While all researchers agree a higher Number correlates to higher practical value of that attribute, what does this actually mean? While a person who has a higher strength Number is “stronger” than a person with a lower strength Number, if the person with the higher strength Number trains only upper-body strength, they will not be able to squat as much weight as a person with a lower strength Number who exercises the whole body evenly. This phenomenon has led to the development of the “Summate Attribute Theory”, a theory in which the Number of each attribute can be calculated as the direct sum of multiple discrete hidden summate attributes. Not to be confused with sub-attributes, some proposed summate attributes of strength would be upper body strength, lower body strength, and body resiliency. The summate attribute of upper body strength could further be reduced to the summate attributes of each individual muscle within the upper body, and so on.

- Excerpt from “The Five Numbers, 5th Edition”

I wake up the next morning much earlier than I'd like to, still exhausted and in pain from the previous days' exploits, wishing only for a few more hours of sleep on a comfortable mattress. But the bright sun, shining through a hole in the leaves to directly onto my face combined with what feels like a sharp rock pressing against every sore muscle in my back means that it is impossible to fall back asleep.

My annoyance quickly fades, to be replaced by excitement as I remember all the events of yesterday. These last few days have seemed like a nightmare. Disaster after disaster after disaster. The tattoo on my right arm, however -- that is less like a nightmare, and more like a dream. Magic! Real, honest, no tricks, magic.

Life, to me, has always felt a bit...colorless. Restrained. I knew what I had to do, and I could do it well...but everything always has a limit. No matter how good I get at anything, no matter my skill level, I can always see my achievements defined, measured, CONTAINED by my Numbers. No matter what I do, if it doesn't increase my Numbers, it isn't worth it. And if it DOES increase my Numbers, who cares? There will always be someone else who's gone before me and increased their Numbers by more.

There was a point, earlier in my life, when I wasn't this cynical. My dream had been to have the highest Numbers out of anyone. Depending on my mood or day of the week, I would change which Number I decided I would be the best at. Sometimes I even came to the conclusion that I would be the best at ALL of them.

But then reality set in, and I realized that, no matter how much I studied, how much I worked, or how much I committed myself, there would always be someone else who would work a little harder, be just a little more gifted, or be more committed than I was. This led to me, if not giving up, then just coasting.

I still worked hard, at least in the eyes of others. But I always knew deep down that I could be working harder than I was. I did really well in my old school, to the point that I was easily the best in my class. But my parents could tell that I wasn’t fully committed, not to the level I could be.

So they moved me to Clayton Northern Academy. Halfway across town with the best Numbers in the state. I’m extremely appreciative of the sacrifices they had to make to get me into this school -- my mom quit her old job she loved, my dad had to commute for a half hour longer each day -- but it still just felt so meaningless. At this new more competitive school, I could see it even more clearly. Every single student was pushing themselves to the limit, only to find that their peers had already pushed past the limit.

And the worst part is that I could see every other student still finding the motivation to strive for more, despite facing the exact same reality. I had no excuse for “giving up,” especially with all the support I received.

So I coasted. Tried, without ever fully giving it my all, knowing that my all would never be the best, never be enough to satisfy what I feel I should be capable of. And in the end, the source of this was the Numbers, the five small tattoos which strictly define my limits and prove, unequivocally, how I compare to those around me.

But now this new tattoo has appeared, giving to me a skill...no, more than a skill, giving me magic. Something I have never seen or heard of, something that isn’t defined, described, or limited by my Numbers. I can feel the desire, the drive to learn and push my limits: something I haven’t felt, except sporadically, in years.

Looking at my hand in front of me as I lay on the ground, I change the back of it to a dark green color, and grin. I will certainly be experimenting with this new tattoo more today, but first: breakfast. I roll up to my feet and begin to dig into the wheelbarrow for a hearty meal of...baked beans. Yay. Even so, I pop the top and sniff the top of the open can.

