The Otherworldly Engineer Wants to Resign

I’m ordinary.

Average height, average face—just your typical, run-of-the-mill guy.

But they say God grants at least one talent, right?

*”Hahaha, Minjae, you’re truly remarkable! To think you’d uncover another potential thesis topic here!”*

I was always exceptionally good at building, memorizing, and assembling things.

That’s why I got into engineering, aced my studies, and caught the attention of professors—simultaneously.

I actually enjoyed creating and solving problems more than going to mixers or drinking at MTs.

Basically, STEM fields were my calling.

But…being favored by professors was the problem.

*”Minjae-yah—could you check over this thesis draft?”* *”Minjae, by any chance, do you have any new research topics?”* *”Oh my—this is absolutely brilliant! Simply outstanding!”*

To be precise, it was professors—plural.

Like a victim snatched away by criminals, my thesis drafts and research notes kept getting torn away by professors.

Not enough? They’d call me here, summon me there—daily exhaustion on repeat.

Worse, some professors stole my research ideas and published them as their own.

Thanks to that, I didn’t have a single proper paper with my name on it.

Hell, I wouldn’t even complain if it was just interesting research.

But why the hell did I have to dissect brake mechanics down to the tiniest details?!

*”Damn it… Something’s gone terribly wrong.”*

What if I just ran away?

No need to worry—I was hopeless at actual work.

Unlike brainstorming and research, I sucked at executing tasks.

A few internship attempts ended in disaster—office politics and performance pressure made me crack and bolt every time.

I was great at analyzing and building, but a terrible salesman.

So, of course, I needed that Ph.D. even more.

In the end, I was trapped—the perfect grad student for professors to exploit.

*”Mom, look! A grad student! If you drop a coin, they’ll start working!”* *”Sweetie, grad students are people too. They just… made some bad life choices.”*

What the hell…

Now I’m getting cursed at in the streets too.

Sighing deeply, I trudged forward.

Finally arriving at my dingy rented room, I booted up my PC and logged into a game.

League or Overwatch, you ask?

Nope—a crafting game. You gather materials and use physics engines to build things.

Like making fighter jets or guns out of castle-building blocks—how fun is tha—

…Even in games, it’s still STEM.

*”Sigh… Please, is there somewhere I can just research in peace? No—actually, I just don’t want to work.”*

Please, I swear I won’t act up just because of some mediocre talent.

I’d rather live as an office worker or laborer at this point!

I begged the heavens—and as if in response, I suddenly gushed blood from my nose, my vision darkening.