The expected surge of psychedelic chaos didn't come. Instead, a subtle hum vibrated through the console, the green light on the screen intensifying for a fleeting moment before fading back to its default pale glow.

The buttons I hadn't pressed vanished, their soft light winking out like extinguished stars. Then, the remaining buttons— "Full Rest" and "25% Power Upgrade Trip" — started to shift. Not just move, but twist, contort, their shapes melting and reforming in a way that defied all known laws of physics and common sense.

It was like watching someone try to fold a tesseract made of jello while riding a rollercoaster through a Salvador Dali painting. My brain, already struggling to comprehend this bizarre situation, just sort of gave up and went, 'Nope, I'm out. Fuck this! You guys figure this shit out. I'm going to go stare at a wall for a while.'

The visual assault ended as abruptly as it began. The four buttons now displayed a single word: "Focus."

Beneath it, four new options materialized: "Item," "Knowledge," "Power," and "Talent."

Well, that's straightforward- ish, I thought, eyeing the buttons with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

The choice, however, was clear.

Knowledge. It was what I lacked most in this world, a world where a simple conversation could turn into a death sentence if I didn't know the proper etiquette, or an ill-timed insult could trigger a clan war.

I jabbed the 'Knowledge' button, bracing myself for another round of geometric abominations.

The console didn't disappoint.

It was like reality itself was having a seizure, the metallic surfaces around me rippling and distorting as if trying to escape their own dimensions. The circular screen above the console shattered into a thousand fragments, each piece reflecting a different scene, a different memory, a different facet of existence. I saw flashes of my old life - the roar of the crowd at a sold-out show, the comforting hum of my studio equipment, the warm smile of my manager. And then, just as quickly, they were gone, replaced by images of this new world - soaring mountains, bustling marketplaces, the cold, calculating eyes of cultivators who could probably vaporize me with a sneeze.

It was overwhelming, disorienting, and oddly beautiful in its chaotic grandeur.

Then, as if someone had hit the 'pause' button on the universe, it all stopped.

The console was back to its original form, the screen displaying a new menu. Two large buttons, labeled "Vital" pulsated at the top, while a series of smaller buttons, each marked with a label and a "+" symbol, stretched out below. A digital display at the top read: "25 Points."

It was like a skill tree from a video game, only instead of allocating points to strength or agility, I was upgrading my knowledge base.

Interesting... I thought, scanning the options.

The 'Vital' buttons were "Survival" and "General Knowledge," their labels practically screaming their importance. Below them, a plethora of other categories beckoned, each one intriguing but seemingly less crucial: "Herbalism," "Cultivation Techniques," "Etiquette and Customs," "History of the Azure Dragon Empire," "Spiritual Profession: Cooking"...

Cooking? I raised an eyebrow. Seriously?

My stomach rumbled, reminding me of the surprisingly delicious buzzsaw boar I'd devoured earlier.

Okay, maybe not so useless after all, I conceded.

I allocated 10 points to 'Survival', 10 points to 'Spiritual Profession: Cooking', figuring I might as well lean into my newfound culinary skills, and 5 points to 'General Knowledge,' just to round things out.

A 'Finish' button glowed at the bottom of the screen. I pressed it, and the world dissolved around me.

"What the fu-"

----------------------------------------

Reality, as I knew it, ceased to exist. In its place was a swirling vortex of colors, a kaleidoscope of shifting hues that would have made a unicorn vomit rainbows. Then, just as abruptly as it began, the chaos coalesced, solidifying into... a classroom?

Except this wasn’t any classroom I’d ever seen. The walls were made of shimmering rainbows, the desks were giant mushrooms that wobbled precariously, and the chalkboard was a shimmering pool of liquid darkness that smelled suspiciously like burnt caramel.

And standing before me, grinning like a maniac with a lifetime supply of OxiClean, was Billy Mays.

“Billy Mays here with—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sales pitch. A whirlwind of furious energy materialized beside him, a blur of blond hair and a chef’s uniform.

