A choice limited to just one option felt like a tight collar on the neck of my ambitions.
I had to cut deep.
The Protective Field Generator and the Gravitational Gyroscope — I discarded them immediately.
These projects looked and sounded like titans to my current self.
Assembling them would require at least a workshop, and at most an entire industrial complex, and probably expensive resources.
These are goals for the future, for the me that doesn’t exist yet.
The Stun Grenade, while temptingly practical, seemed too…
mundane.
It’s a consumable, a tactical tool that could be bought or replaced with something similar in a pinch.
No, I need something fundamental.
So, on my mental table, three cards remained, hopefully trump cards: Poison, Muscles, and Intellect.
The Muscle Stimulant beckoned, tempting me with the promise of power without side effects.
In a world where a super-strong thug could be hiding around every corner, physical might is a strong argument.
But the longer I read through the recipe lists, the more clearly I understood: brute force is just a tool.
And I wanted to become the one who creates those tools.
And therefore — Intellect.
This is the foundation of foundations, the base on which anything can be built.
It’s the foundation 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 modify and improve them.
Moreover, in this universe, intellect is not just an advantage; it’s a real strategic weapon.
Reed Richards, whose brain stretched as easily as his body, altering the very fabric of reality.
Tony Stark, who built a heart for himself and armor for the whole world from scrap metal in a cave.
Otto Octavius, Victor von Doom, Hank Pym, and even the perpetually strapped-for-cash Peter Parker.
Countless individuals in this world have risen to the top or plunged into the abyss of madness solely due to the power of their extraordinary minds.
If this damned potion allows me, even temporarily, even by a few measly units, to overclock my own processor…
It will open up such horizons of possibilities that I, in the grayness of my current consciousness, probably don’t even suspect.
And yet…
there was another reason, much more personal, as sharp as a splinter under my fingernail, that 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 the billions of cogs in a giant mechanism.
I studied hard, I worked my ass off, tried to jump out of my skin to achieve something significant, but there was always someone smarter, faster, more talented.
I saw how ideas that wandered as vague images in my head were embodied by others into brilliant, successful projects.
I felt how opportunities I hadn’t thought of slipped away to those who could calculate everything several moves ahead.
It wasn’t exactly offensive, more…
exhausting.
A constant, draining race where you know your place is somewhere in the middle of the pack beforehand.
That’s actually why, at some point, I dropped everything 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 on one side of the scale is Tony Stark’s genius and on the other is the Green Goblin’s madness, being “ordinary” is a death sentence.
The Muscle Stimulant would give me strength, the ability to run or fight back.
But it wouldn’t teach me to see the trap before I fall into it.
It wouldn’t allow me to create something that levels the playing field with gods and monsters.
But intellect…
It’s not just a weapon.
It’s my personal rebellion against past mediocrity.
A chance not just to survive, but to finally become what I always secretly wanted to be but couldn’t — the architect of my own fate, not its extra.
I walked over to the window.
Down below, faceless figures of people flowed along the sidewalk.
In my past life, I was one of them.
A man 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 written by others.
My creative drive was confined within the rigid framework of the physical world, legislation, and my own limited knowledge.
The Muscle Stimulant would just make me a strong, durable part in someone else’s machine.
But the Intellect Potion…
it would give me the chance to become a 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 opportunity not just to adapt to this insane world, but to understand its fundamental principles and, perhaps, even tweak them a little to suit myself.
It was the highest form of craft I could never have dreamed of.
And that finally confirmed my choice.
Strength is a tool.
Intellect is the hand that holds all the tools.
True, there was one problem that my mind had dissected dozens of times — the possible ingredients.
What if I couldn’t get them due to rarity or exorbitant cost?
What if they don’t even exist in this world?
I mentally dismissed the second, relying on the System’s adaptability.
It should adjust the recipe, find analogues.
But 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 building a Potatoes Cannon, and at most…
I don’t even know, a Death Star, hah?
I focused on the internal interface again.
It wasn’t like a computer screen; it was more like a translucent mental blueprint hanging right in my consciousness.
The text and icons glowed with a soft, ghostly blue light, and navigation wasn’t done by eye movement, but by pure intent.
I “thought” about selecting the Intellect Potion, and the corresponding line in the list highlighted.
Next to the “Confirm” button, the number “-50 CP” 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 through honest, painstaking work.
My first serious investment in something truly tangible, even if in the future.
A chill ran down my spine at the thought that it might be empty.
What if the recipe was impossible?
What if I just burned my CP for nothing?
I forcefully pushed those thoughts away.
He who doesn’t risk sits in a cardboard box in Hell’s Kitchen for the rest of his life, jumping at every shadow.
Gathering my courage, I formed a mental command, putting all my resolve into it.
“Confirm.”
The blue inscription flashed, the number “50” scattered into myriads of glowing particles and disappeared, and my balance updated to a measly “15 CP.” And right after that came the pain.
It wasn’t like a normal headache. Get faster updates on g.com.
It felt like two white-hot nails were driven into my temples and then twisted.
