Drug-Eating Genius Mage (Fanfic)

Chapter 1: Titanic II



Asmon slouched in a lounge chair on the upper deck of the Titanic II, his phone gripped tightly in both hands as he scrolled through the character creation screen. The salty sea breeze tousled his already messy hair, but he barely noticed, too engrossed in his latest build. The ship rocked gently, the hum of conversation and laughter drifting through the air as other passengers enjoyed the scenic ocean view. Not Asmon, though. He had more important things to do—like making sure his new wizard character was the most broken thing to ever exist in Realm ver. 3.0. "Dude, you seriously gonna spend the whole trip staring at your phone?" A voice interrupted his focus. He didn't even need to look up to know it was Mark, one of his friends who had dragged him on this cruise in the first place.

"Yeah, man," chimed in Jason, the other culprit behind this forced vacation. "We're literally in the middle of the ocean, on a ship named Titanic II, and you're acting like we're stuck in your mom's basement."

Asmon sighed, rolling his eyes but not bothering to lift his gaze from his screen. "Oh no, how tragic. I'm missing the sight of infinite water. What a loss."

Mark snorted. "I swear, when this ship sinks, they're gonna write about you as 'the idiot who died playing mobile games.'"

"That's assuming you live long enough to tell the story," Asmon shot back, smirking as he tapped the trait selection button. He quickly began stacking penalties like a madman. Clumsy. Insomnia. Mana addict. Reduced lifespan. Every single red-lettered trait was clicked without hesitation, the point counter shooting up in response.

"Jesus," Jason muttered, peering over his shoulder. "You're actually trying to make the worst character possible."

"No, I'm making the strongest character possible," Asmon corrected, stuffing every last point into magic until his stats looked completely ridiculous. 30 magic across the board, barely any physical ability left. His character looked like a walking corpse in tattered robes. Perfect.

He was about to hit the Create button when—

CRASH!

A massive wave slammed against the side of the ship with a deafening roar, tilting the entire vessel violently. Asmon lurched forward, nearly dropping his phone as shouts of alarm filled the air. Metal groaned, the ship trembling beneath their feet as people scrambled to grab onto anything stable. "The fuck?!" Mark yelped, arms flailing as he tried to steady himself.

Asmon barely had time to register what was happening before the ship lurched again, this time more violently. A sickening grind echoed through the air—something was very wrong. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me," he growled, clinging to his chair as his phone screen flickered, still displaying the Realm ver. 3.0 loading screen.

Then, the unmistakable sound of cracking metal split through the chaos. "Shit, shit, SHIT—" Jason yelled, eyes wide with panic. The ship's alarms blared, red emergency lights flashing across the deck as passengers screamed.

Then came the impact. Something massive slammed into the hull with a force that sent Asmon sprawling to the ground. The entire ship shuddered, the deck tilting at an unnatural angle. The once-calm ocean became a churning nightmare, waves swallowing lifeboats as crew members desperately tried to maintain order. "I KNEW boarding a boat named Titanic was a bad fucking idea!" Asmon bellowed, clutching onto the railing as Mark struggled beside him.

Then, in a cruel twist of fate, another violent shake tore them apart. "Asmon!" Mark's voice barely reached him before the deck split. His grip failed. The world blurred. He was falling. And then—cold.

The impact of the ocean stole the breath from his lungs, icy water crushing him as he plunged into darkness. He tried to kick, to fight, but his limbs felt sluggish, useless. The weight of the sea dragged him down. Water poured into his mouth, into his lungs. His phone, still gripped tightly in one hand, flickered one last time before sinking into the abyss.

Somewhere, just before unconsciousness claimed him, he swore he saw it. A faint glow. Dark light. And then— Nothing.

***

"Asmon, wake up!" The rough shout echoed in the cramped room as Asmon continued tossing and turning, rubbing his heavy eyes. His body moved on its own—there was no need for a second call.

Smack!

A sudden jolt nearly knocked his jaw loose as he tumbled off the bed. His eyes flew open to reveal a burly man with a thick, unruly beard and a swollen, angry face. The giant's bloodshot eyes fixed on him as he stepped heavily onto his face with a boot. In a low, gruff tone he barked, "It's work time. Get your ass over to the parts room, now. Understand?"

A hoarse, unfamiliar voice croaked out of his own throat. "…Understood." 

Without another word, the giant strode out. Only then did Asmon slowly clutch his numbed cheek and glance around. The small, stuffy room was lined with simple cots draped in dusty sheets. Around ten other workers glared at him with cold contempt.

 "You idiot! You didn't even see the foreman coming—you were sleeping like a log," one sneered.

"Let him be," another replied. "We all know his time's nearly up. The boss only hit him once and left him there."

"Yeah, keep at it and he might just die."

The jeers faded as the others abruptly got up and disappeared. Absorbing their words in silence, Asmon raised his hands and felt his own body. Skin stretched tight over jagged bones. Fingers thin, veins bulging beneath pale, malnourished flesh. Ribs jutting out. Legs as fragile as twigs. His gut twisted. 'What the hell is this?' Staggering to his feet, he turned toward a small, cracked mirror nailed into the wall.

A stranger stared back at him. Hollow cheeks. Sunken eyes. A swollen bruise where the foreman's boot had landed. But the face—the frail, emaciated wreck of a body—was eerily, impossibly familiar. His breath hitched. "…You've got to be kidding me."

This was his character. The wizard he had just designed, with every stat funneled into magic and zero invested in physical attributes. The same brittle physique, the same ghostly pallor. 'Either I've gone completely insane, or I really did transmigrate.' 

"Move it, move it!" boomed a deep voice across the vast parts room. The foreman hurried about as mismatched metal pieces clattered onto the ever-moving conveyor belt. "The assembly crew is coming any minute—how long are you planning to dawdle?" At his bark, the workers along the belt quickened their pace. Still unsatisfied, the foreman cracked a riding crop, snapping it at two or three nearby laborers before turning away as if his anger had been spent. "If you can't keep up with the schedule, you're on your own—I'm not about to let slackers miss their quota!"

Standing off to the side, Asmon's gaze drifted back to a scrap of metal in his hand. He was now in this nameless parts factory—known simply as "the Factory."


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