Chapter 3 - Knock on Wood


    I leaned against the window of my dimly lit apartment, the neon glow of the city below casting fractured colors across the room.


    I exhaled slowly, reading through pages of my research, thinking back to the cold, sterile halls of the university.


    2041 was my final year.


    The culmination of years of relentless study and experimentation.


    I could still recall the scent of damp earth and chlorophyll in the greenhouse, where I''d spent countless nights nurturing mana-infused plants, each one a potential breakthrough in the making.


    Towards the end I was hopeful with my data and presented it to the Academic Board of Research.


    "It’s a wasted investment," Professor Alder had told me, arms crossed, voice heavy with the weight of disapproval.


    "Our city doesn’t need additional plants to research, Frax.


    There’s countless undiscovered plant and fauna outside of our city walls and we can’t spend time characterizing all of them.


    Instead, we need stronger Awakened, better weapons, something tangible against the growing threats. That’s where the funding should go."


    Their words were reasonable on the surface, but I knew better. All of these professors were already bought out. Providing opportunities only to projects that would make the Awakened within the organizations that they were a part of, stronger.


    I had argued, fervently, desperately. I presented market projections, theoretical applications, even small-scale tests that showed how the various plants he worked with could act as stabilizers for overexerted Awakened or serve as a cheaper alternative to synthetic mana stimulants.


    I had envisioned entire industries springing forth from this research—mana-infused agriculture, pharmacological advancements, sustainable energy solutions.


    But they had been unmoved. I felt like a fool begging a group of rocks to acknowledge the feasibility of my studies.


    Unfortunately, they were only looking for works that would aid their own agendas.


    "You’re thinking decades ahead, Frax," another professor had sighed. "We need results now."


    “What bullshit.”


    I let out a sigh.


    “I didn’t mean to say what I was thinking out loud. But that’s what this is. Both you and I wasting our time.”, I said as the composure they maintained throughout my presentation cracked with just a few words.


    And just like that, my project had been shelved, deemed an impractical venture in an age of adventure and survival. The research grants flowed instead into new-age cold weaponry and awakened augmentation procedures.


    I clenched my jaw, dragging a hand through my hair remembering how frustrating it had been. I don’t think they reviewed any of my works since their gazes slackened once they heard plants were involved.


    And the annoying part was that I couldn’t blame them.


    They needed immediate results to fund their own research into combat power for the Awakened and plants weren’t exactly the first thing that would come to mind in that regard. Still, it definitely felt good to talk them down once I realized they weren’t going to grant me any funding. I never felt so refreshed in all my years in the University until that day.


    After that I worked for a few years in an office experiencing business in a professional environment to map out how I would secure funding for research on my own.


    And honestly speaking, the delusion I had of hopefully working with like-minded colleagues in a professional environment collapsed in the first year.


    …The first week actually.


    I found out that despite being my seniors in the office, most of the employees in my division didn’t really know what they’re doing.


    In fact, I worked my way up just by fixing everything that went wrong.


    Thanks to that I was able to jockey for a new position that would help me oversee all aspects of the business. As a bonus, they sent me someone that would help out. That’s how I met Anna.


    In any case, I have everything that I need to make the products backed by my studies.


    I’ve accrued so much overtime pay that I could afford to buy a rank D artifact without having to take a loan.


    I have the plants that I’ve been taking care of daily.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    And the equipment that I salvaged from the University.


    They told me I needed to clean out the research lab and the greenhouse. They also told me that the specialized equipment needed to nurture these plants was useless to them, so I just brought them home.


    This isn’t theft… probably.


    They haven’t contacted me for the last few years so it should be fine.


    Ignoring the fact that the only mode of communication they’ve had with me was my university messaging account.


    …Which I deactivated.


    Ehem.


    In any case, what I need to do now is to figure out how to sell this product.


    Would I be able to sell them through conventional means?


    Unfortunately, no.


    Even though the restrictions on drugs have been lifted somewhat, there are still regulations.


    The main regulation is that the effects of the product on people have to be reviewed and approved by the Administration of Mana-based products (AMP).


    I didn’t want to waste my time on going through that tedium just to get turned away again.


    What other option do I have then?


    The online ‘Black Dragon’s Market’.


    A mysterious organization that operates on a sector-wide scale.


    Interestingly enough they didn’t start off with that name.


    A few years back, parts of the dragon that crash-landed and were thought to have been swallowed by Yellowstone, surfaced in an otherwise unremarkable market. That created such a stir that the Sector 3 government bought the dragon head through the online market and planned to verify its authenticity.


    That’s when it was revealed who was backing the delivery.


    It was the Hollow King himself.


