Chương 32: [That Time I Used the Weakest Skill in the Single Extremely Niche Situation it Was Applicable]

There's an art to formatting a stat screen in a LitRPG. The most elite in the genre can get real fancy with it, with illustrations and generated designs that pop out of the screen and demand attention. For most everyone else, they use some mix of clever formatting, fonts, colors, and any other tool available on the hosting website or word processor to create a convincing facsimile: something that produces a usable illusion of the stat screen despite the limitations placed upon them.

But all of those different formats have one unifying thread that ties them all together: they all take too much work.

"Wow, what a stat screen," I said as I looked at my stat screen.

"This tells me basically nothing."" Everything is immeasurable?" The Dictor asked as they scrolled through my various stats: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, Charisma, Sense, Will, Resilience, Brightness, Dullness, Goodness, Badness, Wavedash Frames, Hip-to-Waist Ratio, "THE SEX", Aura, The Mystery Stat™, Gamer, VTuber Career Potential, Vorability, Combo, Cool, Market Appeal, Shlongness, Nipple Sensitivity, Gun, Ankle Girth, and Measurability were all immeasurable. Beyond the pale.

Or perhaps very much within the pale. It was impossible to know because they were immeasurable.

"It probably means I'm basically a God." I assured the Dictor with a Pat on the back.

"I would agree," The well-known lifelong Atheist, the Dictor, shrugged Pat off their back.

"Let's look at your skills. Surely someone as deeply annoying as you got a very underpowered skill that is secretly overpowered."

"That's what I said!" They clicked the 'skills' tab and a new menu I also won't be illustrating popped up. And indeed, I had two skills listed there: one unique, signified with orange or purple (whichever you think is the color of legendary drops in a RPG babe), the other basic, signified by its off-brand purse and Wal-Mart jewelry. We tapped the first one. [What? I Was Reborn with the Weakest Skill, Which is ACTUALLY The Weakest Skill and it Sucks Ass?!] This skill lets you polish wooden chairs with the hairs on your right leg exclusively on the 16th of August.

"What day is it today?"

"The sixteenth of August."

"Ah beans and my right leg still hasn't grown back yet."

"We also don't have any chairs."

"Heh. Just as well. I vowed long ago the only seat I'd take is the throne of the world. If I can find a word worth putting my butt on, anyway. It was a powerful moment. Very emotional. Everyone cried, even you. Especially you." This is not a joke it is a threat:)"Very well. Let's chalk that one up as a loss and see what your other skill is." We tapped the second skill. [You ugly lol] This skill means you ugly lol.

"... why is this skill so high-rated?"

"You must have been passively leveling up your being ugly skill by being ugly your whole life."

"That's wildly unacceptable." I took a hop back.

"I'm the flippin' protagonist over here! I need to look like a generic AI-generated smooth-faced anime twink! Without that, how am I supposed to get clicks, let alone a harem?! Forget everything else, Dictor-San: grinding for stats can wait. Right now I need to be lookmaxxing*! Lookmaxxing like my life depends on it — because it very well might!"

"If looking good is what you seek, If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I know this wood may have relief. For if you should eat a special leaf, It can make their whole face shine. It's lost within the darker parts Away from any path or chart Lurking near the forest's heart And danger's sure to find. Yet for that risk, expedience That makes it a worthy trip. It's a much-needed ingredient To keep this story at a clip."

"Really, Pat?" My eyes shine with excitement at this promising tale.

"Convenient shortcuts to solve otherwise interesting problems is exactly why I wanted to be Isekai'd! Let's get this leaf then I can 'branch out' to working on my other traits. Heheheh." With determination in my heart and courage in my step, I hopped towards the forest's heart or wherever it was I was supposed to go. I nearly got lost a few times, but I was able to "root out" exactly where to go eventually. I guess you could say I wasn't going to "leaf" it alone.

I guess you could say I "wood" never give up on my journey. I guess you could say I couldn't be stopped because I wasn't a "shrub". I guess you could say I was "bark-ing" mad about getting this done. I guess you could say "bush" did 9/1-"-Oh we're here." The Dictor cut me off as we arrived. Indeed, we had arrived to the forest's aching, sickly heart.

Here, within the deep, midnight shades cast by the claw-like canopy of wooden tendrils that lashed out above us, where the hungry, snapping maw of beast was matched by the crankous creak of bloodthirsty trees, the three of us caught sight of a golden shrub. Its golden light matched the sun in hew, but was gentler, as if trying to withhold its radiance out of a merciful love for those who might gaze upon it.

And the magic that seeped through its very roots was so achingly obvious that it permeated even the gloom that infested this wretched hive of evil. I couldn't say the same for the bush's guardian, though. It was an enormous ogre, larger than me in some vast, but otherwise immeasurable way. I wanted to say it looked hideous, but honestly he was damn good looking on account of his monopoly on the magical shrub.

Still obviously evil, like, with a twisted jaw filled with dagger-sharp teeth and soaked in the blood of the innocent, but, like, in a hot way. And his entire body was resting on a single wooden stool.

"Ah man, the only thing worse than guarding this shrub is having to do it with this unpolished wooden chair," The Ogre sighed, sinking deeper into the creaking wood of his thoroughly rough seat.

"I would give anything to see this bad boy polished. Yep. I'd do anything. Especially give away some of these magic leaves." Will the party figure out the secret to getting past this ogre? Will the Protagonist finally get the AI-generated face he's always deserved? Will we find out when I decided to name the Kobold 'Pat'? Find out next time-"-Wait, wait, wait, stop!" I cut the narrator off.

"I know we already hit 1k words, but obviously I have to do this today! Remember my leg? And it's power?" I reminded myself I don't even have a right leg anymore.

"Not so!" I hold it up.

"Remember I used it to kill the mosquito earlier! Well, I never said I let it go!" I suggested that dropping it was implied when I lost consciousness earlier.

"Oh, like you can trust anything I imply." I suppose that's fair. Fine.

"Alright gang," I say with a smirk, "it's moments like these — when the Protagonist has to show his underpowered skill is actually overpowered — that separate real LitRPG protagonists from the chaffe, as it were. Brace yourselves… because I think I know a way to use my weakest skill to overcome even this daunting obstacle. Watch and learn, you candy-coated clown shoes." I burst out of hiding and hopped over to the Ogre, who suddenly stands at attention when he sees me.

"Hey! Ogre!" I shout up at him, pointing my still-bloody right leg at him while he grabs his own enormous greatclub.

"You're in my harem now, dumbass! That means I own you!"

"That's not what it means to be in a harem!" The Ogre rebutted with a roar.

"In the most traditional sense, it's a domestic space for females and underaged men of a family which may or may not include concubines!"

"You know I meant it in the colloquial sense, not the historic one!" I rebut as well but since his butt is so much firmer and tighter than mine I lose -10 points.

"Just look at the tags in the story we're in!" The Ogre did. And while he was looking, I slipped behind him, used my leg to aggressively polish the top of the stool, then darted back before he noticed.

"Well that kind of harem implies a level of consent I never gave," the Ogre shoots back.

"Now I'm going to sit back down because breaking the fourth wall hurts my knees." The ogre sat back down, but I had already polished the top of the stool with such ferocity that the surface was as slippery as ice. His smooth and tight butt, frictionless and perfect due to the effects of the leaf, was thus unable to find purchase. With a gasp, he slipped off, landed on his neck, and died.

"I guess you could say I really be… I… got him from behi… no, uh… I guess you could say that was a real slippery… uh… hm. I… uh… er… j-just end the chapter I'll think of something tomorrow."