BOOM!!!
The earth-shattering explosion startled Link awake from his dreams.
As he scrambled off the desk, dried ink smudged on his face made him look particularly ridiculous.
"What the hell?"
The young man stood, shoving his desk forward and kicking his chair to the ground in one swift motion. In just a few strides, he reached the window, throwing it open as he shouted in frustration.
"Who's setting off fireworks so early in the morning?!"
"Do you even have a sense of decency? Don't you care about your own fathe—"
Before he could finish venting his grievances, the piercing sunlight froze him in place.
He glanced out and was stunned by the view: a wide street lined with buildings constructed of limestone bricks and beveled timber. Everywhere he looked were bronze facades, leaded glass windows, and brass eaves.
The sunlight reflected dazzlingly off the streets, bustling with a crowd of well-dressed, understated pedestrians.
However, the people were all gazing eastward, their murmured discussions rolling like waves through the broad street.
As the sound waves reached Link's ears, they were faint and fragmented, leaving his already dazed mind spinning.
"Where am I?"
He recoiled as if stung by a scorpion, snatching his hand back from the windowsill.
Stumbling back in chaotic steps, he retreated until his back pressed against the wall, staring blankly at the scene before him.
This wasn't his room.
The stained-glass windows were open, and the curtains swayed restlessly in the wind.
To the left of the window stood a wide desk piled with design drafts and cluttered with an array of tools. One of its legs was reinforced with an iron plate nailed on to keep it functional.
Next to the desk was a storage shelf filled with half-finished inventions and books.
To the right of the window was a bed, its loose blanket crumpled against the wall. The mattress was stained with dried ink.
Beside the bed stood an old wardrobe with one door ajar, revealing a mirror embedded within it. The reflection displayed Link's anxious and bewildered face.
"Is that... me?"
Link staggered to the wardrobe, dropping to his knees as he touched his face with both hands.
Beneath his slightly arched brows were confused black pupils, a high nose bridge, and thin lips. His pallor hinted at either a lack of sunlight or malnutrition stunting his growth.
The face bore an 80% resemblance to his own, though it was far younger and more naive.
"What on earth happened to me?"
As he muttered, a flood of chaotic and overwhelming memories surged into his mind.
The abrupt influx of information made him clutch his head and groan in pain.
The foreign memories clashed with his own, leaving him feeling as if his mind were being torn apart.
It was an absurd sensation, like stepping into two rivers simultaneously.
One river depicted the ordinary life of a young man named Link:
Studying, passing exams, graduating, and working tirelessly in a factory to achieve his dream of becoming a master machinist.
He succeeded, passing the Level 8 machinist exam and earning his certificate, only to drink himself to death at the celebration banquet.
The other river illustrated the short, difficult life of a boy named Link Stat:
An orphan struggling to study, working day and night on inventions to secure a place in Piltover, the City of Progress.
One fateful night, he died silently at his desk, overwhelmed by exhaustion.
As the two rivers merged and washed over him, Link came to a realization.
"So, I've crossed over..."
Releasing his head, he gave a bitter smile.
"Drinking really is the root of all evil. No wonder my master always told me to stay away from alcohol and stick to my tools."
"Still—" Link steadied himself on the wardrobe and walked back to the open window. His first steps were unsteady, but they grew firmer with each stride.
At the window, he inhaled deeply, feeling the canal breeze on his face, and exhaled with relief.
"Life goes on. With my skills as a Level 8 machinist, I could survive anywhere—even on a post-apocalyptic wasteland!"
Confidence surged within him, though he knew he first needed to understand the world he had entered.
From the memories he inherited, this city was called Piltover, with a sister city below it named Zaun.
Wait!
Link's eyes widened. Piltover and Zaun?
Could it be—
He had crossed into the world of League of Legends?
More specifically, into the Arcane universe?
Recalling the storyline of Arcane, Link felt his legs weaken.
Calm down. Don't panic!
Link took a deep breath and tapped his fingers on the windowsill, forcing himself to think.
He needed to figure out the current timeline to use his knowledge of the story to his advantage.
Where was he in the timeline?
Gazing northeast, Link spotted a towering skyscraper.
Thick smoke billowed from it, and flickering flames shone through the haze. Even from a distance, he could see Piltover's emblem hanging midway up the building.
"The Piltover Council building got bombed?" Link's jaw dropped. "Does that mean I'm at the end of Season One and the beginning of Season Two?"
He remembered it clearly: Arcane Season One ended with Jinx killing her foster father Silco and, in despair, loading the Hextech gemstone into her rocket launcher to fire a supercharged missile at Piltover's Council building.
Season Two began with the aftermath of the explosion, leaving the Council in ruins. Many councilors, including Caitlyn's mother, perished.
This explosion set the stage for the events of the second season.
[System Alert: The host has grasped the current timeline. Installing Dimensional Mailbox...]
[1%... 37%... 66%... 81%... 100% Installation complete!]
[Dimensional Mailbox successfully installed. You can now communicate with entities from different timelines and dimensions within the same universe to exchange information and resources.]
[Wishing you a smooth life and a perfect journey.]
Lines of text appeared before Link, leaving him momentarily stunned.
Soon, a simple mailbox interface materialized, snapping him back to reality.
"This is... my golden finger?"
Link examined the straightforward interface, which consisted of just two options: Compose and Inbox.
Activating the Compose feature brought up a writing window resembling the email clients from his past life.
The Inbox option, however, displayed a message: No mail received. Your inbox is empty.
Staring at the floating screen, Link fell into deep thought.
Who gets a mailbox as their golden finger?
Can this thing even be useful?
Damn it. Forget returning it—there's no way to return it anyway.
After all, having a golden finger, however modest, was better than having none at all.
But how could he make the most of it?
The world had no useless tools, only fools who didn't know how to use them.
Link's gaze fell on the title at the top of the screen:
[Dimensional Mailbox]
If his mailbox could send letters across timelines and dimensions, perhaps he could seek help from others.
Or, to put it bluntly, could he use it to beg for aid?
Hiss—
Link raised an eyebrow. That might just work.
People could beg on the internet in his old world, so why couldn't he beg across parallel dimensions?
Now, how should he start?