A choice limited to only one option felt like a tight collar around the neck of my ambitions. I had to cut into the quick. The Protective Field Generator and the Gravitational Gyroscope—I discarded them immediately. To my current self, these projects looked and sounded like titans whose assembly would require, at minimum, a workshop, and at most, a whole industrial complex and likely expensive resources. These were goals for the future, for a version of me that didn't exist yet. The Stun Grenade, while temptingly practical, seemed too... mundane. It was a consumable, a tactical tool that, in a pinch, could be bought or replaced with something similar. No, I needed something fundamental.
So, three cards remained on my mental table, hopefully trumps: Poison, Muscle, and Intellect. The Muscle Stimulant beckoned, tempting me with the promise of strength without side effects. In a world where a super-powered brute could be lurking around every corner, physical power is a weighty argument. Но the longer I pored over the recipe lists, the more clearly I understood: brute force is just a tool. And I wanted to be the one who creates those tools.
And so—Intellect.
It is the foundation of foundations, the base upon which anything can be built. It is the core that will allow me not just to blindly follow the blueprints received from the Forge, but to understand them on an intuitive, deep level. Perhaps even to modify and improve them. Furthermore, in this universe, intelligence is not just an advantage; it is a real strategic weapon. Reed Richards, whose brains stretched as easily as his body, changing the very fabric of reality. Tony Stark, who created a heart for himself and armor for the whole world in a cave out of scrap metal. Otto Octavius, Victor von Doom, Hank Pym, even the perpetually cash-strapped Peter Parker. Countless personalities in this world have risen to the heights or plunged into the depths of madness solely due to the power of their non-trivial brains. If this damn potion allows me to—even temporarily, even for a few measly units—overclock my own processor... It will open horizons of possibility before me that I, in the current grayness of my consciousness, probably don't even suspect.
And there was... another reason, far more personal and sharp, like a splinter under a fingernail, which I tried not to think about. In my past life, I wasn't a genius. I wasn't an idiot either, no, just... ordinary. One of billions of cogs in a giant mechanism. I studied hard, bit into work, tried to jump out of my skin to achieve something significant, but there was always someone smarter, faster, more talented. I saw how the ideas that wandered through my head as hazy images were turned by others into brilliant, successful projects. I felt how opportunities I hadn't thought of sailed away to those who could calculate everything several moves ahead.
It wasn't exactly offensive, more like... exhausting. A constant, grueling race where you know your place in advance—somewhere in the middle of the pack. That's actually why I dropped everything at one point and moved practically to the countryside, which, to be fair, I didn't regret. Here, in a world where the stakes are immeasurably higher, where Tony Stark's genius is on one side of the scale and the Green Goblin's madness is on the other, being "ordinary" is a death sentence. The Muscle Stimulant would have given me strength, the ability to run away or fight back. Но it wouldn't have taught me to see the trap before I fell into it. It wouldn't have allowed me to create something that would even the odds with gods and monsters. And intellect... It's not just a weapon. It's my personal rebellion against my past grayness. A chance not just to survive, but to finally become who I always wanted to be deep down but couldn't—the architect of my fate, not its extra.
I went to the window. Below, on the sidewalk, flowed the faceless figures of people. In my past life, I was one of them. A person living by rules created by others. I bought tools made in other people's factories, built from materials produced by other people's technologies, followed laws not written by me. My creative impulse was enclosed in the rigid framework of the physical world, legislation, and my own limited knowledge. The Muscle Stimulant would make me just a strong, resilient part in someone else's mechanism. But the Intellect Potion… it would give me a chance to become the mechanic myself. Not just to follow instructions, but to write my own. To stop being a user and become a developer. This thought was more intoxicating than any whiskey. The possibility of not just adapting to this mad world, but understanding its fundamental principles and, perhaps, even changing them slightly for myself. This was the ultimate form of craft, something I couldn't even dream of. And that finally solidified my choice. Strength is a tool. Intellect is the hand that holds all the tools.
