Hijacking the Three Kingdoms with My System

Chapter 1: The Escape at the Edge of the Abyss and the Blood-Red Ring

Joshua’s breath felt like swallowing grated cheese. Rough, stinging, and bloody. His lungs screamed for oxygen, but his legs forced him to keep running through the narrow, muddy, and piss-smelling alleyways of Glodok.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" he cursed repeatedly in his mind, synchronized with his pounding heart, which felt ready to explode.

His right foot, clad in knock-off sneakers, tripped over a mound of wet garbage. His body swayed. He nearly kissed the asphalt, which was slick with dishwater from a catfish stall, but his hand instinctively grabbed a rusty clothesline pole.

Bang!

The sound of the shot was deafening, far louder than New Year's firecrackers. A bullet slammed into a zinc trash can right beside his left ear. The sharp noise made a stray cat leap onto a tin roof, its fur standing on end.

Joshua ducked instinctively, his face deathly pale. "Dammit! My thesis isn't finished, my rent is three months overdue, my girlfriend dumped me, and now I’m going to die a stupid death because I took the wrong turn trying to buy chicken noodles?! God, what kind of plot twist is this?!" he screamed hysterically in his mind.

He wasn't an action movie hero. He was just Joshua—or Jo Fan, as his friends called him—a final-year History student who had just received his expulsion letter last week. His cardinal sin? Being too busy playing the strategy game Total War and debating Sun Tzu's philosophy of war on Reddit forums instead of working on his thesis.

Cynical? Definitely. Smart? Moderately, when he felt like it. Athletic? Zero. Running to catch a public bus made him want to puke, let alone running from hitmen.

Ahead of him, the source of this trouble was limping along. A bald, old Professor with cracked glasses and a white lab coat that had turned dull gray from dust and blood.

Fifteen minutes ago, Joshua's life was still normal. He was blowing on his chicken noodle soup on the roadside, lamenting his fate as an unemployed man. Suddenly, the old man, who claimed to be a professor from a renowned university, crashed into his table, spilled the hot bowl onto his pants, and dragged him away, claiming they were being chased by a gang of men in neat black suits.

"Prof! Stop, hey! I don't know you! Let go of me!" Joshua yelled between gasps. "I want to go back! I haven't paid for my chicken noodles!"

"Don't stop, you fool! They'll kill the witness!" the Professor replied hoarsely, without looking back.

They took a sharp left, entering a gap between old warehouses. And that’s where Joshua’s bad luck peaked.

A dead end.

The end of the alley opened directly onto the banks of the Ciliwung River, which was overflowing from last night's heavy rain. The murky brown water churned violently below, carrying plastic trash, tree branches, and God knows what else. The current looked strong enough to sweep away a water buffalo, let alone a skinny human like Joshua. To their left and right were three-meter-high concrete walls, impossible to climb without equipment.

The Professor turned around, his back pressed against the rusty river railing. His face was ashen, fresh blood pouring from a gunshot wound in his stomach, staining his white shirt a deep red.

"This is the end of the line..." Joshua hissed, his legs weak. He looked back. No one was visible yet, but the sound of expensive leather shoes tapping grew closer. *Tap. Tap. Tap.* The rhythm was calm, too calm for someone chasing prey.

The Professor reached into his inner pocket with violently trembling hands. He pulled out a small object. A ring.

But it wasn't an ordinary ring. It was blood-red, thick, and glowed faintly. It didn't look like metal or a gemstone. It looked organic. Like compacted flesh molded into a circle. The ring pulsed softly, synchronized with the heartbeat of the person holding it.

"Take this..." the Professor's voice weakened, like the sound of sandpaper rubbing. He held the ring out to Joshua.

"No way! Are you crazy?!" Joshua stepped back until his heel hit the concrete edge of the river. "I want to go home! That's stolen goods, right? Is that why you're being chased by the Black Dragon Mafia or the Yakuza or whatever?! I don't want to go to jail for being a fence!"

"They... they must not have it. This is the Key of Destiny. An ancient artifact that transcends time..." The Professor insisted, grabbing Joshua's hand with his own cold, blood-sticky one. He forced the ring into Joshua's palm. "The System inside... it needs an empty host."

Joshua tried to shake off the old man's hand, but somehow his fingers instinctively clenched around the ring. It felt warm, disgusting yet comfortable at the same time.

"What do you mean 'empty host'?!" Joshua was offended at the worst possible moment. "Are you calling my brain empty?! My GPA was 3.4 before I got expelled!"

"Your soul... you have no attachments. You are desperate, yet logical. You are cynical, yet you want to live. That is the best fuel for 'Him'..." The Professor coughed, blood spurting from his mouth.

Before Joshua could protest further about the intellectual insult, the sound of slow clapping echoed from the end of the alley.

Joshua turned stiffly. Three burly men stood blocking the exit. Two held short-barreled automatic pistols. But what made Joshua's hair stand on end wasn't the weapons; it was the man standing in the center.

The man wore an impeccably neat navy suit, as if he had just stepped out of a bank board meeting, not chasing someone through a muddy alley. His face was handsome, clean-shaven, with slicked-back hair. He smiled. A polite, friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were dead. Empty like a fish's eyes at the market.

That was him. The operation leader.

"A truly touching drama," the man said. His voice was a smooth, authoritative baritone. "A mad academic handing over a dangerous legacy to a...? Malnourished student?"

The man stepped forward casually, ignoring the dirty puddles that stained his expensive dress shoes. "Hand over the Chronos Ring, Professor. You know the rules. That object belongs to the Organization."

Then his eyes shifted to Joshua. The gaze made Joshua feel like a cockroach being observed before being stepped on.

