The quiet of his bedroom was a welcome, comforting blanket. The library, the terror of the investigation, the weirdness of the past week—it all seemed to fade away within these four familiar walls. The room was the same, a monument to his stalled life with its faded K-Pop posters and towers of empty energy drink cans. But he was fundamentally different.
He sat in his gaming chair, the worn throne of his old life, and mentally pulled up his [STATUS] window. The new user interface, a reward from his milestone level-up, was a thing of beauty. It was sleek, the font sharp, the borders softly glowing with a cool white light. It looked less like a cobbled-together mod and more like a professional, triple-A game release. He navigated to his personal statistics, a report card on the man he was becoming.
He stared at the numbers, and for the first time, the satisfaction he felt wasn't fleeting or tied to a digital achievement. It was a deep, quiet, and profound sense of accomplishment.
[Confidence: 65/100]
He had been a man who was afraid to make a phone call, who saw every social interaction as a potential failure. Now, he had faced down a monster made of gossip and a cosmic bureaucrat with the power to command garden gnomes. A 65 felt about right.
[Problem Solving (Applied Logic): 72/100]
He had gone from a person whose primary problem-solving skill was finding the right YouTube tutorial to someone who had repaired the very fabric of his hometown. He had used logic, observation, and a bit of inspired, desperate guesswork to win. The number felt earned.
[Motivation: 45/100]
He chuckled at that one. Still a work in progress. It was still probably a vast improvement from where he'd started, but the System, in its infinite honesty, knew he still had a long way to go. He wasn't about to go out and run a marathon, but he wasn't going to let a trash can overflow for a week, either. Progress, not perfection.
He was quantifiably a changed person. The numbers on the screen were just data, but they represented real experiences, real trials he had overcome. This feeling, this quiet pride in his own resilience, was deeper and more satisfying than any video game achievement he had ever unlocked.
The bedroom door creaked open, pulling him from his reverie. Pete leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The usual gruffness in his expression, the faint air of disapproval Chris was so accustomed to, had been replaced by something softer. It wasn't quite respect, not yet, but it was close. Perhaps a hint of grudging acknowledgment, born from a week of unexplained weirdness that had left the practical, no-nonsense man at a complete loss.
"Hey," Pete said, his voice even. "The grass out back is turning into a jungle. The old mower needs gas, but it needs a cut before it rains again this afternoon."
It was the most normal, most mundane, most parental request in the world. For years, a request like that would have been met with a sigh, a mumbled excuse, a negotiation for a later time. It was a chore, a symbol of the real-world responsibilities he so actively avoided.
But today, it was something else. It was a test. It was a low-level quest offered by an NPC who had no idea he was talking to a Level 7 Arbiter.
A smug, confident grin spread across Chris's face. The kind of grin a high-level player gets when a starting-zone quest giver asks him to go collect ten wolf pelts. He had the perfect, elegant solution for this peasant-level problem.
He gave Pete a knowing look, his newfound confidence bubbling over into a moment of pure, unadulterated hubris. "Don't worry about the old mower, Pete," he said, his voice laced with an air of supreme capability. "I'll handle the lawn problem."
Pete raised a skeptical eyebrow, but retreated down the hall without another word.
Chris turned back to the privacy of his room, his mind buzzing. He focused his will, bringing up the sleek, beautiful [Item Creation] sub-menu. He could picture it now: a brand-new, top-of-the-line, bright red riding mower appearing instantly on the overgrown grass below. Pete would come outside, his jaw would drop, and Chris would be hailed as the hero of yard work, the savior of Saturday mornings.
He scrolled to the blueprint for the [Self-Propelled Lawnmower (Gasoline Model)]. This was it. This was the moment he would truly ascend from a simple user to a master of his reality.
With a mental flourish, a sense of grand showmanship for his audience of one, he selected the blueprint and slammed his will down on the "Create" button.
Instead of the satisfying POP of a new lawnmower appearing outside, a shrill, angry error message flashed in his console, a digital slap in the face.