“NOBODY ASKED FOR YOU!” Gordon Ramsay bellowed, his voice a sonic boom of culinary rage. “GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!”

Billy Mays, his smile faltering for the first time in what was probably centuries, stammered, “But I—”

“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S RAW!” Ramsay roared, brandishing a meat cleaver that glinted ominously in the rainbow-hued light.

Before Mays could utter another syllable, the classroom door burst open, revealing Steve Irwin, his trademark khaki shirt somehow even brighter in this psychedelic setting, a giant crocodile snapping at his heels.

“Crikey, mate!” Irwin exclaimed, his grin wide and infectious. “Looks like we’ve got a bit of a situation here!” He gestured towards the agitated crocodile. “This is Sheila, she’s a beaut, but she’s rather hungry, you see!”

Irwin then started shifting, a blur of transformation, first turning into a skeleton, a moment later a ghost, and then a vampire, all while talking at the speed of sound about how 'dangerous but beautiful she was.'

And then, as if things weren’t surreal enough, a giant portrait on the wall spoke.

It was Sun Tzu, legendary military strategist, staring down at us with a disapproving frown, his image flickering as if caught between dimensions.

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity,” he intoned, his voice a deep, resonant boom. “But one must first learn to navigate the treacherous currents of fate.”

He then glared at Billy Mays, who was still stubbornly clinging to his OxiClean bucket.

“And sometimes,” Sun Tzu continued, his voice hardening, “the best strategy is to simply remove the irritant.”

Ramsay, Irwin- who was now in his skeletal form, and even the goddamn crocodile, all lunged at Mays, their combined assault a chaotic symphony of culinary rage, wildlife enthusiasm, and ancient military wisdom. Mays, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the situation, vanished in a puff of lemon-scented smoke, leaving behind only a faint echo of "But wait, there's more!"

“That’s taken care of,” Bear Grylls, who had somehow materialized from behind a particularly wobbly mushroom desk, said with a reassuring nod. He was already building a fire in the middle of the classroom, using nothing but a stick, a rock, and what looked suspiciously like a clump of rainbow-colored moss. “Now, it’s time to get learned, my friend!”

The next few weeks, or what I perceived to be hours in this time-bending, reality-warping classroom, were a blur of survival training, culinary experimentation, and strategic planning.

Bear Grylls, ever the resourceful wilderness expert, taught me how to identify edible plants, build shelter out of bamboo and spider silk, and purify water using nothing but a hollowed-out coconut and the power of positive thinking. Steve Irwin, still shifting between his various forms, chimed in with helpful tips on how to avoid being eaten by giant spiders, wrestle venomous snakes apparently, venom was a delicacy in this world, who knew- and communicate with spirit beasts using a series of clicks, whistles, and interpretive dance moves.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

Meanwhile, a copy of me, wearing a graduation cap perched precariously atop a dunce cap, was trapped in a corner, being lectured by Sun Tzu on the art of not becoming a walking target.

“You, my friend,” Sun Tzu said, his portrait-eyes boring into my soul, “are in a predicament of your own making. You have insulted a powerful clan, stolen from multiple vaults, and managed to convince an entire town that you’re a demonic mastermind with a penchant for crashing expensive vehicles.”

He paused, his expression softening slightly. “But all is not lost. You possess a unique set of skills, a cunning mind, and a remarkably resilient liver. Use them wisely.”

He then launched into a detailed explanation of the political landscape, highlighting the various factions vying for power, the intricate web of alliances and betrayals, and the delicate balance that kept the Azure Dragon Empire from collapsing into chaos.

“You definitely need to avoid the ICBM assassins, they are the greatest threat at this time,” were his last words before he exploded in nuclear fire while a skeleton looking fellow laughed maniacally in the background, followed by the painting to cease to exist.