"And you, Young Man... What is your name?"

"Budi Budiman," Joshua answered randomly, cold sweat running down his temples. "My name is Budi. I'm just a lost motorcycle taxi driver. I swear, sir. I didn't see anything. I'm colorblind and suffer from acute short-term amnesia."

The man chuckled softly. "Funny. Humor is a natural defense mechanism when one realizes they are about to die."

The man raised his hand slightly, signaling his two subordinates. They cocked their weapons simultaneously.

Click-clack.

"Listen..." the Mafia Boss said, his tone turning cold. "Hand over the ring, and I promise your death won't hurt. At most, it will feel like an ant bite. Instant darkness, no fear. But if you resist... I have a very creative surgeon at headquarters. He can keep you conscious for three days while he peels your skin off inch by inch."

Joshua swallowed. His throat was bone dry. His brain, usually used for planning raid boss strategies in games, spun at the speed of light, simulating all possibilities.

Scenario A: Surrender.

Probability: They take the ring, then 'bang.' Witnesses must disappear.

Result: Stupid death.

Scenario B: Fight back.

Probability: I punch one guy, two guys shoot me.

Result: Stupid death plus a beating.

Scenario C: The River.

Joshua glanced behind him. The black, churning river water, full of chemical waste and possibly escaped crocodiles.

Probability: Drowning, poisoning, hypothermia, or being shot while airborne. But there's a 0.01% chance of being swept away and surviving.

"Okay, okay, calm down, Uncle. Don't get aggressive," Joshua slowly raised both hands, the ring tightly clenched in his right hand, hidden behind his fist. "I'm just an expelled student who happened to pass by. I don't want anything to do with occult objects like this. You want it? Take it. I'm not paid to be a hero."

Joshua slowly lowered his hands, pretending to throw the ring.

The man in the navy suit lowered his guard slightly, a triumphant smile appearing on his lips. "A wise choice, kid. There's no point dying for this old fossil."

Joshua glanced at the Professor. There was a pleading look in the old man's eyes. “Ah, screw it,” Joshua thought.

"Sorry, Old Man!" Joshua suddenly yelled.

Instead of throwing the ring to the Mafia boss, Joshua did the most reckless thing that had ever crossed his sane mind. He turned around, took a running step, and leaped toward the raging Ciliwung River.

"STOP HIM IMMEDIATELY, YOU IDIOTS!" the Mafia Leader screamed. His mask of composure shattered instantly.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots rang out in succession, their sound echoing in the narrow corridor.

One bullet missed, hitting the concrete.

One bullet struck the Professor's back as he tried to stand and shield Joshua—a futile, cliché heroic act that somehow made Joshua's heart ache.

The third bullet...

Joshua felt it as his body soared through the air.

His left shoulder was yanked backward with brutal force, as if a giant hammer had struck him. It felt hot. Not warm, but searing hot like a soldering iron thrust through flesh and bone.

"ARGH!"

His scream was swallowed by the sound of rushing water as his body slammed into the cold, filthy river surface.

SPLASH!

The world instantly became silent and dark.

The strong river current immediately dragged him, spinning his body like a ragdoll in a washing machine. Joshua tried to swim, tried to reach the surface, but his left shoulder was completely numb. The pain that had been hot was now a paralyzing cold. Dirty water entered his nose and mouth; it tasted salty and metallic.

“So this is what dying feels like? It's totally uncool. I didn't even get to delete my browser history on my laptop...”

His consciousness began to fade. His vision narrowed, seeing only the thick darkness of the water. In the remnants of his awareness, he saw his own blood billowing from his left shoulder like red smoke in the water.

Suddenly, the ring in his grasp activated.

The object didn't let go. Quite the opposite. Joshua felt the ring melting. It felt like hot wax dissolving into his palm. The red liquid didn't dissolve in the water; instead, it crept through the skin of his palm.

Crawling up his wrist.

To his arm.

To his shoulder.

To his neck.

It felt like liquid fire being injected directly into his veins. Joshua wanted to scream, but the river water silenced him.

In the darkness underwater, on the verge of death, Joshua heard a voice.

Not the sound of water. Not the sound of the grim reaper. Not the voice of God.

The voice sounded flat, mechanical, and annoying. Exactly like a *G****e Translate* voice, but a bored male version. The voice echoed directly inside his skull.

[Ding!]

[System Detected Vital Organ Failure.]

[Subject: Joshua (Human/Level 1/Unemployed).]

[Status: Critical. Severe Hemorrhage. Oxygen Deprivation. Mental: Unstable.]

"What the hell is this..." Joshua thought weakly. "My death hallucination is weird..."

[Scanning DNA Match... 99% Compatible.]

[Artifact Synchronization Initiated.]

[Objective: Override Death via Forced Transmigration.]

[Target Location: Historical Database... Ancient China, Year 190 AD. Era of Chaos.]

A blinding red light exploded before Joshua's eyes, illuminating the trash-filled riverbed. His body felt forcibly pulled by a giant hook piercing his navel. The pain was so intense he couldn't feel his body anymore.

[Warning: Physical Damage Too High for Seamless Transfer.]

[Activating 'Newbie' Compensation.]

[Downloading Module: 'Culinary Strategy System'.]

[Slogan: "Logistics is Key, Fullness is Victory."]

"Culinary...?" Joshua thought in the last second of consciousness. "I'm dying, hey, I'm not trying to open a catering business..."

[Transfer Process Initiating in 3... 2... 1...]

And Joshua's world completely faded, accompanied by a pain that tore his soul from his body, leaving his corpse floating in the Ciliwung while his spirit was flung across space and time toward a destiny far crazier than his unfinished thesis.