Drug-Eating Genius Mage (Fanfic)

When Asmon opened the car door and stepped out, his face had transformed into that of a rugged, middle-aged man with a grim expression. He put on a pair of sunglasses he'd grabbed from the break room, left the car—tossing the car key inside—and closed the door. He knew he couldn't risk being tracked with a vehicle bearing its original serial number. Determined not to be followed, he decided that after today he wouldn't come anywhere near this area again.

Just as he left the dreary slums, brilliant sunlight poured down from a clear blue sky. For the first time since arriving in this world, Asmon was confronted with real sunlight—and it overwhelmed him. His eyes stung, his head ached, his hands trembled, and a tight pain gripped the back of his neck. His exhausted steps wavered, and he staggered uncontrollably, drenched in sweat. Time was running out.

Inhaling the faint scent of cigarette smoke from his hand, he walked briskly until he spotted a small hotel on the outskirts of the busy district. It was in a tidy yet inconspicuous spot—a quiet lobby with a few relaxed staff. Both its cleanliness and security appeared decent. Without hesitation, Asmon entered the hotel. Once inside, he dispelled his magic in the restroom, but a wave of dizziness hit him as he stepped out. Wiping away the sweat streaming down his forehead, he approached the front desk. "...I'd like to reserve a room, please," he said.

"100,000 credits per night," the clerk replied after a brief glance at his attire, without further comment. Although 100,000 credits wasn't a trivial sum for someone like Asmon, he wasn't in a position to debate it. He roughly placed the cash he'd snatched from a supervisor's wallet on the counter, accepted the key, and as soon as he got on the elevator, he collapsed in exhaustion.

After what felt like an eternity, Asmon finally crossed the corridor and opened the door to his assigned room. In an instant, darkness enveloped him. The fatigue and tension that had built up until that moment—and the sudden loss of the cigarette's effect that had been numbing his pain—crashed over him all at once. Unable even to properly remove his shoes, Asmon slumped in front of the door, falling into a deep sleep as if he were dead. It was the first time since his relentless insomnia in this world that he experienced a truly restful sleep.

"Mm…" Asmon awoke in the dead of night, his throat dry and burning. The room was swallowed in darkness, and he could see nothing. Clutching his throbbing head, he struggled to rise from the bed. Groping along the wall, he found a switch and flipped it. Immediately, the modest hotel room burst into light, revealing its simple decor. He shuffled over to the small kitchenette, found the sink, and frantically turned on the water. Gulping it down, he tried to quench his burning thirst. Just as his thirst began to ease, a wave of nausea hit him. He clutched the sink again and vomited loudly. "Ugh—!" 

Having consumed nothing all day except the harsh smoke of cigarettes, his stomach could only produce bitter, acidic bile. With his head feeling as if it might split and every muscle screaming in pain, Asmon finally collapsed back onto the bed. His heart pounded uncontrollably, and his entire body trembled as excruciating cramps wrung him like a rag. "…Side effects, huh?" he muttered.

Even though the work at the factory had been brutal, nothing had tormented him like this. He'd never experimented with drugs before, but he guessed the aftereffects would feel something like this. As the ceiling spun above him, he realized that for now he couldn't let go of the cigarette in his hand. It was the only thing that temporarily helped his frail body function normally.

When his senses finally cleared a bit, and after more than twelve hours without food, Asmon crawled on unsteady legs over to the refrigerator. He opened the door, pried open a can of food, and with trembling hands devoured its contents. The meat, though minced to an unappetizing consistency, was a feast compared to the meager rations at the factory.

After somewhat easing his hunger, sleep began to claim him again. The endless nights of insomnia had worn him down, and at last, he was jolted awake the next morning by the blaring ring of the hotel phone. "Your scheduled checkout time is in one hour. Would you like to extend your reservation?"

"…Yes."

"Your stay at Eteuk Hotel will be 200,000 credits. Yesterday, you consumed a can of consommé for 20,000 credits. Total comes to 220,000 credits. You have already paid a 100,000 credit deposit; please settle the remaining 120,000 credits at the counter today."

A single can of food costing 20% of a day's lodging was outrageously steep—if prices go too high, there's nothing you can do about it. Asmon chuckled bitterly and tossed the phone aside. Even after a night of fitful sleep, his body still felt heavy, though it was better than when he first fled. 

With great effort, he rose and counted the money he had. "130,000 credits… After paying the hotel, I'm left with only 10,000 credits." It hadn't even been 24 hours since he'd learned about this world's currency, yet he already had a rough sense of its value.

With just 10,000 credits, his options were extremely limited. Realizing he couldn't stay in this condition another day, Asmon forced himself to stand. His first priority after escaping was clear: he needed money. He stepped into the shower and scrubbed his entire body vigorously—it was the first time he had bathed since awakening here. 

Only after soaking did he approach the sink and finally face his reflection. Staring back at him in the mirror were piercing eyes, disheveled black hair, dark circles, and a gaunt, almost skeletal face with thin, chapped lips. His skin was so pale his veins showed, though at least his nose was sharply defined.

Asmon couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh at the sight of his emaciated, stick-thin body. The character he had once created now looked almost unrecognizable. Picking up a razor from the sink, he shaved off all his unruly hair. With his head completely shaved, his appearance changed dramatically—gone was the gloomy look, replaced by an intense, almost feral stare. Satisfied with his new look, Asmon nodded. 

This change would make it much harder for the supervisors to recognize him. Even though he believed he'd evaded pursuit, caution was still necessary. He donned a loose set of civilian clothes pilfered from a supervisor's off-duty outfit. Carefully, he spread out all his belongings on the bed. In his possession were 130,000 credits in cash, one pistol loaded with five rounds, and a bundle of roughly a dozen cigarettes stolen from the supervisor's dormitory. He had long since changed out of his factory work uniform, and he'd discarded the car key earlier—this was all he had.