***
True, there remained one problem that my mind had already dissected dozens of times—possible ingredients. What if I can't get them because of their rarity or exorbitant price? What if they don't even exist in this world? I mentally dismissed the second part, banking on the system's adaptability. It should adjust the recipe and select analogues. Но the first... Well, in any case, it's a long-term investment. If I can't create this potion in the coming days or months, I can do it later. I'm not planning to stand still. My plans include at least assembling the Potato Cannon, and at most... I don't even know, a Death Star, hah?
I focused again on the internal interface. It didn't look like a computer screen, but rather a semi-transparent mental blueprint hanging right in my consciousness. The text and icons glowed with a soft, ghostly blue light, and navigation occurred not by eye movement, but by pure intent. I "thought" about choosing the Intellect Potion, and the corresponding line in the list lit up. Next to the "Confirm" button, the number "-50 OP" glowed, and in the center of the expanded window, a three-dimensional model of a small flask with shimmering liquid slowly rotated. I froze for a moment. Fifty points... earned by honest, painstaking labor. My first serious investment in something truly tangible, albeit in the future. At the thought that it might turn out to be empty, a chill ran down my spine. What if the recipe is impossible? What if I just burned my OP for nothing? I forcibly drove these thoughts away. He who doesn't take risks sits in a cardboard box in Hell's Kitchen until the end of his days, shying away from every shadow. Gathering my courage, I formed a mental command, putting all my determination into it. "Confirm."
The blue inscription flashed, the number "50" crumbled into myriads of glowing particles and disappeared, and my balance updated to a dismal "15 OP." And immediately after that came the pain.
It wasn't like a regular headache. It felt as if two white-hot nails were driven into my temples and then twisted. The pain was sharp but fleeting, like a lightning strike. It passed a moment later, leaving behind a deafening silence in my head and... knowledge. I knew the recipe for this damn potion perfectly, down to the last molecule, down to the tiniest nuance! It wasn't like reading a book or watching a video. The knowledge didn't "appear" in my head; it "became" a part of me, as if it had always been there. Like a suddenly resurfacing memory from a deep, forgotten childhood.
I didn't just know the list of ingredients—I felt them. I could imagine the velvety, almost ghostly surface of the Ghost Orchid flower to the touch, felt the sharp, sterile smell of isopropyl alcohol on my tongue, almost heard the quiet, harmonious hum of a charging quartz crystal. The synthesis process unfolded in my mind not as a dry scheme, but as a vivid, three-dimensional movie played in a fraction of a second. I saw how the molecules of Phantasmine, the orchid's active substance, arranged themselves into complex chains, bonding with silver ions. I watched the crystal lattice of the quartz vibrate under the influence of an electrical discharge, emitting a catalytic pulse that triggered the reaction. It was terrifying and delightful at the same time. The system didn't just give me an instruction. It implanted the experience of a non-existent alchemist into me. And that led to serious thoughts: what else can it upload into me? The memories of an ace pilot? The experience of a neurosurgeon? The knowledge of an entire vanished civilization? The potential of the Celestial Forge was far deeper and more dangerous than I had imagined.
Besides the recipe itself and the processing methods, I received information about the ingredients themselves. And that was the most important part! Without that knowledge, without understanding where and how to look for that same Ghost Orchid, the recipe would be a useless line of text. Но I knew!
Overall, the recipe wasn't overly complex but required precision and rather specific conditions. Only four main components:
- Active agent: Ghost Orchid Pollen.
- Extractant: Isopropyl alcohol with 99.9%+ purity.
- Conductor: Colloidal silver with a concentration of approximately 20 PPM.
- Catalyst: Attenuated Quartz crystal.
Then began a complicated ritual. The quartz crystal had to be placed in a Faraday cage and charged with a lightning discharge. Then—extraction. In total darkness, mix the Ghost Orchid pollen and isopropyl alcohol to obtain Phantasmine extract—the key substance in the entire potion. And the last stage—synthesis. The finished extract and colloidal silver are placed in a flask, to which the "charged" crystal is brought. Its field triggers a chain reaction.
