Chris had chosen his path. He was a Reality Architect. But the title felt less like a class and more like a cosmic joke. His new skill, [Function Comprehension], was supposed to be the key, but a key was useless without a lock to put it in. He needed a user manual.
A thought began to form in his mind. The Reality Markup Language was a language. It was a form of code. And where do you go to learn about code?
He had to go back to the library.
The thought of returning to the library sent a wave of anxiety through him. The first time, he had been an unwitting adventurer. The second time, had been a cosmic fetch quest. This time, he would be returning as something far more mundane: a library patron.
He walked reluctantly through the glass doors of the Upshur County Public Library. Mrs. Kaspersen, the head librarian and the eternal guardian of this repository of knowledge, gave him a suspicious look over the top of her spectacles as he walked past the main circulation desk. He gave her a weak, non-committal nod and scurried away before she could ask him about his library card, which he was fairly certain had expired sometime during the Obama administration.
He was on a mission. A scholarly field trip. Armed with his new [Function Comprehension] skill, he had a theory. The RML was a form of programming. If he used his [INSPECT] ability on books about real-world programming, the System might provide helpful tooltips or insights into how its own language worked. He was searching for programming books, and he was hoping to find them in the "Computers" section, aisle 7B.
He found the aisle tucked away in a dusty, forgotten corner of the library. It was a small, sad-looking section, the shelves filled with thick, outdated textbooks with titles like "Mastering Windows 95" and "The Internet for Dummies." He ran his finger along the spines, a cloud of dust motes dancing in the dim light. He pulled out a massive, heavy book titled "Java Programming for Beginners." He opened it to a random page and saw a block of code, a confusing, alien jumble of curly braces and semicolons.
He used [INSPECT] on the page.
[Object: Textbook (Java Programming for Beginners)]
[Status: Obsolete]
[System Note: Object contains abstract data related to RML foundational principles (Object-Oriented Structure). Recommended for study.]
Chris's eyes lit up. His theory was correct. The System was telling him that this dusty book about a programming language he had never heard of contained the secret knowledge he was looking for. This was it. This was the user manual.
He was about to tuck the book under his arm and find a quiet corner to begin his studies when he heard a frustrated sigh from a few tables over. It was a weary sound, the sigh of someone who has been staring at a problem for too long.
He peeked around the end of the aisle. In the main study area, surrounded by stacks of books, sat Jessica Lange. The cashier from Kroger's. The barista from The Daily Grind. His one and only, newly-acquired ally.
She was slumped over an open textbook and a laptop, her head in her hands, looking defeated. She had a pen tucked behind her ear, and her brow was furrowed in a deep frown.
The moment Chris recognized her, the moment his brain processed the scene of his ally in distress, a new notification popped into his HUD.
[Quest: Study Buddy]
[Objective: Assist Jessica Lange with her studies.]
[Reward: 120 XP, +5 Community Standing, ???]
Chris felt the familiar wave of social anxiety wash over him. The quest was a social skill check, a mission that required him to willingly engage with another human being in a non-transactional context. The old Chris Day would have immediately deemed the quest "not worth it." The risk of an awkward conversation, of saying the wrong thing, of just generally failing at being a normal person, was far too high. He would have turned around, hidden in the dusty computer science aisle, and waited for her to leave.
But he wasn't the old Chris Day. Not entirely. He was a Level 7 Reality Architect. He was a man who had successfully crafted a functional engine out of junk. He was a man who had an ally, an ally who was currently suffering from a low-morale debuff.
He took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. He clutched the Java textbook to his chest like a shield. He could do this. It was just a conversation. A conversation with a quest marker over it. That made it easier.
He walked out of the aisle and approached her table.
"Hey," he said. His voice cracked a little on the single, terrifying word. "Looks like you're having fun."
Jessica looked up, her eyes wide and unfocused for a second. Then, a relieved smile broke through her frown, a happy, "oh-thank-god-a-friendly-face" smile.
"Chris! Hey. Fun is not the word I would use." She gestured at the open textbook with a look of disgust. "I'm taking this stupid Intro to IT class at Wesleyan at night, and I am totally, one-hundred-percent, stuck."
"What's the problem?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down, a move of such uncharacteristic social boldness that it surprised even him.
"It's this practice problem," she said, sliding the textbook over to him. "It's about defining variables and calling functions in Python. I get the concept, I think, but when I try to write the code, it just... doesn't work."
Chris looked at the page. The problem was simple: "Write a program that prints every item in a list of ten of your favorite foods." Below the problem, Jessica had scrawled a few lines of code in a notebook.
