The blue inscription flashed, the number "50" scattered into myriads of glowing particles and disappeared, and my balance updated to a dismal "15 OP." And immediately after came pain.
This wasn't like an ordinary headache. The sensation as if two white-hot nails were driven into my temples, then twisted. The pain was sharp but fleeting, like a lightning strike. It passed after a moment, leaving behind deafening silence in my head and... knowledge. I knew ideally, to the last molecule, to the tiniest nuance, the recipe of this damn brew! This wasn't like reading a book or watching a video. Knowledge didn't "appear" in my head, it "became" part of me, as if it was always there. Like a suddenly surfaced memory from deep, forgotten childhood.
I didn't just know the ingredient list, I felt them. I could imagine to the touch the velvety, almost ghostly surface of the Phantom Orchid flower, sensed 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 consciousness not as a dry scheme, but as a bright, voluminous film played in a fraction of a second. I saw how Phantasmine molecules, the orchid's active substance, lined up in complex chains, connecting with silver ions. I observed how the quartz crystal lattice vibrated under electrical discharge, emitting a catalytic impulse launching the reaction. It was frightening and delightful simultaneously. The system didn't just give me instructions. It implanted in me the experience of a non-existent alchemist. And this led to serious thoughts: what else can it upload into me? Memories of an ace pilot? Experience of a neurosurgeon? Knowledge of an entire vanished civilization? The potential of "Celestial Forge" was far deeper and more dangerous than I assumed.
Besides the recipe itself and processing methods, I received information about the ingredients themselves. And this was the most important! Without this knowledge, without understanding where and how to look for that same Phantom Orchid, the recipe would be a useless line of text. But I knew!
Overall, the recipe wasn't prohibitively complex, but required precision and quite specific conditions. Just four main components:
Active Agent: Phantom Orchid Pollen. Extractant: Isopropyl alcohol with 99.9%+ purity. Conductor: Colloidal silver with concentration around 20 PPM. Catalyst: Attuned Quartz Crystal.
Then the convoluted ritual began. The quartz crystal must be placed in a Faraday cage and charged with a lightning discharge. Then, extraction. In complete darkness mix Phantom Orchid pollen and isopropyl alcohol to obtain Phantasmine extract, the key substance in the whole brew. 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.
The output yields approximately 20-30 milliliters of clear liquid, one dose of Brew of Intellect, whose effect lasts a couple hours. What is this effect? Oh, this is the most interesting. 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 term, but rather force my brain to work at peak, extreme efficiency. Accelerate synaptic connections to light speed, improve access to all, even the deepest, memory sections and multiply abilities for analysis and pattern recognition. The temporary effect is because the catalyst quickly breaks down into harmless components, and the neural network returns to its normal state.
"This is the damn 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 capricious Phantom Orchids..."
Why is this a capricious flower? Because it's essentially an endemic to places with residual "creation energy" or where reality's boundaries have thinned. It becomes material and visible only at night. During the day it's just a clump of energy. That's why extraction must be conducted in complete darkness, the orchid doesn't tolerate ultraviolet. What are these places? I had a rough idea. In the Marvel world, and even specifically in New York, there should be plenty. Abandoned sanctuaries, sites of recent battles of powerful mages... Even the Greenwich Village area, where, supposedly, is located the Sanctum Sanctorum of the still-future Doctor Strange. In theory, any place with high magical background could work. Anyway, suppose the Orchid question is solvable. What about the rest?
Isopropyl alcohol of such purity is a full-fledged laboratory reagent, but a quick internet search calmed me: it can be ordered from an industrial chemical store. Colloidal silver can also either be bought or made yourself, but for the second you need a mini-lab, so easier to buy. A quartz crystal of needed size and purity is also not a problem, geological shops at my service. Seems there are no serious, unsolvable obstacles. I exhaled with relief. The system was able to adapt the recipe to this world and even to my current capabilities. This couldn't help but please.
Opening the system interface and looking once more at the lonely 15 OP, I noticed I still hadn't switched the technologies tab from the "gacha" tab. What was my surprise when instead of expected emptiness on the technologies tab I saw an already familiar blueprint!
Blueprint (simple). Project (Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura) (Technology unlock costs 100 OP)
"So technologies aren't one-time!" I exclaimed heartily. At this moment a huge stone fell from my soul. This was too good to be true.
And screw it that the unlock cost of the next recipe from this same project doubled. Muscle Stimulant, healing potions, protective field generator and a bunch of other interesting options, WILL HAPPEN! I desperately wanted to burst into villainous laughter, but I restrained myself. Not time. For now.
This news instantly turned my entire strategy upside down. I thought each choice was final, that I was walking a narrow, single path, cutting off all other ways. But this wasn't a path. This was a central square from which dozens of roads diverged, and over time I could walk each of them. Technologies stopped being singular decisions, they became elements of a constructor. I could plan combinations, create synergies and constantly strengthen.