At the output, I would get about 20-30 milliliters of transparent liquid—one dose of the Intellect Potion, the effect of which lasts a couple of hours. What is this effect? Oh, that's the most interesting part. It's all thanks to Phantasmine—an extremely unstable but powerful alkaloid that acts as a universal neural conductor. It won't make me smarter in the long run, but rather forces my brain to work at peak, extreme efficiency. It accelerates synaptic connections to the speed of light, improves access to all, even the deepest, parts of memory, and manifoldly enhances the ability to analyze and recognize patterns. The temporary effect is because the catalyst quickly breaks down into harmless components, and the neural network returns to its normal state.
"It's like goddamn NZT-48..." I muttered thoughtfully, considering where to get the main ingredient. "At least the effect is very similar. Interesting. The main problem will be the fickle Ghost Orchids..."
Why is it a fickle flower? Because it is, essentially, endemic to places with residual "energy of creation" or where the edges of reality have thinned. It becomes material and visible only at night. During the day, it's just a clump of energy. This is precisely why extraction must be carried out in total darkness—the orchid cannot tolerate ultraviolet light. What are these places? I had a rough idea. In the Marvel world, and even specifically in New York, there should be plenty of them. Abandoned shrines, sites of recent battles between powerful mages... Even the Greenwich Village area, where the Sanctum Sanctorum of the future Doctor Strange is supposedly located. In theory, any place with a high magical background could work. In general, let's assume the orchid issue is solvable. What about the rest?
Isopropyl alcohol of such purity is a full-fledged laboratory reagent, but a quick internet search reassured me: it can be ordered from an industrial chemical store. Colloidal silver can also be either bought or made yourself, but for the latter you need a mini-lab, so it's easier to buy. A quartz crystal of the right size and purity is also not a problem; geological shops are at my service. It seems there are no serious, unsolvable obstacles. I breathed a sigh of relief. The system was able to adapt the recipe for this world and even for my current capabilities. This couldn't but please me.
Opening the system interface and looking again at the lonely 15 OP, I noticed that I hadn't switched the technologies tab to the "gacha" tab. Imagine my surprise when, instead of the expected emptiness on the technologies tab, I saw the already familiar blueprint!
Blueprint (Common) - Project (Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura) (Unlocking technology costs 100 OP)
"So technologies aren't one-time use!" I exclaimed from the heart. At that moment, a huge weight fell from my soul. It was too good to be true.
And who cares if the cost of unlocking the next recipe from the same project has doubled. Muscle stimulant, healing potions, protective field generator, and a bunch of other interesting options—they SHALL BE! I felt a desperate urge to break into a villainous laugh, but I restrained myself. Not time. Not yet.
This news instantly overturned my entire strategy. I thought each choice was final, that I was walking along a narrow, single path, cutting off all other routes. But it wasn't a path. It was a central square from which dozens of roads diverged, and over time, I could walk down each of them. Technologies ceased to be solitary decisions; they became elements of a constructor. I could plan combinations, create synergies, and constantly strengthen myself.
So, what are my next steps?
First: Accumulate 150 OP and spin the gacha a second time. If this blueprint with a bunch of useful recipes is considered "common," I am terrified and wildly curious to imagine what is hidden behind higher rarity levels. Iron Man Armor? Rick's Portal Gun? An atomic 3D printer? One can guess endlessly. Technologies are my key to everything.
Second: Creating the Intellect Potion. Ideally—several portions. Use them in critical situations, when designing complex devices, or for solving non-trivial tasks.
Third: Unlocking the Muscle Stimulant recipe. Or, if something more... "tasty" drops from the second spin, I'll adjust the plan according to the situation.
Fourth: Earning money and organizing life. Drop out of college, which now seems like a waste of time, move to better housing—ideally, a private house with a garage for a laboratory, buy a car, and solve other everyday nuances.
Fifth... Don't die. However, this is not a separate step, but a SUPER-step, a constant on which everything else depends. Don't attract the attention of special services, don't stick your neck out, don't be a hero, don't ask for trouble. Avoid everything that 99.9% of transmigrators in books love to ignore. Но they have plot armor, and what do I have? Can the system be considered such? Proclaimers, prophets, and other super-beings must exist in this world, for whom my anomalous growth potential must glow like a beacon in the night. Но I haven't been annihilated yet. Consequently, either I must play some key role in the future, or I am so insignificant that I'm not noticed, or—and this option I liked most—my system makes me a blind spot for them. Alright, put aside reflections that are clearly not on my level. Starting the creation of the Potato Cannon-3000!
