The blue rectangle hovered patiently, its text unchanging. [Current Setting: Global Human Intelligence +0.1]. Chris stared at it, the initial shock slowly morphing into a profound sense of the bizarre. He waved a hand through it; the image flickered slightly but remained solid.
"Okay... System," he muttered, feeling ridiculous talking to the air. "How do I... hide you?"
As if understanding the intent, new text appeared:
[Mental Command Interface Active. Conceal/Recall System Panel with focused thought.]
Chris focused, picturing the panel vanishing. With a faint shimmer, like disturbed water smoothing over, it blinked out of existence. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He then focused on bringing it back, and it reappeared just as smoothly. Good. He couldn't exactly walk around all day with a glowing blue sign floating in front of him.
He dismissed it again and tried to shake off the lingering weirdness. It was his birthday. He had school. He needed to act normal, even if reality itself had apparently just become... adjustable.
Getting ready felt surreal. Brushing his teeth, pulling on clothes, grabbing his backpack – mundane actions overlaid with the knowledge that he'd potentially tweaked the intelligence of every single person on Earth. He kept glancing at his reflection, half-expecting to see some change, some spark of enhanced intellect. Nothing. Same slightly messy brown hair, same uncertain hazel eyes.
He went downstairs for breakfast. His mom was already at the table, scrolling through news on her tablet, while his dad wrestled with the stubborn coffee machine.
"Morning, birthday boy!" his mom chirped, looking up with a smile. "Eighteen! Feel any wiser?"
Chris managed a weak grin. "Not noticeably," he said, pouring cereal into a bowl. He watched them both closely. Did his mom scroll faster? Did his dad figure out the coffee machine's latest quirk with unusual speed?
No. His mom read at her usual pace, occasionally sighing at a headline. His dad eventually gave the machine a frustrated whack in the same spot he always did, which, as usual, seemed to jolt it into action. They seemed completely, utterly normal.
The +0.1 IQ was, as he'd suspected, functionally invisible on an individual, observational level. It was like trying to spot a single grain of sand added to a beach.
Disappointment mingled with a strange sort of relief. If the effect was this subtle, maybe he hadn't broken anything too badly. But the System needed benefits for XP. How was this supposed to lead to anything beneficial?
The walk to school was filled with hyper-observation. He watched commuters navigating traffic, students chatting in groups, shopkeepers opening their stores. He looked for... anything. Increased efficiency? More insightful conversations? Fewer minor slip-ups? Nothing jumped out. People still jaywalked, fumbled with their keys, and bumped into each other occasionally. It was just another Monday morning.
His phone buzzed with birthday messages from friends, pulling him briefly back to normal teenage concerns. He replied quickly, promising to hang out later.
First period was Calculus. Usually, a collective groan went through the class when Mr. Harrison put up one of his notoriously tricky differential equations. Today was no different. But as Mr. Harrison guided them through the steps, Chris watched his classmates. He noticed Maya, usually quiet but sharp, raise her hand almost instantly with a clarifying question that seemed slightly ahead of the teacher's explanation. Then Ben, who often struggled, seemed to grasp the core concept after only one repetition, nodding along instead of wearing his usual frown of confusion.
The process of solving the example problem on the board felt... smoother. Fewer students seemed completely lost. When Mr. Harrison finished, he actually looked mildly surprised.
"Huh," the teacher said, adjusting his glasses. "You lot picked that up faster than usual. Guess the weekend break did you some good. Sharp today!"
Chris felt a jolt, almost electric. Was that it? Was that the +0.1 IQ in action? A subtle, almost imperceptible collective uptick in comprehension speed? It wasn't proof, not even close. Maybe the class just had a good night's sleep. Maybe Mr. Harrison explained it better this time.
He mentally pictured the System panel. It shimmered into view, visible only to him.
[Current Setting: Global Human Intelligence +0.1]
[Monitoring Reality for Benefit Events...]
[No Qualifying Benefit Events Detected Yet.]
His internal spark fizzled slightly. Not yet. So, a slightly quicker math class didn't count as a "tangible benefit for humanity." That figured. What would count? A collaborative scientific discovery made slightly faster? A complex logistical problem solved with marginally fewer errors, saving resources? A diplomatic negotiation finding common ground a tiny bit sooner?
The scale of it felt overwhelming. He had this power, this 'System', but his only available action was almost laughably subtle. He couldn't target it, couldn't amplify it beyond this minuscule increment, couldn't do anything else until humanity, somehow, benefited from this near-invisible nudge.
Throughout the rest of the day, he kept watching. In History, the class discussion felt a little more nuanced, with fewer tangents. In Physics lab, his group managed to troubleshoot their faulty circuit marginally quicker than the team next to them. These were tiny things, easily attributable to chance or coincidence. Yet, the possibility that they were ripples from his setting lingered.
He walked home, the weight of his secret pressing down. The blue panel, recalled mentally, offered no further clues, just the same status update. He was stuck at Level 0, armed with an eyedropper, tasked with influencing an ocean.
He looked up at the sky, a vast, indifferent blue. Somewhere out there, billions of minds were operating at +0.1. It was his first day as an adult, his first day with the System. And he had absolutely no idea what to do next, except wait and hope that somewhere, somehow, that tiny grain of sand was starting to shift things in a positive direction. The road to Level 1 looked impossibly long.