    I don’t know the rest of the details and I’m sure the government tried to cover it up, but the public consensus is that the dragon head was genuine.


    Taking advantage of all the attention it had at the time, whoever was running the generic online black market decided to brand it the “Black Dragon’s Market”, with the color black representing the Hollow King and “Dragon” representing the quality of goods that customers should expect. All the individual illegal traders decided to migrate to this website and overnight it became the central hub for all illegal trade.


    I can’t help but think that the government walked straight into a trap there. They put a lot of effort into regulating black markets and sweeping them under the rug, but this single blunder on their part centralized illegal trade, revealed a big-name backer that they couldn’t afford to go against, and publicized it to everyone out there that has an interest in unregulated products.


    It really was a situation where “curiosity killed the cat.”


    The worst part was that they couldn’t even retaliate. Judging by how the website is still up and available, it seems the only option they had was to compromise.


    And that’s where I’ll be selling my product.


    So how does this work?


    Well… I don’t know.


    I pushed myself away from the window and settled into my desk chair, the hum of the city leaking faintly through the window behind me. I reached out, fingers tapping the worn power button of my old PC tower. With a soft click, the machine whirred to life—fans spinning up, LEDs flickering weakly, casting a faint blue glow across my cluttered desk.


    I really should clean this up sometime.


    I tell myself that often, but I always put it off since it’s a thought that only comes to mind when I turn the PC on and not after.


    The screen lit up in pulses, then steadied, revealing a familiar boot sequence layered with my custom scripts and encrypted overlays. As the interface loaded, I leaned forward, eyes sharpening.


    According to the new user setup page, first I’ll need to make an account on Black Dragon then upload photos of the product along with the product description. Then they’ll send a representative to pick up the product and it’ll go through an appraisal process to determine if the product description is accurate.


    They’ll even provide a breakdown of their test data for an additional fee. If the client does choose this option, Black Dragon will mark the product with a quality rank based on how valued they predict it to be in the market.


    The quality ranks for the products are as follows:


    Basic


    Refined


    Superior


    Prime


    Unique


    Black Dragon


    With “Black Dragon” being the quality stamp that grants the greatest amount of status and in turn, publicity for a product.


    Looking through the product filters, it seems the only thing that was sold on the scale of “Black Dragon Quality” in the history of this website was the dragon’s skull.


    They’ll even do a comparative analysis on how the effect of your product competes with similar product in the market and so forth.


    Wow they’re really thorough.


    I’m surprised since I imagined the whole process to be sketchier with it being part of the illegal trade and all, but it makes sense that criminals also strive for convenience.


    I opened the page to apply for a new account and sat looking at the blank entry field.


    What should I name my account?


    Naming an account shouldn''t be this hard—but then again, the account name would represent my brand. This was me staking a claim. A declaration. My shot at rebuilding everything they''d said would never work.


    I leaned back into my chair taking a deep breath, the scent of alcohol still present in my breath. Staring at the ceiling, tossing around names like Mana Bloom—too soft, flowery, and generic. VoidRoot Labs—too edgy. AlchemoTech—too… startup-y and reminds me of cancer.


    I needed something that didn’t just sound smart. It had to feel right. Not polished. Not corporate. Just real. Like me.


    My fingers drummed on the desk, tapping against the old wooden edge. It was the same desk I''d had since university—banged up, scarred, and still standing. Kind of like me. I smiled at the thought, then muttered under my breath, "Knock on wood."


    And that’s when it clicked.


    Knock on Wood.


    Luck and I have a complicated relationship.


    Most days, she spits in my face.


    Most of the time, I’m the guy who drops his toast and watches it land butter-side down—on a pile of handwritten notes.


    I once tripped over my own shoelaces and spilled mana extract into my only bowl of noodles. Ruined lunch and the sample.


    My office keycard? Demagnetizes itself at least once a week.


    My delivery drone once crashed into my balcony while I was watching it land. The worst part? It was just carrying coffee. I had to clean up the mess and work without my daily dose of caffeine.


    But then, every once in a while... she kisses me on the lips.


    Like finding a perfectly functional centrifuge in a dumpster behind an old clinic.


    Or getting rained on just long enough to duck into a café where I ran into a supplier I’d been chasing for months.


    One time, I missed the train by seconds—cursed everything—and fifteen minutes later, the news said it derailed two stops down.


    It’s not even about balance. It’s more like... chaos in disguise. Like the universe is flipping a coin with jagged edges just to see if I flinch.


    And I do. Every time. But I keep playing. Because eventually, that coin lands just right.


    Starting over. Betting on myself. Gambling with everything on the line.


    I hit save on account creation page went ahead to harvest my plants for the first batch. Knock on Wood wasn’t just a name. It was my life.