Logan wanted to test [Life Cycle] on the regular seeds first in case the skill backfired. There was no point in accidentally killing the C Grade bean seeds by ineptitude.

They’d purchased tomato seeds, squash, beets, and raspberries from Martin’s Convenience. He was uncertain where to start. It was that age old saying of analysis leads to paralysis he’d learned in a business course. Faced with too many choices, individuals would take ages trying to narrow down a choice, eventually coming to a standstill and not making a decision at all due to too much information. But introduce only two choices, the decision was much easier and completed in a fraction of the time.

Logan’s gut told him to pick the tomato seeds first since those seemed most like a tree. Even with zero experience growing vegetables from scratch, he knew that tomato plants had to grow a stem and leaves.

The seeds were so tiny he almost lost the first one, fumbling it, the bandage around his hand making it difficult to grasp. Using his good hand, he balanced the tiny thing on the pad of his index finger, holding it up to his eyes. Logan squinted, extending his senses, and finally discarded it and picked another. Something had told him the first seed had been inept, and no matter how hard he tried, it never would’ve grown. The second seed was a different matter.

Logan dug a small furrow in the pot, letting the seed drop into the hole and gently covering it with soil. Resting his hands against the shelf, he stared down at the pot.

Here was the tricky part.

Employing his [Life Cycle] skill on pine trees was now as easy as breathing, but the tomato seed didn’t feel right. From trial and error, he knew that staring at the soil wouldn’t work. He had to visualize the plant growing for the skill to activate.

Logan closed his eyes.

He pictured that tiny, tiny seed kicking to life, a minuscule sprout extending out of the seed, fine roots that resembled hairs digging through the soil. The roots sucked up moisture while the sprout travelled in the other direction, seeking sunlight and air.

But something was off.

It was a feeling of… restriction. A barrier. Instinctively, he knew if he continued, he would hit nothing but a wall. It reminded Logan of how difficult it had been to grow a sprout in mycelium saturated ground. The System didn’t want him to use the skill for growing a plant.

Fuck that.

Logan ground his teeth and shut his eyes again. The System had given him a growing skill, and he needed that skill. Not for trees, but to feed his people. To feed Lara. To feed the kids. There had to be a way around this.

Logan began the visualization again. But this time, before he focused on the seed, he pictured a brick wall. It had stacked red bricks surrounded by thick mortar. The wall was high, so high he couldn’t see where the top ended. The wall had a weight to it, an immenseness, with a presence to match.

But every wall could be broken.

Scrunching his eyebrows and furrowing his brow, Logan concentrated on one brick. One only. All he needed was one. With a wrench, he pictured that brick crumbling, clay and shale turning into fine sand that drizzled down the wall.

Logan didn’t know if breaking a wall would get him anywhere, but one thing he did know was that as soon as he’d started, he’d felt a pressure built up behind his eyes, a foreign feeling, something he’d never experienced in his life. He was either giving himself a stroke, or he was making progress and the pain meant he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

Logan focused on the next brick and with another wrench, turned that one to dust as well. The pain behind his eyes promptly turned into a poker drilling directly into his brain, the agony acute, so acute he was surprised he hadn’t received an increase to [Idiot’s Paradox].

He was getting somewhere here.

With a renewed focus and surging excitement, he wrenched again, turning three more bricks into dust that trailed down the wall, pooling into a sandy mound at the base.

He could see through the wall.

And on the other side was the tomato seed.

The difference between sprouting this seed and a pine tree was night and day—the tomato was more like a strand of wild grass, two split green leaves at the top. Logan wrenched at the bricks keeping him from growing the seed further, and with a click and a final stab behind his eyes, the wall dissolved at the same time a gush of warm blood trailed from his nose.

Logan disregarded the blood, visualization continuing. He couldn’t stop. Even if he was bleeding to death. Not when he’d just made a breakthrough.

The stem doubled in size, thickening and lengthening until more stems branched off and sprouted their own leaves. Instinctively, he knew the plant needed support, something to lean against, so he directed it to grow at a slant until it touched the uneven wooden frame of the greenhouse.

Each leaf transformed from a baby smooth texture to a rough, mature leaf. More stems branched off, multiplying, the wooden frame propping it up. His head was starting to feel tight, wooziness overtaking him as he pushed even further, more green shoots splitting from the stem, each of those shoots growing bunches of flowers that bloomed green, then yellow.

