'm talking to an old-fashioned record player," I muttered, rubbing my head. "I really am losing my mind."

I looked at the dragons' eyes and, without knowing why, pressed them gently. They lit up red, and the dragons' mouths opened wider, showing a tiny keypad. My heart jumped into my throat.

"Okay, this is definitely not a normal gramophone," I whispered, my pulse racing.

My hands moved on their own, typing in numbers I didn't even know I knew. There was a soft click, and the top started turning. The horn moved back, and two wooden doors slid open to reveal...

"...The Miracle Box," I said, the words coming out of nowhere.

Inside was this eight-sided box with a dark, shiny surface that seemed to glow in the dim light. The lid had this complicated red design with swirling lines and shapes. In the middle was some symbol I didn't recognize, but it felt important - like it meant something big. Around the sides were several small drawers with golden circles marking them. Something told me each drawer held powerful secrets.

How do I know what this thing is?

My hand reached out like someone else was controlling it and opened the lid. Inside were beautiful jewels, each one sitting in its own colored spot. Then something weird happened - all the drawers started opening by themselves.

The box was full of amazing jewelry - a necklace, hair comb, earrings, ring, brooch, and about fifteen other pieces. My head started pounding as memories hit me - heroes in masks, magical transformations, a city I'd never been to but somehow knew. The images came fast, like a movie on fast-forward.

"What... what is this?" I gasped, holding my aching head. "How do I know these things?"

I couldn't stop staring at this butterfly-shaped brooch. It felt more familiar than anything else. With shaking hands, I picked it up.

The moment I touched the brooch, a purple light burst out and flew around me like a crazy butterfly. "Whoa!" I yelled. "What the—?!"

I stumbled back, blinking spots from my eyes. When I could see again, there was this tiny floating... thing in front of me.

It - he? - looked like someone had mixed a butterfly with a fairy. Small enough to fit in my palm, the creature had delicate butterfly wings with long tails that ended in fine tips, each lower wing bearing a subtle dark purple spiral mark. His oversized head housed large, dark purple eyes and a matching spiral mark on his forehead, all contrasting against his light purple body.

We just stared at each other, both shocked but somehow recognizing each other. My brain tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

"You're alive!" the creature said, sounding super relieved. "I was so worried that I might have been too late to save you! But..." It flew closer, studying me like it was looking right through me. "You look different, younger even."

Suddenly it gasped, covering what I guess was its mouth. "Oh no, is this because of me?" Its voice shook with worry and guilt.

"Uh...I...uh..." I tried to talk, but nothing came out right. My hands were shaking, and I felt cold sweat on my forehead.

The creature's face changed from sad to worried. "Oh dear," it said, floating closer. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to overwhelm you. Please, let me explain. My name is Nooroo, and I'm a kwami."

I managed to croak out: "...Kwami?"

Nooroo nodded sympathetically. "Yes, a kwami. I know this must be confusing for you. Perhaps we should take this slowly..."

K̴̬͕̈́̀w̸͖̲̌̕a̴̮̓ṁ̸͎̤i̶̼͇͑́.̶̘̌͜

As soon as I heard that word again, my brain exploded with information. I fell to my knees, grabbing my head and groaning. It hurt so bad. "Uuuuuuuugh…!"

"Oh no, are you okay!? What's wrong?!"

All this knowledge I shouldn't have came rushing in like a tidal wave. The room started spinning.

The whole history of the Miraculous, what kwami could do, something about a Guardian - it was too much, like trying to drink from a fire hose.

H̷o̵w̸ ̶d̷o̴ ̶I̶ ̷k̴n̷o̴w̶ ̷t̷h̵i̶s̶?̴!

But that wasn't all. I remembered a knife, blood, and pain. So much pain.

My stomach felt like someone had just stabbed me again. I screamed, clutching where my scar was throbbing.

W̶͈̥̃h̷̥̼̎a̸̡̛̰̕t̸̬̭͒'̷̙̮̆s̵͖͖͘ ̶̜̱͒h̵̞̩͆͘ḁ̴̛̝̏p̵̡̽͝ṕ̵̟e̴͙̮͐n̴̲͆͐i̶̜̅n̸͙̭̕͝g̵͚̈́̂ ̷͎̜͛t̶͈̙̂͘ỏ̴̮̞̈ ̴͓͌m̸̘̓e̶͕̅͌?̸͔̚͝!̵̯͎͑͐

The room seemed to spin, and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. And my head was hurting so BAD!

W̴̞̼͔̪̯̒̒H̵̨̻̦͕̭̏̈O̸̻̘̬͛̃̀́ ̸̛̙̠̖̌̕Å̸̛͎̙̖͓̾̄ͅM̷̗̻͓̩̑͝ ̷̨̱̼̜̊Í̶̛̜͝?̶̧͙͓̎́̉͆̐͜!̸̧̪̫̼̥͗͂̚

Through all the chaos in my head, I heard the shop door open and someone gasp.

"Max!" Mr. Chan shouted, sounding scared. "What happened? How did you...?"

"Nooroo?" Another voice asked, worried and confused. "How did you get out? And why is the Miracle Box open?"

I felt Mr. Chan's hands on my shoulders and heard him trying to calm me down. But everything hurt too much, and the world went black...

Heads up, lady's and gentlemen! Nooroo, the kwami of transmission himself! Just wait where this goes!

Take care, and have a Happy Thanksgiving!