The pain was sharp but fleeting, like a lightning strike.
It passed after a moment, leaving behind a deafening silence in my head and…
knowledge.
I perfectly, down to the last molecule, down to the tiniest nuance, knew the recipe for this damned potion!
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 surfaced memory from deep, forgotten childhood.
I didn’t just know the list of ingredients — I felt them.
I could imagine the velvety, almost ethereal surface of the Ghost Orchid flower, feel the sharp, sterile smell of isopropyl alcohol on my tongue, almost hear the quiet, harmonious hum of a charged quartz crystal.
The synthesis process unfolded in my mind not as a dry diagram, but as a bright, three-dimensional film played in a fraction of a second.
I saw how the molecules of Phantasmine, the active substance of the orchid, formed complex chains, bonding with silver ions.
I observed how the crystal lattice of the quartz vibrated under the influence of an electric discharge, emitting a catalytic impulse that triggered the reaction.
It was both frightening and exhilarating 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 it raised serious questions: what else could it download 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 much deeper and more dangerous than I had assumed.
In addition to the recipe itself and the processing methods, I also received information about the ingredients themselves.
And that was the most important thing!
Without this knowledge, without understanding where and how to find the Ghost Orchid, the recipe would be just a useless line of text.
But I knew!
Overall, the recipe wasn’t prohibitively complex, but it required precision and very specific conditions.
Just four main components:
Active Agent: Pollen of the Ghost Orchid.
Extractant: Isopropyl alcohol with 99.9%+ purity.
Conductor: Colloidal silver with a concentration of about 20 PPM.
Catalyst: An attenuated Quartz crystal.
Then came the intricate ritual.
The quartz crystal must be placed in a Faraday cage and charged with a lightning strike.
Then — extraction.
In complete darkness, mix the Ghost Orchid pollen with isopropyl alcohol to obtain Phantasmine extract — the key substance in the entire potion.
And the final 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.
In the end, I’ll get about 20-30 milliliters of clear liquid — one dose of the Intellect Potion, the effect of which lasts a couple of hours.
What’s the effect?
Oh, that’s the most interesting part.
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 force my brain to work at peak, maximum efficiency.
It will speed up synaptic connections to the speed of light, improve access to all, even the deepest, memory departments, and multiply my analysis and pattern recognition abilities many times over.
The temporary effect is because the catalyst quickly breaks down into harmless components, and the neural network returns to its normal state.
“This is a fucking NZT-48…” I muttered thoughtfully, thinking about where to get the main ingredient.
“At least the effect is very similar.
Interesting.
The main problem will be the finicky Ghost Orchids…”
Why is it a finicky flower?
Because it’s essentially an endemic species to places with residual “creation energy” or where the boundaries of reality have thinned.
It only becomes material and visible at night.
During the day, it’s just a clot of energy.
That’s why the extraction must be done in complete darkness — the orchid can’t stand ultraviolet light.
What kind of places?
I had a rough idea.
In the Marvel world, and even specifically in New York, there should be plenty of them.
Abandoned sanctuaries, sites of recent battles between powerful mages…
Hell, even the Greenwich Village area, where, supposedly, the Sanctum Sanctorum of the future Doctor Strange is located.
In theory, any place with a high magical background could work.
Anyway, let’s assume the Orchid problem is solvable.
What about the rest?
Isopropyl alcohol of such purity is a full-fledged laboratory reagent, but a quick search on the internet calmed me down: it can be ordered from an industrial chemical supply store.
Colloidal silver can also be either bought or made myself, but the latter requires a mini-laboratory, so it’s easier to buy it.
A quartz crystal of the required size and purity is also no problem; geological shops are at my service.
It seems there are no serious, insurmountable obstacles.
I exhaled in relief.
The System was able to adapt the recipe to this world and even to my current capabilities.
That couldn’t help but please me.
Opening the System interface and looking again at the lonely 15 CP, I noticed that I hadn’t switched from the technology tab to the “gacha” tab.
Imagine my surprise when, instead of the expected emptiness, I saw a blueprint already familiar to me on the technology tab!
Blueprint (Simple) — Project (Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura) (Technology unlock costs 100 CP)
“So technologies aren’t one-time!” I exclaimed fervently.
At that moment, a huge weight fell from my soul.
It was too good to be true.
And I don’t care that the cost to unlock the next recipe from the same project had doubled.
Muscle Stimulant, healing potions, Protective Field Generator, and a bunch of other interesting options — THEY WILL EXIST!
I desperately wanted to burst into villainous laughter, but I restrained myself.
Not the time.
Not yet.
This news instantly turned my entire strategy upside down.
I thought every choice was final, that I was walking 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 every single one of them.
Technologies ceased to be isolated solutions; they became building blocks.
I could plan combinations, create synergies, and constantly grow stronger.
So, what are my next steps?
First: Accumulate 150 CP and spin the gacha a second time.
If this blueprint with a bunch of useful recipes is considered “Simple,” I’m scared and wildly curious to imagine what lies behind the higher rarity levels.
