Za Dooby sat cross-legged in his grow room, studying the leaves of his latest plant. The tips had turned brown overnight. He wanted to create his own signature strain, something nobody in Zodiacyn had ever smoked before. But first, he needed to stop killing his experiments. He stood and walked through the trap house, his boots heavy on the worn floorboards. The place was dark, with rugged furniture scattered around broken wood panels. It wasn't much, but it was his. Here, away from prying eyes, he could test and fail as many times as needed. The walls kept his secrets. The dim light hid his mistakes. Za Dooby pulled out his growing journal and flipped through pages of crossed-out notes. Each dead plant taught him something new. He'd master this eventually. The perfect strain was out there, waiting in some combination he hadn't tried yet. In the corner sat his newest tool, a machine crafted from dark dusk wood with rubies set into its frame. The Exotic Weed Mixer glowed softly in the dim room. He'd spent most of his savings on it, but it was worth every coin. The machine let him test different soil mixtures side by side, adjusting conditions for each plant separately. Za Dooby ran his hand along the smooth wood surface. This was how he'd figure it out. This was how he'd create something nobody else could grow. He grabbed a bag of fresh soil and got back to work. The dream was close now. He could feel it. But books and machines could only teach him so much. Za Dooby locked up the trap house and headed into town. He needed real knowledge from people who'd actually done this before. The dark alley behind the market was where growers met after sunset. The narrow passageway smelled like smoke and damp stone. Whispers carried through the thick air as people exchanged coins and secrets. Za Dooby leaned against the wall and waited. A man with dirt under his fingernails nodded at him. They talked low about nutrients and light cycles. Za Dooby listened hard, storing every word in his memory. This was the missing piece. This was how he'd turn his failures into something worth smoking.