[INSUFFICIENT RESOURCES]
A sub-window immediately appeared, displaying the blueprint's material list, a stark reminder of the rules he had so recently learned and so quickly forgotten in his moment of arrogance.
[Required Resources:]
[- 15kg Refined Metal (Iron/Steel)]
[- 3kg Polymer (Plastic)]
[- 1x Small Combustion Engine (Functional)]
[- 2L Gasoline]
[- 1x Spark Plug]
Chris stared at the list, and his smug, confident grin deflated like a cheap pool toy. A short, sharp laugh escaped his lips, a laugh at his own foolishness. Of course. Of course, it wasn't that easy. He had literally just learned this lesson.
He could not create something from nothing. The System, for all its god-like power, was still bound by the universe's fundamental laws of conservation. It couldn't just conjure matter out of thin air. It could only reshape what already existed. He couldn't spawn a lawnmower. He had to build one, using real, physical components.
The System was not a magic lamp that granted wishes. It was the universe's ultimate crafting table, a universal interface for disassembling and reassembling the matter and energy of the world around him. And he, the user, still needed to go out and collect the raw materials.
The game had changed once again. The grind was not just for XP anymore. It was for iron and plastic and gasoline. And if he wanted to solve his family's lawnmower problem, he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way. The road to becoming a hero, it seemed, was paved with salvage.
He walked outside, the harsh sunlight a stark contrast to the cool gloom of his bedroom. He glared at the family's rusty lawnmower. It was an ancient, faded red machine, its paint chipped, its handle wrapped in electrical tape. It was a monument to procrastination.
The disappointment of his failed creation command was replaced by a new, more mature understanding. He couldn't make a new mower. But maybe he could make the task easier. This was not about brute force. It was about a smarter application of power.
He scanned the overgrown yard, a sea of green that needed to be tamed. Starting the old mower was always a game of chance, a frustrating ritual of pulling the cord again and again. He needed a luck buff.
He used his [INSPECT] ability, but he wasn't looking for a glitch. He was searching for a specific, naturally occurring probability anomaly. He focused on the simple concept: "four-leaf clover." The EP cost was negligible, a tiny flicker in his resource bar.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a tiny, golden arrow, a personal quest marker visible only to him, appeared in his vision. It pointed to a thick patch of grass near the back fence.
He walked over, his sneakers sinking into the damp grass. He knelt down and, sure enough, nestled amongst the hundreds of three-leafed clovers, was a single, perfect, four-leafed one. He plucked it from the ground, its delicate stem cool between his fingers. It wasn't a powerful magic item. It was just a clover. But it was a small nudge, a way to use his immense power for a small, simple advantage.
As he stood there, holding the tiny symbol of good luck, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. A text message from his sister, Carlye, glowed on the screen.
"Hey you. Heard things got a little weird in town this week. You doing okay?"
In the past, a message like that would have sent a spike of anxiety through him. He would have agonized over a reply. He would have typed and deleted a dozen drafts before finally putting the phone down and ignoring it for hours, maybe even days.
Now, without a moment's hesitation, a quiet confidence guiding his thumbs, he typed a reply.
"Yeah. Weird week. All good now. We should talk soon."
It was simple. It was honest. It was an invitation, not a deflection. He hit send.
The moment the message went through, a notification flashed in his HUD. It wasn't the triumphant fanfare of a level-up or the ornate gold of a promotion. It was a gentle, satisfying chime, the sound of a personal quest being turned in.
[Quest: Reconnect Completed! 50 EX Awarded!]
[+2 Family Cohesion]
Chris looked at the completed quest notification, then down at the four-leaf clover still clutched in his hand. He still had to find the gas can. He still had to clean the spark plug. He still had to fight with the old mower's stubborn pull-cord. Life was still life. The grind was still the grind.
But now, life had a user interface. It had stats and quests and rewards. And he was finally, finally learning how to use it properly.
He smiled, a real, genuine smile, and walked toward the garage. The new game had just begun.
The End.
or
The End of Book 1.
Author's Note: The continuation of this story will depend of the overall reception of the title.