The initial rush of emotion—and I won't lie, it was extremely positive—faded, leaving behind a sober calculation and a burning curiosity. Without a second thought, I mentally wished to enter, to immerse myself within this System. Surprisingly, the transition was completely mundane, without any special effects or fanfare. It was as if I'd been using this interface my whole life, and it was as natural an extension of my thoughts as a hand is an extension of the body. But what I saw... to put it mildly, it puzzled me.
At the very center of the translucent interface, floating in zero gravity, sat a hammer—or rather, a sketch of one. Not a simple carpenter's or mechanic's hammer, but a genuine blacksmith's hammer. A massive head of an unknown metal, covered in intricate runic patterns that glowed with a soft, unearthly light. The handle, wrapped in something resembling reptilian skin, was adorned with intricate ornaments that seemed to constantly shift shape. It resembled a priceless museum piece or the weapon of some Asgardian god rather than a working tool. My old, trusty mechanic's hammer, with its ash handle, perfectly adjusted to my palm over years of use, would have looked like a poor beggar by comparison. And yet, in that second, I realized I wouldn't trade my trusty tool for any divine weapon. My hammer was real, and this one... this one was just a pretty picture for now.
Beneath the hammer, written in a stern yet elegant font, was the inscription:
[Forge the Universe! Cost: 100 OP]
I mentally focused on it, and a small, even tiny, information packet immediately entered my consciousness:
[Each Forging attempt allows access to technologies from an infinite number of variations of the Multiverse.]
And that's it...? So I spend 100 OP, hit the virtual hammer, and get "technology"? There were too many unknowns. How will I get it? As a real, physical prototype that falls on my head? Or as an information packet implanted directly into my brain, explaining how to create this technology? Or maybe just a bunch of blueprints that I'll have to tinker with for years, lacking the necessary resources and equipment? And what kind of technology is this? Kree bioengineering? The magic of this world, supposedly existing according to clearly defined laws—is it technology or not? The very word "technology" can be interpreted so broadly that my head was spinning. Okay, I'd figure it out with time. For now, there were more questions than answers.
Above the hammer were three tabs. The first, Forge the Universe, was currently active. The second read Technologies. Anticipating who knows what, I switched to it, only to sigh in disappointment. Empty. Absolutely. They'd even stinted on some worthless test tech as an example. Oh, the greedy ones.
The third tab was Inventory. Now that was interesting. If it worked like in classic LitRPGs, it wouldn't just be a help, but a genuine cheat in the real world. Holding my breath in mild excitement, I switched to my inventory. A 5x5 grid stretched out before me—twenty-five spaces in total. Not much, but it would do for now.
I looked at the old laptop on the table. Touching it and mentally imagining it moving into one of the spaces, I focused on this desire. Before my eyes, pure, unadulterated magic occurred. The laptop didn't vanish in a flash of light; it simply... dissolved, like a mirage, leaving behind only a dusty rectangle on the tabletop.
"And now… I believe it," I muttered, staring in shock at the empty space, and then at the laptop icon hanging forlornly in the first inventory slot.
I mentally clicked on the icon, and a short description appeared:
[Zuun Electronics Laptop. Rarity: Common. Condition: 73/100]
Wow, the inventory also functioned as a sort of simplified reference book. Convenient. With renewed willpower, I willed the laptop back into place. A moment later, it materialized on the table with a quiet, barely audible click. Incredible! It was one thing to see system glitches before your eyes, and quite another to have something happen that broke all the laws of physics. It changed absolutely everything. The possibilities opened up by such a pocket-sized storage unit were truly limitless—from simple heavy lifting to... well, anything!
I'd figured out the three main tabs. The only visible element left was the [0 OP] sign in the upper right corner of the interface. It was the local currency needed for spins. Now I had to figure out the most important thing: how to earn it.
[OP (Origin Points) is the currency required for Forging the Universe and unlocking technologies. It is earned by manifesting the user's Creator Spark through the process of creating something.]
"Aha... I don't get it, but it's very interesting," as the saying goes. Okay, I was being disingenuous. It was generally clear: I needed to create something with my own hands. The question was, what exactly was included in this vague concept of "something"?
My gaze caught on an old wooden chair in the corner, one of whose legs was noticeably sagging. Old habit took over. I went over and turned it over. Sure enough, a screw had come loose. I had no tools at hand, but the edge of a coin I found in my pocket served as an improvised screwdriver. A couple of minutes, and the leg was firmly in place. The familiar feeling of satisfaction from a job well done... and silence. I waited for a system notification, a pop-up message, some kind of sign. But none came. Hmm. Apparently, repairing didn't count as "creation." The system required something new, created from scratch. An important and rather unpleasant clarification.
My gaze wandered around the room, searching for inspiration, and came across a student notebook lying on the corner of the table. Drawing or... origami?
Taking the notebook and finding a ballpoint pen in the desk drawer, I first tried to draw something. I wasn't exactly an artist, and neither was John. After a few crude sketches, and getting no response from the System, I tore out a sheet of paper in frustration. Paper. What could you create out of paper? The answer had come to me even earlier—origami.
I started folding a familiar classic—a crane. Something a little more complex than a simple airplane, but not some arcane, legendary dragon that only a handful of people in the world would be able to assemble. After a couple of minutes of careful work, the paper crane was ready. It sat crookedly on the table, pleasing to my eye, but even more pleasing was the pop-up system notification:
[A simple work of art was created: Origami. Difficulty: Low. Received +1 OP!]
"Loot here!" I couldn't resist the legendary gamer phrase. First point in my future greatness! Just ninety-nine more of these cranes, and then I could spin the wheel—or rather, strike it with the hammer! The main thing was to have enough sheets of paper.
Motivated by my initial success, I forgot about researching the internet and planning for the future. My goal was simple and clear: earn my first hundred OP. The world shrank to my hands, painstakingly folding paper, and the brief flashes of system notifications.
[Received +1 OP!][Received +1 OP!][Received +1 OP!][Warning! The OP limit for the Simple Origami creation area has been reached!]