As Chris looked at the lines of Python code, his new [Function Comprehension] skill activated. It was a strange, powerful sensation. The unfamiliar programming syntax on the page didn't just look like words anymore. His HUD overlaid the Python code with its RML equivalents, glowing blue and white tooltips that translated the abstract, human-readable language into the brutal logic of the System.
He saw the line where Jessica had created her list: favorite_foods = ["Pizza", "Tacos", "Ice Cream", "Sushi", "Burgers", "Pasta", "Steak", "Donuts", "Fries", "Ramen"] The System overlaid it with a tag:
[Data_Array_Created (ID: favorite_foods, Size: 10)]
He saw her attempt at the loop: for i in range(10): The System translated it:
[Loop_Execution(Count:10)]
And he saw the final, problematic line: print(favorite_foods[i]) The System's translation was what gave him the clue:
[Call_Data(Array:favorite_foods, Index:i)]
The problem was suddenly, beautifully clear. He saw the logic, the simple math of the system, in a way Jessica couldn't. He pointed at the line in her notebook. "I think I see the problem," he said, surprising even himself with the clarity and confidence in his own voice. "The loop is trying to run one too many times."
Jessica frowned, looking at the code. "What do you mean? The list has ten items, and the loop runs ten times. That should work, right?"
"Right," Chris said, the explanation flowing from him with an effortless grace. "But the list has ten items, so the last position should be '9', but the code is telling the loop to go all the way to '10', which doesn't exist. It's trying to find an eleventh item in a ten-item list."
Jessica's eyes lit up with a sudden understanding. She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand.
"Oh my god," she whispered, a look of revelation on her face. "An off-by-one error! Of course! Because the list starts at zero. I always forget about zero-indexing. The first item is position zero, so the tenth item is in position nine."
Her real-world explanation gave Chris a powerful "aha!" moment in return. Zero-indexing. Of course. It was a fundamental concept in programming that he had not actually been aware of. But now, it clicked into place. Jessica's explanation gave him new insight into the fundamental structure of reality's code. He realized the System almost certainly used zero-indexing when cataloging objects. When it identified the coffee mug as coffee_mug_kitchen_01, the "01" wasn't the first item; it was the second. There was probably a coffee_mug_kitchen_00 somewhere that he had never even considered. This was a massive insight.
"You are a genius," Jessica said, already furiously erasing her old code and rewriting it. "I've been staring at this for an hour, and my brain was turning into mashed potatoes."
"Nah," Chris said, a flush of genuine pleasure warming his cheeks. "It's just a matter of knowing how to look at the problem."
They spent the next hour working through the rest of her homework together. The exchange was a strange, symbiotic, and deeply rewarding process. Chris, with his System-enhanced ability to see the underlying logic of the code, would help her understand the why of the problem. And Jessica, with her actual, classroom-learned knowledge, would inadvertently teach him the fundamental concepts of real-world programming, the very concepts that underpinned the Reality Markup Language.
As they worked, he watched the [RML Comprehension] stat in his character sheet slowly, beautifully, tick upwards. 51… 52... 53... He was literally leveling up his understanding of the universe by helping someone with their homework.
Finally, Jessica closed her textbook with a satisfied sigh. "I'm done. I actually understand it now. I can't thank you enough, Chris. You're a lifesaver."
"No problem," he said, a smile on his face. "It was kind of fun."
And he realized, with a small jolt of surprise, that it was true. It had been fun.
The familiar, triumphant ding sounded in his mind.
[Quest Complete! 120 XP Awarded!]
[+5 Community Standing]
[New Trait Gained - [Patient Teacher]]
[Trait: Patient Teacher. Grants a +5% bonus to XP gains for all quests involving teaching another person.]
Chris stared at the reward. The XP and the Community Standing were great. But the new trait... it was a synergy buff. It was a permanent bonus that rewarded him for being helpful. The System was actively encouraging him to be a better person.
But the biggest reward of all was the one that pushed his main experience bar over the edge. The 120 XP was just enough. The bar filled, and a brilliant, golden flash filled his vision, accompanied by a triumphant, orchestral chime.
[Congratulations! You have reached Reality Architect (LVL 8)!]
[New Ability Unlocked: [Modify Object Property (Minor)]]
He left the library a few minutes later, a Level 8 Reality Architect with a new trait, a higher community standing, and a sense of accomplishment. He had not only gained a new friend, but he had also gained a new and deeper insight into the very language of reality. The grind, it turned out, was a lot more fun with a study buddy.