Enough sentimentality. I had a task. Wooden figurines. Though I never considered myself a sculptor, I'd developed a knack for it. For some reason, I was particularly good at making hares—a simple, recognizable form. Deciding not to reinvent the wheel, I set to work, listening to the news channel on my laptop in the background. Wood shavings fell in fragrant curls, the chisel sang its quiet, soothing song, and I almost forgot where I was—or why. I just worked. And it was wonderful.
"…Meanwhile, representatives of Damage Control report that cleanup work on the recent incident in the Bronx will be completed by Friday. City Hall is once again urging citizens to stay away from cordoned-off areas…"
I chuckled, not looking up from my work. "Incident." What a beautiful, sterile word for another brawl between Hulk and Abomination that had reduced a couple of city blocks to rubble.
"…And we're moving on to the main scientific news. It's been announced that the brilliant scientist Dr. Otto Octavius will hold a closed presentation for investors next month, on October 14th. Presumably, he'll debut a prototype of his neural-interface manipulators, which could revolutionize fields from surgery to construction!"
My hand trembled; the chisel bit too deeply into the hare's ear. Damn. Octavius. Another genius about to take a wrong turn. The calendar in my head clicked. So, events were just beginning to unfold. I adjusted the shape, tilting the bunny's head to hide the defect. Grimly thinking about a world heading downhill, I finished the job. A final touch of sandpaper, and there it was—a smooth, pleasant-to-the-touch wooden animal. The whole thing took about half an hour. As I placed it on the table, a familiar sound chimed.
[A simple wooden figurine has been created. Difficulty: Low. Received +5 OP!]
There it was! Half an hour of meditative work—five times more OP than a paper crane. The System valued true skill, even in simple form. That didn't just make me happy; it gave me hope. I was beginning to understand the rules of this game.
Picking up another block, I began carving another bunny, an exact copy of the first. This time, I mentally told the System, "The work isn't finished until I varnish it." Silence. Even when the second figure was sanded smooth, no response came. But as soon as I brushed on a thin coat of varnish and set it aside to dry, the result was immediate.
[A simple lacquered wooden figurine has been created. Difficulty: Low. Received +6 OP!]
+1 free OP! Just for finishing touches. My theory was confirmed: the more complex and complete the work—even minor additions—the higher the reward. By that logic, the launcher with its assembly, gluing, and mechanism would yield… a lot. I was itching to start, but discipline came first. I needed the remaining thirty-nine OP to close the loop on my first spin.
The next three hours turned into a small assembly line of varnished wooden bunnies. I could've stopped after the required number, but something inside me compelled me to continue—to find my limit. Tenth bunny… eleventh…
[A simple lacquered wooden figurine has been created. Difficulty: Minimum. Received +3 OP!][Warning! The OP limit for creating wooden figurines of minimum difficulty has been partially reached! The next 9 figurines will each award +3 OP.]
They'd even stopped adding bonuses for varnish. Shame. But my account boasted 112 OP—more than enough. Without hesitation, I opened the System interface, found the Forge the Universe tab, and, taking a deep breath, mentally clicked the hammer icon.
No flashy lights, no epileptic gacha animations. My System was pragmatic to the extreme. A simple text notification appeared:
[Blueprint (Simple) Received — Project (Arcanum of Steam Mechanisms and Magical Mysteries). Unlocking this technology costs 50 OP.]
This small folder contains any one schematic of your choice from those found in the Arcanum. You may choose from standard technologies such as the Lightweight Axe and the Elephant Rifle, as well as prototypes not covered by the technology curriculum—such as the Miracle Cure, Electro-Armor, or the Tranquilizer Rifle.
So… what next? I switched to the Technology tab and saw a new, gray, inactive line. Blocked. What the hell?! Pay again? I'd already paid a hundred points for the scroll! I earned those OP through honest labor, carving these damned hares—just to pay again?
"You've got to be kidding me!" I snapped. Returning to the Forge the Universe tab, I froze. The next activation cost had risen.[Forge the Universe! Cost: 150 OP.]
One hundred fifty for the next, then two hundred, then two-fifty… unpleasant. Very unpleasant. Hot, useless rage boiled up. I wanted to throw something, smash the rabbits to splinters—but I held back. Deep breath. Exhale. Anger's a bad advisor. Think. The System wasn't a slot machine. It didn't hand out random junk. On the first try, it gave not one schematic but an entire catalog. A folder full of projects. A choice. It made sense, in its own maddening way.
But the devil, as always, was in the details. Arcanum of Steam Mechanisms and Magical Mysteries. The word magical rang alarm bells. What if the design required components I couldn't obtain? What if the "Miracle Cure" needed griffin horn powder or phoenix tears? Or the "Electro-Armor" needed vibranium—from Wakanda? Or the "Lightweight Axe" called for uru metal from the forges of Nidavellir? What then?
What else could I do? Keep farming. This Arcanum was either a long-term investment or a pleasant surprise waiting to be unlocked. I looked at the remaining wooden blocks. Enough bunnies. Time for something functional—to test utility value. I'd finish the fifty OP tonight, whatever it took.
Sawing off a new piece, I carved a simple wooden spoon. Twenty minutes later:
[Crafted a simple wooden utensil. Difficulty: Low. Gained +5 OP!]
Same reward as the hare. I didn't risk varnishing it, but I was pleased. Making spoons was easier and faster. I spent the next hours carving, bringing the counter up to the desired level.
The room was littered with shavings; the table lay under a film of varnish and dust. In the corner stood an army of wooden rabbits and a mountain of spoons. The smell of wood was thick and pleasant. I looked at my hands—John's hands—covered in scratches and splinters, new calluses forming. They were no longer strangers. They were becoming my hands—my tools.
A pleasant fatigue filled my muscles, the kind that comes after a long, productive day. Today I'd accomplished more than John Thompson probably had in his entire last year. I wasn't just surviving. I was acting. Setting goals—and achieving them. Even small ones: accumulating points, unlocking a blueprint. They gave direction. Purpose. And for the first time in a long time, I felt not fear of the future, but a burning, adventurous curiosity.
[A simple wooden dish has been created. Difficulty: Low. Received +3 OP!][Warning! The OP limit for creating wooden dishes of low difficulty has been partially reached! Each of the next 9 creations will award +3 OP.]
Finally, I had 65 OP, 50 of which would now go toward the first unlock. At last, something truly useful—or at least a blueprint for it.
[Do you really want to unlock Blueprint (Simple) — Project (Arcanum of Steam Mechanisms and Magical Mysteries) for 50 OP?]
Mentally answering yes, I held my breath, expecting—something. Anything. Just like in a fairy tale.Although, calling my current life a fairy tale would be… a stretch.