I wrinkle my nose against the strange smell in the air, overpowering the smell of my breakfast. What is that…? Taking a deeper inhale, I hold in a gag, and finally see what is causing the disgusting odor. The tree monster’s corpse, which yesterday appeared no different from a smoldering bonfire, now has morphed into a black, tentacle-y goop, emitting a horrendous stench.

I hold in a second gag and cover my nose as I look away from the nauseating remains. The body doesn’t even look like a tree anymore, and instead makes me think more of an octopus. The smell though, reminds me of the one time my parents tried to cook anchovies. The one and only time.

Standing up, I quickly throw my supplies into the wheelbarrow. I really need to get to a part of the forest which is a bit less...fragrant. Groaning, I realize I completely forgot about how sore I am.

My injuries from yesterday feel even worse this morning, and my body feels like one giant bruise. But even the pain, soreness, and stench isn’t enough to completely dampen my excitement and new brighter outlook. Whatever happens, at least something good has come from this catastrophe -- although as I think about the deaths of my fellow students, I shudder, and realize it definitely isn’t worth it.

After finishing my morning routine and wrestling the wheelbarrow back through the underbrush to the road, I finally resume my journey to the town. I’m tempted to spend my bounty of unspent Numbers from the tree-monster (is it even right to call it a tree monster anymore? I’m honestly starting to question if it is truly related to trees after seeing its decomposing corpse). As much as it would be nice to have an additional sixty strength for my hike down the road, I decide to put twenty into charisma, and leave the rest for now. Assuming my Numbers still work even remotely similar to how they used to, the lower the Numbers are the faster they will increase naturally, so the longer I wait to apply the unspent Numbers the more efficient my growth will be.

I’m not anticipating seeing any natural growth from charisma, however -- not with how disgusting I am, and not without being able to interact with anyone else. And I need every bit of healing I can squeeze out of my charisma Number.

As much as I want to spend all day playing with my new power and planning out my Numbers, I know I need to keep moving towards civilization. My supplies from the shed will not last forever.

This doesn’t mean that I can’t practice my new skill while I’m walking, however. As I push the wheelbarrow up the latest in a long line of slight uphills, I focus on different parts of my body, changing the color to every shade of the rainbow. Every few minutes, I glance down at my hands (the only exposed part of my body that I can see) to make sure that the colors I am imagining match what actually appears. With only a few exceptions, it matches exactly.

In one instance, I attempt to make a maze-like tattoo on the back of my left hand -- only to end up with a blurry smudge as a result, rather than the painstakingly detailed maze I spent five minutes imagining. With some more experimentation, I find that anything too detailed doesn’t translate perfectly to my skin. I’m not sure if this is due to my lack of skill, a limit to the magic itself, or something else entirely.

Regardless, I continue to color different sections of my body, sometimes in patterns and designs, and sometimes as if a section of my body is dipped in ink. I find that the effort required to make a specific change is much more than the effort required to make a general change. Additionally, I find that the effort required to make a large change is significantly more than the effort required to make a small modification.

At one point, I try to color my entire body in camouflage, as if I am some military operative. Immediately, I feel my knees start to shake beneath me, my breath catch in my throat, and my fingers loosen as they no longer have the strength to grasp the handles. Dropping the wheelbarrow and going to my knees, I quickly give up on that plan. It looks like, for now at least, I’ll have to resign myself to less comprehensive changes. I find that I am able to achieve almost the same effect by coloring each exposed part of my body separately into the camo color.

As time passes, I take note of other observations regarding the skill. Once as change has been made, the effort required to maintain the adjustment feels about the same, regardless of the complexity or extensiveness of the modifications. However, every subsequent change while maintaining old adjustments becomes more and more difficult, as if the strain from each previous adjustment is combined with the new modification.

For the first few hours of the day, I occupy my time with experimentation and practice, only broken up by bathroom and water breaks, and of course the regular surveys of my surroundings. It’s getting close to lunch when I see something that fills me with both excitement and apprehension: a fork in the road ahead.

S: 84 (+2)

D: 31

W: 39 (+2)

I: 29 (+1)

C: 45 (+20)

47

Skills: Adjust:Self