Maybe I really shouldn't have bought that book. Honestly, would it have killed me to just walk past it?
Then again, it's probably too late to cry over spilled milk... And if I'm being honest, after running through all the possibilities in my head, I have to admit—there were only two scenarios in which I wouldn't have ended up buying it. First, if I simply hadn't seen it on the stall. Second, if I hadn't had any money on me. But I did see it. And I did have money.
It was summer, though that particular day wasn't especially hot—unlike the entire previous week, where the sun had been merciless and it felt like 50 degrees even though the thermometer said 35. That's actually why I went for a walk. I popped in my earbuds, started up one of my favorite playlists, and headed out.
Strolling along the path near the market, I glanced at a street bookstall. You know the kind—right on the sidewalk, a sheet of plastic spread out with books laid haphazardly across it, ranging from beat-up paperbacks to old hardcover volumes, from all kinds of genres and decades. Amidst the mess, my eyes caught on one: The Weapon of the Four Saints. It had an expensive leather binding and metal-cornered covers.
I stopped, picked it up, and flipped through a few pages. It was in Russian, with beautifully crafted black-and-white illustrations and a gorgeous font.
I read a lot. A lot. Mostly digitally, of course. Not that I don't get the appeal of a "real" book—the smell, the texture, the weight—but let's be honest, that luxury requires money. And unless you're a millionaire, it's a bit out of reach. I average six to seven books a week.
A couple years ago, I read a novel where a book like this one was a central plot device. It sent the main character into another world.
So yeah—I couldn't resist. Especially at only fifty hryvnias. For a book like that? Practically a steal.
A little later, I sat down on a shady bench and started reading. As always, I lost track of time. Page after page flew by. But then, about halfway through, I turned to a spread of completely blank pages.
And from that page... light began to pour out.
Even as the rational part of my brain started to scream what was coming next, I tried to throw the book away—but I wasn't fast enough. Not that it would've helped.
Now here I was, suspended in a void, unable to feel my body, unable to even blink, staring at a man—and to his left, a floating window with tabs and sliders. It looked exactly like a character creation screen from a video game...
The man had short dark-brown hair, no bangs, stood about 170 centimeters tall, with an average build. Not a supermodel, but definitely not a troll either. A scruffy three-day beard lined his face. He wore black shorts, an orange T-shirt, and black flip-flops. He looked just over twenty-five, though I knew for a fact he was a bit past thirty.
How did I know?
Because it was my body.
My eyes scanned the window tabs, confirming there was no "Exit" or "Back" button anywhere in sight... So I accepted it. Gave myself five more minutes to mentally adjust and tried to recall if this kind of thing happened in that novel. I didn't remember it going quite like this.
Since I was perfectly fine with my appearance and didn't want to change anything, I mentally hit the "Done" button.
Did you believe that?
Back when I used to read LitRPGs with scenes like this, I always wanted to slam my head into a wall at how dumb the characters were.
Nobody's ever one hundred percent happy with how they look. And if you've got the chance to build your ideal self with a few slider tweaks—why wouldn't you? People spend decades trying to look good. Diets alone are enough to make you cry, and unless you're a mutant, good genetics only go so far. So not taking advantage of this opportunity, which costs a fraction of the time, energy, and stress? That would just be idiotic.
The first slider at the top was gender. I didn't even think about touching it. Not even for the sake of curiosity.
Alright, let's start with height. I like round numbers. And 200 cm sounds a hell of a lot better than 171. Don't you agree? Out of curiosity, I cranked the height slider to max. It stopped at 240. I spun the avatar around a bit, then decided 200 would be just fine.
Next, I removed all the hair below the chin. After adjusting that, the avatar—now comically skinny, since the weight hadn't scaled with height—looked almost emaciated. I bumped the weight up to 100 kg (also a nice round number) and added muscle mass. I spun the avatar again, eyes drifting below the waist. At that size and build... well, let's just say he wasn't exactly impressive down there...
Thirty-six subjective hours later...
Yeah, I think that's enough.
Changing anything else would only mess it up.
I'd rebuilt the avatar from scratch three times. Spent especially long on the face. I kept trying to make it look like Hugh Jackman, but somehow, I always ended up with something closer to Dante from Devil May Cry 4. Only even buffer. Hair jet black with a crimson sheen. Eyes fiery gold. Originally, I hadn't even planned to touch the eyes. But once I changed them, it hit me deep. The gaze felt sharp, powerful, and suddenly the entire avatar just... clicked. That was the missing piece the last two versions lacked.
After one final review, I mentally hit "Done."