The Forbidden Gamble
Han-su scrolled through the latest update of his favorite webtoon, the blue light from his phone the only thing illuminating his trash-strewn room. A new female lead appeared on the screen, her design hitting every one of his weak spots.
(Fuck. I said I was going to quit today, but she's so fucking cute.)
Predictably, he gave in. But as he reached the peak of his usual routine, a sudden, searing spike of pain shot through his chest. It wasn't just a cramp; it felt like a hot iron was being twisted into his heart. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his shirt and groaning as the world blurred into static.
(Wait. Not like this. This is too pathetic!)
Everything went black.
When his eyes finally opened, he wasn't staring at his popcorn ceiling. He was under a canopy of silk, lying on a bed that felt too soft to be real. He sat up, his head spinning, and immediately checked the one thing that mattered. He pulled back the waistband of his new silk pants and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
(What the fuck!! I'm actually loaded. Finally, a win!)
He took a second to look around. The room was grand, filled with ancient-looking furniture and the faint scent of incense. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. He'd read thousands of these novels. He'd seen every trope and every cliché.
(I've transmigrated. This is a cultivation world. Finally, it's my turn to be the OP protagonist.)
He crossed his legs, sitting in the lotus position he'd seen on a hundred different covers. He closed his eyes, visualizing the Dantian and trying to pull the energy from the air into his core. He waited. He strained. He tried to feel the breath of the world.
Nothing.
His meridians felt like they were filled with dried cement. Not a single wisp of Qi would budge.
(What in the actual fuck? Is this body a dud? Okay, okay, calm down. Every loser MC has a backup plan.)
"System?" he whispered into the empty room. "Status screen? Open!"
Silence.
"Interface? Quest log? Help me out here!"
Nothing but the sound of a distant bird chirping outside.
(Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It just had to be a cultivation world with no cheat. I'm just a normal guy in a world of monsters.)
Panic started to set in until his gaze drifted toward the window. In the distance, a dark, purple mist clung to the jagged peaks of a forbidden mountain range. Monster Qi. The stuff that turned men into mindless beasts. The energy that every manual said was poison to the human soul.
He felt a strange, reckless pull toward it.
Han-su stood up, his legs feeling steadier than they ever had in his past life. He walked toward the balcony, the air outside smelling of pine and something sharp, like ozone before a storm. In the distance, the purple mist of the Forbidden Peaks pulsed like a heartbeat.
(In every novel I've read, the protagonist is a genius. I'm a jobless prick who died beating his meat. If I try to play by the rules, I'm just going to be a side character who dies in chapter three.)
He looked at his hands. They were clean, the nails trimmed, the skin unblemished. This body belonged to someone who had never worked a day in his life.
(If this body can't hold Spirit Qi, it's because the "plumbing" is blocked. But Monster Qi? That stuff doesn't flow through the pipes. It breaks them.)
He closed his eyes again, but this time he didn't try to be gentle. He didn't try to "invite" the energy in like a polite guest. He reached out with his mind, focusing on that distant, jagged purple glow. He imagined his soul as a vacuum, a black hole that didn't care about "purity" or "balance."
(Come to me. I don't care if you're poison. I've been eating instant ramen and breathing mold for years. I'm built for this.)
A cold shiver raced up his spine. At first, it was just a breeze, but then the air in the room began to hum. A thin, wispy trail of dark violet smoke snaked through the window, hovering in front of his face. It felt oily. It felt wrong.
(Holy shit. It's actually working.)
The moment the smoke touched his skin, it didn't enter his Dantian. It sank into his pores like acid. Han-su gasped, his eyes flying open. His vision flickered, the colors of the room draining away until everything looked like an old, gray photograph.
The pain was different from the heart attack. That was a dull, crushing weight. This was like having liquid nitrogen poured into his veins. He fell to his knees, his breath hitching in his throat.
(Fuck! It feels like my blood is turning into glass!)
But beneath the pain, there was something else. Strength. Raw, unrefined, and violent. He looked down at his arm and watched as a faint, black vein pulsed once under his skin before disappearing.
(I can feel it. It's not "energy." It feels like a beast trying to claw its way out of my chest.)
He let out a shaky laugh, his voice sounding slightly deeper than it had moments ago. He felt a sudden urge to break something, to test the limits of this new, jagged power.
(Spirit Qi is for the scholars and the saints. I'll take the scraps. I'll take the rot.)
He stood up, the pain receding into a dull, thrumming ache in the back of his mind. He looked at the ornate wooden table in the center of the room. He didn't use a technique. He didn't use a stance. He just swung his fist.
The wood shattered with a deafening crack, splinters flying across the room. Han-su stared at the wreckage. His knuckles weren't even bruised.
(Who needs a system when you have this?)
But as he stared at the broken table, he realized he didn't feel the shock or the excitement he expected. He just felt... hungry.