Iron Man armor?
Rick’s Portal Gun?
An atomic 3D printer?
I could guess forever.
Second: Create the Intellect Potion.
Ideally, several doses.
Use them in critical situations, when designing complex devices, or for solving non-trivial problems.
Third: Unlock the Muscle Stimulant recipe.
Or, if the second spin drops something more…
“tasty,” I’ll adjust the plan according to the situation.
Fourth: Earn money and settle my 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 workshop/lab, buy a car, and take care of other household details.
Fifth…
Don’t die.
However, this isn’t a separate step, but an OVER-step, a constant upon which everything else depends.
Don’t attract the attention of intelligence agencies, don’t stick out, don’t play the hero, don’t run headfirst into trouble.
Avoid everything that 99.9% of transmigrators in books love to ignore.
But they have plot armor, and me?
Can the System be considered such?
In this world, there should be seers, prophets, and other super-entities, for whom my anomalous growth potential should shine like a beacon in the night.
But I haven’t been annihilated yet.
Therefore, either I am destined to play some key role in the future, or I am so insignificant that I am not noticed, or — and I liked this option the most — my System makes me a blind spot for them.
Okay, put aside the reflections, obviously above my pay grade.
Let’s start building the Spudgun-3000!
I yawned heartily here and finally glanced at the clock.
One in the morning.
Considering I had slept less than five hours last time, torturing my body further would be stupid.
Okay, the Spudgun-3000 can wait until tomorrow.
But what can’t wait is experimenting with the inventory.
It won’t take much time, but it will give me an understanding of my almost only material ability with the prefix “super.”
The first experiment, the most obvious one: containers.
I couldn’t find a box at hand, so I pulled out a desk drawer, tossed all sorts of small items into it — a pen, an eraser, a couple of paperclips, an old key — touched it and mentally sent it to the inventory.
Success.
It occupied one slot, despite the contents.
Excellent.
But what about the contents themselves?
Is the crate a “container” that preserves the relative position of things, or do they all get dumped into a common pile in subspace?
I returned the crate to reality, carefully placed a pen, an eraser, and a few coins inside, memorizing their exact positions.
Then I put it back in the inventory and pulled it out again immediately.
Everything was in its place, down to the millimeter.
The inventory preserved not just the container-object itself, but its entire internal structure.
This opened up colossal possibilities 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 across its surface.
Nothing.
The system apparently required clearly defined object boundaries.
So I put the entire glass of water into the inventory.
Successfully.
When I took it out, not a single drop had spilled.
Moreover, there wasn’t the slightest condensation on the walls of the glass, even though the room was quite warm.
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 into the inventory.
I waited about thirty seconds, it seemed to me, and brought the phone back.
The stopwatch showed the same time as at the moment of disappearance, down to a hundredth of a second.
Time inside the inventory was frozen.
Noted.
Then, an experiment involving living creatures.
After looking around the room, I found a small spider in the corner of the ceiling.
Carefully offering my finger and touching the arachnid, I wished to put it into the inventory, but the system responded with an instant and clear mental block.
[Living beings cannot be placed into the Inventory!]
Whatever.
No big loss.
Let’s test weight and dimensions.
Among the heavy things in my studio were only the half-empty refrigerator and the two-meter-tall wardrobe.
Both went into the inventory and returned without the slightest problem.
The maximum weight and dimensions haven’t been determined yet, and they seem to be quite large.
Final experiments — with physical laws.
I heated a frying pan on the stove until it sizzled and put it into the inventory.
Then I crumpled a sheet of paper into a ball, tossed it up, and while it was still in the air, I also sent it into the inventory.
When I brought the ball back, it simply appeared in my hand, retaining no momentum from its fall.
I repeated the experiment with a heavier wooden block — same result.
Momentum is not preserved.
But heat — that’s a different story.
Taking the frying pan out ten minutes later, I felt the heat radiating from it, as if I had just taken it off the stove.
The stasis really did extend to thermodynamics as well.
Lying down to sleep, I mentally reviewed the results one last time.
The lack of momentum preservation was a minor disappointment.
The idea of “shooting” objects out of the inventory was tempting.
But at the same time, it was also a blessing.
It meant I couldn’t accidentally cause a disaster by pulling out a heavy object while moving.
To summarize, the system wasn’t just powerful; it was, in its own way, safe.
It gave me incredible capabilities, but also set clear boundaries.
“Can’t place living things.” “Momentum is not preserved.” These aren’t bugs, but features in their own right.
Rules that force you to seek more elegant solutions than just brute force.
The system doesn’t want me to become a god, throwing asteroids out of my pocket.
It wants me to remain a craftsman.
A smart, cunning, inventive craftsman who uses the laws of his world and his own power to achieve his goals.
And I liked that approach.
It was…
honest.
Right before I finally drifted off to sleep, I smiled.
Tomorrow, I would build a potato cannon.
It would be a ridiculous, almost childish project.
But in this new world, it meant something more to me.
It was my first real act of creation, something more complex than wooden figurines.