Here I gave a good yawn and finally noticed the clock. One in the morning. Considering I last slept less than five hours, torturing the organism further would be stupid. Alright, the Potato Cannon can wait until tomorrow. But what can't wait are the experiments with the inventory. It won't take much time but will give me an understanding of almost my only material ability with the prefix "super."
The first experiment, the most obvious: containers. There was no box at hand, so I pulled out a desk drawer, threw some small things in it—a pen, an eraser, a couple of paper clips, an old key—touched it, and mentally sent it to the inventory. Success. It occupied one cell despite the contents. Excellent.
Но what about the contents themselves? Is the drawer a "container" that preserves the relative position of things, or do they tumble into a common heap in sub-space? I returned the drawer to reality, neatly laid out the pen, eraser, and several coins inside, memorizing their exact location. I put it away in the inventory again and immediately took it out. Everything lay in its place, down to the millimeter. The inventory preserved not only the container object itself but also its entire internal structure. This opened up colossal opportunities for transporting complex and fragile devices in the future. No shaking, no impacts.
Next—liquids. Pouring water into a glass, I tried to put only the water into the inventory by running my finger over its surface. Nothing. The system apparently required clearly defined object boundaries. Then I put the whole glass with water into the inventory. Success. When I took it out, not a single drop had spilled. Moreover, there wasn't a hint of condensation on the glass walls, even though it was quite warm in the room. This suggested a complete stasis of not only time but also thermodynamic processes.
The next logical test—time. Turning on the stopwatch on my smartphone, I put it in the inventory. I waited for what felt like thirty seconds and returned the phone. The stopwatch showed the same time as the moment of disappearance, down to a hundredth of a second. Time inside the inventory was frozen. Recorded.
Then an experiment related to living beings. Looking around the room, I found a small spider in the corner of the ceiling. Carefully holding out my finger and touching the arachnid, I wished to put it in the inventory, but the system responded with an immediate and clear mental block.
[Living beings cannot be placed in Inventory!]
Well fine, I didn't want to anyway. Checking weight and dimensions. Among the heavy things in my studio were only the half-empty refrigerator and a two-meter wardrobe. Both went into the inventory and back without the slightest problem. The weight and size limits haven't been established yet, and it seems they are quite large.
Final experiments—with physical laws. I heated a pan on the stove until it hissed and put it in the inventory. Then I crumpled a sheet of paper into a ball, tossed it up, and while it was in the air, also sent it to the inventory. When I returned the ball, it simply appeared in my hand, having not preserved the momentum of the fall. I repeated the experiment with a heavier wooden block—same result. Momentum is not preserved. Но heat—absolutely. Taking the pan out after ten minutes, I felt the heat emanating from it, as if I'd just taken it off the stove. Stasis indeed extended to thermodynamics.
Going to bed, I mentally reviewed the results one last time. The lack of momentum preservation was a small disappointment. The idea of "firing" objects from the inventory was tempting. Но at the same time, it was a blessing. It meant I wouldn't be able to accidentally cause a catastrophe by taking out a heavy object while moving.
To summarize, the system was not only powerful but also, in its own way, safe. It gave me incredible opportunities but also set clear boundaries. "Living things cannot be placed." "Momentum is not preserved." These aren't bugs but sort of features. Rules that force one to look for more elegant solutions than the use of brute force. The system doesn't want me to become a god throwing asteroids from a pocket. It wants me to remain a craftsman. A smart, cunning, inventive craftsman who uses the laws of his world and his power to achieve goals. And this approach appealed to me. It's quite... honest.
Before finally drifting off to sleep, I smiled. Tomorrow I would build a potato gun. It would be a ridiculous, almost childish project. Но in this new world, it is something more to me. This is my first real act of creating something more complex than wooden figurines.