By the time the classroom started to dissolve around me, fading back into that familiar white void, my head was swimming with new knowledge, my stomach was rumbling with the desire to experiment with some new recipes, venom-infused noodles, anyone, No? Me the fuck neither!

My mind was racing with possibilities, at least half of which were probably wrong or impossible.

I might not have gotten the full rest I craved, but I felt invigorated. Empowered. Ready to face whatever this crazy cultivation world threw at me.

"...And the winner of this competition is..."

----------------------------------------

A disembodied voice echoed in my ears, fading into the rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds as my eyes flickered open.

I blinked, sunlight dappling through the canopy above me. My head throbbed with a dull ache, not painful, just a faint reminder that something... unusual had transpired. The memories of that psychedelic classroom were hazy, a kaleidoscope of images and sounds that refused to fully coalesce. Billy Mays, Gordon Ramsay, a giant, hungry crocodile... it was like a fever dream concocted by a brain that had overdosed on bizarre cooking shows and ancient military strategy.

I was standing in the middle of a forest clearing, a half-empty jar of what tasted suspiciously like mango-infused spirit fruit juice in my hand. Across from me, sprawled on the ground in a magnificent display of feathered defeat, was a bird. Not just any bird, mind you, but a bird of prey the size of a small car, its talons as long as my forearms, its beak sharp enough to cleave a boulder in two. It was dead. Very dead.

'Did I do that?' I wondered, eyeing the creature with a mixture of awe and a faint flicker of horror.

Then, a wave of knowledge, clear and sharp as a freshly honed blade, flooded my mind.

Survival. The forest held no secrets from me now. I could identify edible plants with a glance, build a shelter out of twigs and leaves that would withstand a hurricane, and navigate through the densest undergrowth with the ease of a seasoned tracker.

Cooking. The culinary arts, once a mystery to me, were now as familiar as my old mixing board. I could practically taste the possibilities, envisioning a symphony of flavors and textures, each ingredient singing in harmony. Spirit beasts and exotic plants were no longer just sources of sustenance; they were a canvas for culinary creativity.

The Azure Dragon Empire. The political landscape, once a confusing jumble of names and allegiances, now unfolded before me like a meticulously crafted map. I knew the major players, the power dynamics, the hidden agendas that simmered beneath the surface of courtly decorum.

And then, the darker knowledge.

The Assassin's Guild. They had a contract that was out on me, their network of shadowy figures already on my trail like a bunch of heat-seeking missiles.

I mean, Intercontinental ballistic assassins sounds like a really bad B movie plot, but it was happening to me.

The Ku Clan. My own-fake damn-fake not-family wanted me dead. Apparently, my attempt at being a slightly less horrible person had offended them more than Jang Ku's lifetime of atrocities.

Heavenly Saint. That's what the divination had confirmed to anyone who actually cared.

The knowledge shoved into my brain told me that most people knew I was one of the good guys, sent to set things right like the other guys, or gals, I don't judge.

Except I was also stuck in the part of the empire controlled by a few demonic sects.

Also known as the places where Heavenly Saints were about as welcome as an argumentative super-vegan at a hotdog eating competition.

'Well, shit,' I thought, taking a long swig of fruit juice. 'Looks like Kong Di Qing and Jang Ku are both on the 'Most Wanted' list. Time for another new identity.'

The sun was high in the sky, signaling that it was past noon. I had a long journey ahead of me, and no clear destination in mind. But for the first time since I'd arrived in this crazy cultivation world, I felt a flicker of hope. I wasn't just a lost DJ anymore, a bewildered soul adrift in a sea of chaos. I had knowledge. I had skills. I had a goddamn buzzsaw-faced boar recipe that would make Gordon Ramsay weep with envy.

I moved over to a pile of books haphazardly lying in the clearing, placing the ones that weren't my weird-mental-breakdown skill manual.

I picked up the offending object and squinted at the page in front of me, the strange symbols started swimming before my eyes.