The flowers withered and warped into a small green bulb until the bulbs were the size of grapes, then tangerines. Each bulb transformed, unripe green replaced by light orange, then bright, ripe red.

Logan opened his eyes to a tomato plant so tall it was like a mutant plant, with two dozen, bright red tomatoes the size of oranges ready to be harvested.

Ding!

[You have successfully deployed the skill, Life Cycle, at the #!#!Error#!#!]

[Error 343!]

[Skill not recognized!]

[Recalculating….]

[You have been awarded the skill, Green Horticulturist Master! This rare skill allows you to control the life cycle of a plant from birth to death. Skill level advances with Karma pool growth.]

[Skill convergence found! The skill, Life Cycle, has been merged with the skill, Green Horticulturist Master, to form the epic skill, Life Cycle Master! This skill allows you to control the life cycle of beings from birth to death. Level is commensurate with your Karma pool and Karma regeneration rate. KarmaCoin awarded is based on carbon capture impact.]

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Logan stared and wobbled in place, still woozy and more than a little shocked. Yeah, he’d technically cheated—his [Life Cycle] skill had made specific mention of trees, and he’d used it on a tomato plant, but he’d never thought it would result in a new skill.

His heart raced in excitement as he took in the description of [Life Cycle Master].

If he were reading this right, there were no longer sprouting or sapling levels, just plain growth. This was the first time he’d seen a skill labelled ‘epic’ too, and although he didn’t know what that meant, it sounded freaking awesome. What was even more puzzling was the wording—if this skill controlled the life cycle of plants, why didn’t it say that? Instead, it referenced ‘beings.’ Even better, he still had the ability to earn KarmaCoin for the tree fridge.

Logan had known approximately how much Karma a sprout cost—it was within his Karma generation rate. The sapling had come close to depleting his whole Karma pool and although the gush of blood and sharp agony he’d experienced was likely due to pushing through the skill barrier, the wooziness might have been from coming close to depleting his karma pool. The cost of growing a tomato plant must have been high. He needed to increase his Karma pool—either that or increase his generation rate so his pool wouldn’t matter.

Logan rubbed away the blood from his lip and face and then checked his Karma stat: 270/270. It had replenished. There was only one thing left to try. If he started to get a headache, or if he grew short of breath, he could always stop the skill half-way through. A partially grown plant was better than one that would take weeks or even months to grow naturally.

The pouch full of beans was still inside his shirt pocket. You’d expect magic beans to be jumbo size or a wacky color—something that shouted mutant seed—but the seeds looked like regular old seeds.

Logan picked a different shelf to give the tomatoes room to grow and dug a small hole into the pots before dropping one seed into each.

Then he stared at the pot, stumped. He’d never been fond of green beans; forced to eat them as a child and despising the taste, he’d cut them out as an adult, only eating them during family gatherings and during one memorable Thanksgiving dinner with his ex-girlfriend’s whole extended family. So Logan could say that he’d eaten the buggers, but he had no idea how they were grown.

Normally he’d just look up a video on his phone, but data had been spotty ever since he’d returned from the resort.

Green beans. Weren’t they called string beans? So they… grew on vines?

That was likely the best he’d get.

Logan closed his eyes.

He could immediately narrow in on the seed inside the pot, which must be a feature of his new skill, but he could also identify other things. There had been small weeds growing in the soil together with the flowers. Logan had pulled them out, but the roots had survived. They were already starting to inch forward, growing at an incremental, crawling pace.

Mixed in with those roots, tiny worm larvae were maturing, halfway there already and only needing a small push to hatch into baby worms. And so small that he couldn’t even see it, a tiny brown soil mite shaped like a crab crawled on top of the soil, feeding on decomposing matter.

Logan hadn’t encountered or even heard of a soil mite in his life, but he somehow still knew everything about it, down to the specific parts of its body that should be too small for the human eye to see.

But he only wanted the bean seed. Taking a deep breath, Logan visualized the seed waking up, coming to life as it became aware of the environment around it—soil, moisture. It sucked in water like a sponge, a green shoot worming deep into the soil, cobweb-like roots branching off like an upside-down tree canopy.

On the opposite end, a thick green shoot formed, growing rapidly and rising from the soil. Two green leaves grew on either side. The shoot continued to climb, the thickness of the stem narrowing and thinning until it was like an insect antenna swaying side to side, seeking support—something to wrap around. Logan guided it to the wooden frame, telling it to…

Suddenly light-headed, Logan swayed and gasped for air, his lungs blocked. An invisible force had taken away his ability to breathe; he couldn’t get enough air; he couldn’t—

He could breathe!