So, what are my next steps?
First: Accumulate 150 OP and spin 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 hides behind higher rarity levels. Iron Man armor? Rick's Portal Gun? Atomic 3D printer? Can guess endlessly. Technologies are my key to everything.
Second: Creating Brew of Intellect. Ideally, several portions. Use them in critical situations, when designing complex devices or solving non-trivial tasks.
Third: Unlocking Muscle Stimulant recipe. Or, if from the second spin drops something more... "tasty," anyway will adjust the plan according to situation.
Fourth: Earning money and arranging life. Drop out of college, which now seems a waste of time, move to better housing, ideally a private house with garage for a lab, buy a car and solve other household nuances.
Fifth... Don't die. However, this isn't a separate step but an OVER-step, a constant on which everything else depends. Don't attract special services' attention, don't stick out, don't play hero, don't climb into trouble. Avoid everything that 99.9% of isekai protagonists in books love to ignore. But they have plot armor, and me? Can the system be considered such? In this world should exist seers, prophets and other super-beings for whom my anomalous growth potential should glow like a beacon in the night. But I haven't been annihilated yet. Consequently, either I must play some key role in the future, or I'm so insignificant I'm not noticed, or, and this option I liked most, my system makes me a blind spot for them. Alright, setting aside reflections obviously not my level. Proceeding to create Spud Gun 3000!
Here I yawned properly and finally noticed the clock. One AM. Considering I last slept less than five hours, tormenting my body further would be foolish. Alright, Spud Gun can wait until tomorrow. But what can't is inventory experiments. This won't take much time but will give me understanding of my almost only material ability with the prefix "super."
First experiment, most obvious: containers. Didn't find a box at hand, so I pulled out a desk drawer, tossed in various small stuff, pen, eraser, couple paper clips, old key, touched it and mentally sent to inventory. Success. It took one cell, despite contents. Excellent.
But what about the contents themselves? Is the drawer a "container" preserving relative position of things, or do they pile into a common heap in subspace? I returned the drawer to reality, carefully arranged inside pen, eraser and several coins, memorizing their exact placement. Again removed to inventory and immediately retrieved. Everything lay in its places, to the millimeter. Inventory preserved not only the container-object itself but its entire internal structure. This opened 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 place in inventory only the water, running my finger along its surface. Nothing. The system apparently required clearly defined object boundaries. Then I placed in inventory the entire glass with water. Successfully. When I retrieved it, not a single drop spilled. Moreover, on the glass walls wasn't the slightest condensation, though the room was quite warm. This suggested complete stasis not only of time but thermodynamic processes.
Next logical test, time. Turning on stopwatch on smartphone, I removed it to inventory. Waited what seemed like about thirty seconds and returned the phone. Stopwatch showed the same time as at moment of disappearance, to hundredth of a second. Time inside inventory was frozen. Noted.
Then an experiment related to living creatures. Examining the room, I found in a ceiling corner a small spider. Carefully extending my finger and touching the arachnid, I wished to place it in inventory, but the system responded with instant and clear mental block.
[Living beings cannot be placed in Inventory!]
Well fine, didn't want to that much anyway. Checking weight and dimensions. Of heavy things in my studio were only a half-empty refrigerator and six-foot wardrobe. Both without slightest problems went to inventory and returned back. Maximum weight and dimensions not yet established, and apparently they're quite large.
Final experiments, with physical laws. I heated a pan on the stove until sizzling and removed it to inventory. Then crumpled a sheet of paper into a ball, tossed it and while it was in air also sent to inventory. When I returned the ball, it simply appeared in my hand, not preserving falling momentum. I repeated the experiment with heavier wooden block, same result. Momentum not preserved. But heat, very much so. Retrieving the pan after ten minutes, I felt heat emanating from it as if just removed from stove. Stasis really extended to thermodynamics too.
Going to bed, I mentally scrolled through results one last time. Lack of momentum preservation was a small disappointment. The idea of "shooting" objects from inventory was tempting. But at the same time it was also a blessing. This meant I couldn't accidentally cause catastrophe by retrieving a heavy object on the move.
To summarize, the system was not only powerful but, in its way, safe. It gave me incredible capabilities but also set clear boundaries. "Can't place living things." "Momentum not preserved." These aren't bugs but sort of features. Rules that force searching for more elegant solutions than applying brute force. The system doesn't want me to become a god throwing asteroids from my pocket. It wants me to remain a craftsman. Smart, cunning, inventive craftsman who uses laws of his world and his power to achieve goals. And this approach appealed to me. It's quite... honest.
Before finally falling into sleep, I smiled. Tomorrow I'll build a potato gun. It will be a ridiculous, almost childish project. But in this new world it is something more for me. This is my first true act of creating something more complex than wooden figurines.