Somehow, I instinctively knew I could read this jumbled mess of a language. I examined a bizarre fusion of this world’s native tongue, English, and Cyrillic script, for some unfathomable reason.

----------------------------------------

A sudden flash of memory, vivid and utterly ridiculous, assaulted my mind. A giant red mascot, bellowing in heavily accented Russian, listing out enemy positions in every cardinal direction in the most over-the-top way imaginable.

"Enemies to the east! Enemies to the west! Enemies to the north…." The voice droned on and on, extremely seriously, culminating in a triumphant declaration: "We are surrounded!"

Then, the mascot was driving off in a tank, a cheesy Russian World War II anthem blaring in the background as it drove off.

“Really, Russian Knuckles?” Janson muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. What the hell had he stumbled upon?

Wait! why was that all in Russian and why did I understand it anyway?!

I turned back to the page, focusing on the section about my new movement techniques. It was divided into two parts, each with a list of names to choose from. The first part, for moving fast on flat surfaces, including walls, offered a few… interesting… options?

* “Tree Walking Technique,” which was crossed out, as if someone had rejected the idea with a heavy sigh.

* “Forget Former Life and Return to Monke,” also crossed out, this time with a furious scribble, like someone had taken personal offense to the suggestion.

* “Future Stride-X,” which actually sounded pretty cool.

* “Ai Hashino is, indeed, the mother of two double-double-isekai protagonists,” which, thankfully, was crossed out. What the hell, subconscious?

Technically, “Future Stride-X” was the only option left. Strange, but he wasn't going to complain.

The next list, for the directional jump ability, was even more bizarre:

* “News Flash! Group of actors from Tokyo Blade and recent idol superstar commit double-isekai into the actual world of Tokyo Blade! More on page 8!” Thankfully, that insane garbage was also crossed out.

Then we had:

* “Directional Leap,” which seemed basic, but still cool.

* “Better Soru and Geppo Combo,” which was crossed out and then angrily scribbled on, like someone had taken a personal vendetta against the very concept.

Below the blatant insult to a classic anime, was a handwritten paragraph, made into a bulleted list for some reason, that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. All I saw was a chaotic jumble of dialogue and narration in the form of a conversation between people I had never met, most of which had already passed away, written in a style that made my head spin.

* “HOW DARE YOU?! WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!” Gordon Ramsay demanded of Billy Mays, who was now wearing a Japanese schoolgirl outfit, the scoundrel insulting common sense with everything he does!

* “The alligator is still on the table of fire, Billy,” Steve Irwin said, calmly.

* Ignoring Steve and Gordon, who were both shouting at the interloper, Tsun Zu turned from a painting into a man, then proceeded to ask Bear Grylls, “Would you like to get a beer?”

* Bear nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”

* They both walked out of the ensuing chaos, a man of survival and a man of strategy, soon to go on an adventure that would make the myriad worlds tremble at their passing!

* The goddamn end, wake the hell up!

----------------------------------------

I blinked awake from my slumped position. What… the actual… fuck?

I rubbed my eyes, my head throbbing like somene turned it into trampoline for a group of jackhammers while shoving too much tequila down the throat of the pain-nerves in my brains and leaving it in a dumpster.

I had definitely nodded off. But… when? I didn’t even remember sitting down on the tree stump underneath me!

I opened the book again, expecting the madness to have vanished, but only part of it had. The language was the same, except for one small change. The technique names were now just “Directional Leap” and “Future Stride-X.” No more crazy pronouncements or nonsensical arguments.

“That was the weirdest dream I’ve had in a while,” I muttered to myself in a daze, shaking my head while struggling to stand up and ignore my shiny new migraine.

I stared at the empty juice-thing that was sitting next to me innocently.

For some reason, deep down, I felt like the idea that that was the strangest dream I had in a while was a lie.

But I couldn’t remember why.

I watched as the empty cup filled with a different color of juice.

I was entirely done with today and it had just started.

"Not dealing with that. Nope."