"Ugh!!"
With a dry retch, Duke suddenly jolted up from bed, only to fall straight onto the floor. He clutched his chest, his mouth wide open as if something vile were crawling up his throat. His eyes teared up from the violent spasms.
"What the hell is that smell? That's fucking disgusting!"
"Ugh!!"
Again, he retched, pounding his chest in discomfort. The taste that had suddenly exploded in his mouth was like spoiled, sour milk poured into a toilet, scooped back out, and forcefully shoved down his throat.
And to make it worse, it felt like someone had shoved a rancid rag in his face and was shaking his head like crazy.
His eyes fluttered uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks as he kept gagging.
"Water, I need to rinse my mouth. Now!"
Duke stumbled to his feet and instinctively staggered toward what he thought was his desk, but as his eyes gradually focused, his expression twisted into fear.
This wasn't his room.
Right in front of him was a square, stained-glass window. Below it stood a cluttered desk filled with blueprints and scrap notes. To the right of the desk, a narrow bed lay partially covered by a thin blanket.
To the window's right, there was a workbench. Above it hung a rack crammed with tools, and below were more blueprints, crumpled and carelessly tossed. A worn-out high stool stood before the workbench.
Beside that was a wooden crate stuffed with half-finished gadgets and loose mechanical parts. Behind him, a calendar hung on the door.
"This… this is definitely not my room. No way…"
Duke took two steps back, swallowing hard. His Adam's apple bobbed visibly. He cautiously approached the window, heart pounding, and pushed it open.
A cool breeze swept in through the glass, carrying the clamor of voices that poured into the cramped little room. From his elevated position, he looked down upon a crowded street bustling with vendors and passersby.
The buildings lining the street were constructed from limestone bricks and chamfered timber, all adorned with brass fittings, leaded glass windows, and gilded eaves.
Sunlight streamed from the sky above, striking the street in dazzling brilliance.
Pedestrians came and went, modestly dressed, but refined and elegant in bearing.
As this scene filled his vision, a wave of dizziness surged through Duke. His heart raced, his ears buzzed.
He gripped the windowsill tightly, his body instinctively leaning away from the window as a creeping terror overtook him. Everything outside looked too real, and too unfamiliar.
His blood pressure spiked. His heartbeat thundered. The noise from the street felt like bombs going off inside his skull. He was on the verge of fainting.
Then, suddenly, a torrent of foreign memories exploded in his mind.
Duke staggered, nearly collapsing under the mental onslaught. But he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright.
After a while, he dragged the high stool over and slumped into it, elbows on the desk, rubbing his temples as exhaustion clouded his gaze.
Not long after, Duke let out a bitter laugh, spun the stool around, glanced over the room, and muttered, "So I've transmigrated… If I'd known this would happen, I wouldn't have pulled that all-nighter working on parts."
Familiar now with the desk's layout, he opened a drawer and retrieved a mirror. Inside the drawer was also a monocular telescope and a few scattered coins.
The mirror showed a young man with black hair and black eyes, sharp eyebrows, and striking features. His pupils were dark like obsidian, handsome, but with a hint of youthful naivety.
"At least my face didn't change. That's the only good news."
Duke sifted through the memories that weren't his own. The original owner of this body was also named Duke, a street orphan from Zaun. He'd been working as an apprentice in the Corin Workshop in Piltover, living in the attic on the third floor.
His dream was to build a two-way communicator, sell it for a good price, and marry Oriana, the daughter of the workshop's owner, Mr. Corin, so he could start his own family.
Unfortunately, days of exhausting labor had pushed him past his limits. He died in his sleep, leaving the body behind for Duke's soul to take over.
"What rotten luck… The poor guy literally worked himself to death. Just like me."
"But wait… this is Piltover. The real Piltover. I wonder which version it is, the one from the lore, or the one from Arcane?"
He picked up a coin and toyed with it, eyes drifting back to the street below, gradually organizing the memories that had flooded in.
In his past life, he'd been a craftsman obsessed with making props, often taking commissions from cosplayers. One of his regular clients had asked for a replica of Jinx's Fishbones, complete with sound and lights. After weeks of nonstop work, he collapsed, and woke up here.
"Last life I worked the lathe… and in this life, I'm back to it again."
He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, gazing blankly at the ceiling.
BOOM!!
A thunderous explosion outside jolted him to attention. He spun toward the window. In the distance, smoke was rising from the rooftop of a building. Flames flickered within the smoke, fierce and uncontrolled.
"What the hell just exploded?!"
Grabbing the monocular from the drawer, Duke rushed to the window and focused on the burning building. Just then, several figures appeared in the distance.
Officers in blue uniforms were chasing four teenagers, two boys and two girls. One boy was chubby, the other thin. One girl was tall, the other short.
"Wait a second…"
Something about the two girls felt oddly familiar. Duke adjusted the magnification of the monocular and kept his eyes locked on them.
The four figures were getting closer, now running through the very street his room overlooked. He could see them clearly.
One of the girls had pink hair. The other had blue, and when she glanced back in panic, Duke saw the unmistakable glint of pink in her eyes.
He gripped the monocular tightly, veins bulging on the backs of his hands. Only when the four vanished into the far end of the street did he slowly lower it.
"Explosion… Piltover Enforcers… Zaun street kids… blue hair, pink eyes…"
Duke sat down heavily on his stool and let out a long, ragged breath.
"This is really the world of Arcane… And judging from the events, I'm right at the beginning of the Arcane timeline?"
His expression shifted rapidly. As a craftsman and an LoL lore enthusiast, especially obsessed with anything about Piltover and Zaun, he understood exactly what this meant.
"This… is going to be tricky."
[System recognized host awareness of world setting. Roleplay System has been activated. Beginner Pack unlocked.]
[Gacha Pool has been opened. Enjoy your experience!]
Two lines of glowing text floated across Duke's vision. He blinked, stunned, then cautiously said:
"Open system panel?"
A crude-looking interface materialized before him, displaying only basic identity info and a character slot, which was currently empty and greyed out.
In the top-right corner of the panel, a red-and-blue loot box bounced gently, as if begging him to open it.
"Open Beginner Pack."
As the words left his mouth, a burst of colorful confetti exploded in the air. Behind him stood a man in red and gold armor, with a mustache and a mischievous grin.
[Acquired S-Rank Character Template: Iron Man – Tony Stark]
[S-Rank Template has been installed. Writing talent data... please wait...]
Two more lines of glowing text floated across his field of view. At the same moment, a data stream flickered through Duke's eyes, an intricate digital veil skimming over his pupils. He felt like he had momentarily become disconnected from reality.
Whispers filled his ears, murmuring voices pouring knowledge into his mind: things known and unknown, common and secret.
After a while, his eyes moved slightly. He exhaled a long breath.
"Tony Stark… I didn't expect that."
Duke got up and began pacing the room, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"To get Iron Man's character template in Arcane's worldline… this is insane!"
"Hex crystals, Hextech, Chemtech, shimmer…"
"All of that is nothing compared to Tony Stark's genius!!!"