[Drawing on a skill with insufficient Karma can cause paralysis and eventual death. This isn’t the first time we’ve told you this, Idiot.]

Bastard System. For once he’d like a straightforward message without the sarcasm.

Logan glanced at his Karma stat:

3/270.

4/270.

5/270.

It was replenishing as he watched, but he’d obviously run out of Karma halfway through deploying the skill. He had the ability to generate 30 Karma a minute, but if deploying the skill took more than 270 Karma at once, he would be endlessly gasping for air, stalling and starting, waiting for his pool to replenish over and over. And that was only one bean plant; he still had four to go and this one hadn’t even grown its first bean pod. This was yet another reminder that he needed to level up—level the hell up. And quickly.

Logan took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

It took a few seconds to refocus, but then the vision was there—the green plant had reached the heights it needed; the next step was forming the pods. Logan pushed as he focused on the pod, visualizing it forming as a string first, then thickening, doubling, small beans swelling inside the pod. Gradually, he became aware of a trickling feeling, almost as if his energy were depleting. Was that his Karma draining?

Logan opened his eyes.

In front of him was a bean plant that had grown up the walls of the wooden frame, crawling up and reaching the unfinished roof. Within reach, there was one bean pod. One.

Huh. The description of the seeds had made them seem unlimited, immense. But here was just one pod.

The other odd thing was that he hadn’t received a skill deployment confirmation message. He’d gotten so used to seeing them that he’d taken them as reassurance he’d correctly utilized a skill. Not receiving the message was jarring. Did that mean that he wouldn’t receive KarmaCoin?

A review of his stats was in order. He made sure to toggle on the full view option.

Name: Logan Hart [Hidden Name: Idiot]

Rank: 101,998 out of 7,410,019,018

Level: 10

Class: None

Grade: F1

Species: Human

Skills:

* Deepwater Idiot Lv. 1

* Idiot’s Paradox Lv. 9

* Idiot’s Inspect Lv. 2

* Life Cycle Master*

Titles: Eager Beaver

XP Progress: 3,300/20,000

Karma: 270/270

Intelligence: 45

Constitution: 26

Strength: 24

Agility: 16

Dexterity: 13

Endurance: 14

Perception: 17

Wisdom: 30

Luck: 35

Free Attribute Points: 0

KarmaCoin: 5

His new [Life Cycle Master] skill had no level, but it did have an asterisk. Logan focused on it until it expanded.

[Epic skills transcend levels and are only limited by your Karma pool, Karma regeneration rate, and a lack of imagination. Since that third one fits you just like a shoe fits, this will be a pretty shitty skill for you, Idiot.]

Logan didn’t even roll his eyes at the saucy message; at this point, it was normal, and it would be more of a surprise not to have it. Still, if this skill transcended levels, did that mean it transcended System messages as well? How would he monitor whether deploying his skill had awarded him KarmaCoin? KarmaCoin was still at five. That’s what he’d had before growing the tomato and bean plant. That meant he’d received no additional KarmaCoin. Why?

[Deploying your skill on a being that will have a negligible carbon reduction will result in zero KarmCoin. Zero reduction = zero reward.]

The System was reading his thoughts again. Creeper. And what a rip off. But to be fair, if the System awarded money based upon a plant’s environmental impact, he could see how a tree could make a difference. After all, a tree would be around for years, even decades, and vegetable plants would go with the seasons.

One other change caught his eye. His rank had changed again, but this time, it had gone back down to six digits. Logan knew he’d been spending time investigating the tree fridge and building a greenhouse, but it had only been half a day since he’d last leveled up. In hours, people around the world had managed to climb higher than him, even after he’d received the epic skill. The world must be brutal out there.

Logan ran his hand through his hair and glanced outside. It had gotten dark, and darkness in this new reality wasn’t his friend, but he wanted to try one more thing before he headed inside. According to the System’s description of the bean plant, there should be something special about this plant. He wanted to test it.

Logan pulled on the bean pod, tugging on it until it broke from the plant. It looked normal, just like any other gross-tasting bean. He didn’t see how that would…

There were two more pods dangling from the same place. They hadn’t been there a second ago; there was no way he’d missed them. Watching carefully, Logan harvested these pods too, pulling on them until he had three green beans in his hand.

In front of his eyes, four new pods grew, forming so quickly that in one blink he would have missed it.

Holy shit.