In the bustling town of Brightville, where the air smelled like freshly baked cookies and the wind carried the giggles of children, stood the grand School of Heroes. It was a place where young heroes-in-training learned to fly, outsmart dragons, and—most importantly—follow the rules. And no one loved rules more than Headmaster Rigby, whose mustache twitched like a nervous caterpillar whenever someone broke one.

Daniel, a boy with hair as wild as a bird’s nest and a heart as soft as a marshmallow, was the newest student. He had arrived with a backpack full of good intentions, a lunchbox that smelled suspiciously like peanut butter and jelly, and one tiny problem: he was terrible at remembering rules. Not because he didn’t want to follow them—oh no!—but because his brain was too busy noticing things. Like how the floorboards creaked like a grumpy old man, or how the chalk dust tickled his nose like tiny feathers, or how the school’s mascot, a grumpy goat named Gerald, always smelled like wet socks after rain.

On Daniel’s first day, Headmaster Rigby handed him the Great Rulebook of Heroic Conduct, a book so thick it could double as a stepping stool. "Memorize it by tomorrow," the headmaster said, his mustache doing a little dance. Daniel nodded so hard his head nearly fell off. Bonk! His forehead met the rulebook with a sound like a drum.

That night, Daniel sat at his desk, the rulebook open in front of him. The pages were as rough as tree bark under his fingers, and the ink smelled like old library books. Rule 1: Always greet your fellow heroes with a smile and a firm handshake. Easy! Daniel grinned and shook his own hand. Squelch! His hand was sweaty. Gross. Rule 2: Never leave your cape untied during flight drills. Daniel glanced at his cape, which was currently tied around his neck like a scarf. He fumbled with the knot, his fingers slipping like fish. Whoosh! The cape flew off and landed in his bowl of soup. Plop! Now his tomato soup smelled like wet wool.

The next morning, Daniel rushed to school, his backpack bouncing like a kangaroo. He had almost memorized the rules—well, at least the first three. He burst into the classroom just as Headmaster Rigby was about to begin the daily heroics lesson. The room fell silent. Gerald the goat let out a loud Baaaa! that sounded like a foghorn. Daniel froze. His stomach did a somersault. He had forgotten Rule 3: Never interrupt a lesson unless it’s an emergency. Too late.

Headmaster Rigby’s mustache drooped like a wilting flower. "Daniel," he said, "what is the meaning of this?" Daniel’s face turned as red as a stop sign. His knees wobbled like jelly. "I—I was just—" His voice cracked like a twig. Then, out of nowhere, his stomach let out a GRRRRROOOOWWWLLLL! so loud it echoed off the walls. The class erupted into giggles. Even Gerald snorted.

Daniel’s hands flew to his belly. "I forgot my snack," he whispered. The room smelled like peanut butter and jelly—his favorite!—but it was coming from someone else’s lunchbox. His stomach growled again, this time like a bear waking up from hibernation. GRRRRUMBLE!

Headmaster Rigby sighed so deeply his mustache fluttered. "Daniel, this is a heroic school. Heroes must be prepared!" Daniel’s shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon. He had failed. Again. But then, a tiny voice piped up from the back of the room. "Headmaster, maybe Daniel just needs a little help," said Mia, a girl with braids as tight as springs and a smile as bright as a flashlight. "We could make a game out of the rules!"

The headmaster’s eyes lit up like fireworks. "A game, you say?" Daniel’s heart did a little flip. A game? He loved games! The class cheered, their voices bouncing off the walls like rubber balls. Even Gerald the goat seemed to nod in approval, though it might have just been a sneeze.

And so, the Great Rulebook Rescue began. The class split into teams, and each team had to act out a rule while the others guessed. Daniel’s team got Rule 7: Always check your boots for frogs before putting them on. Daniel’s eyes widened. Frogs?! He had never checked his boots for frogs. What if there was one in there right now?

Mia rolled her eyes. "Daniel, just pretend!" So Daniel did. He tiptoed to his boots, which were sitting by the door, and poked them with a stick. Tap. Tap. Tap. Nothing. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he lifted one boot—SQUISH! A fake frog (made of green construction paper) popped out and landed on his nose. The class howled with laughter. Daniel’s nose twitched like a rabbit’s, and he couldn’t help but giggle too. He had done it!

By the end of the day, Daniel’s brain was buzzing like a beehive, but in a good way. He had learned all the rules—well, most of them—and even made a few new friends. As he walked home, the sun warm on his back and the smell of cookies drifting from a nearby bakery, he realized something important. Rules weren’t just about being perfect. They were about keeping everyone safe, happy, and—most of all—having fun together.

That night, Daniel tucked the Great Rulebook of Heroic Conduct under his pillow. It still smelled like old library books, but now it also smelled like peanut butter, laughter, and a little bit of wet goat. And as he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of frogs, capes, and the best day ever at the School of Heroes.