After Transmigrating into a Book, the Overworked Office Drone Conquers the Stars with a Depressed Mind

I transmigrated into a sci-fi novel as a good-for-nothing noble. The original character was assassinated at just sixteen.

Using my memories of the original story, I avoided being poisoned and found the key item, the “Star Core.”

I’d planned to keep my head down and survive, but the military academy forced me to enroll.

On the training ground, the nobles mocked me for having the worst fitness scores.

Little did they know my depressed brain was working at top speed:

“Survival rate: 0.03%? The enemy fleet’s weakness is the third propulsion array.”

“The hydraulic line in the mecha’s right arm will rupture in 0.5 seconds? Dodge 0.3 seconds early.”

As the insectoid mothership blotted out the sky and the commander despaired, I handed over a napkin covered in equations while munching on a ration biscuit. “Follow this route and we can survive… probably about a thirty percent chance.”