I became a one-star hero in a gacha game! (Chapter 2) (Patreon)

Title still a WIP.

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Al’s second ‘parent’ was an unmarried, forty-something woman.

There was a lot he could say about the time he spent with her, but none of it was positive. She had problems. A lot of them. And they were bad. Bad enough to make Jenna seem sane by comparison.

Shortly after being adopted, Al realized she hadn’t wanted a child. That wasn’t her intentions for him. She was looking for a male in her life, and not in a platonic sense, but a deeply personal and intimate one.

And she had a preference for young boys. The younger and prettier, the better. Unfortunately for Al, the first and last gift his parents had given him were good genes, so he fit her preferences to a T.

He might be shining a bad light on himself by admitting as much, but if she weren’t so unpleasant to look at, he wouldn’t necessarily have been against it. He was an adult on the inside, after all. However, that was a can of worms that didn’t need opening. He wasn’t attracted to her, and that was it.

It had been a long, unbearable year, trying to avoid her little ‘accidents’. Almost without exception, they were poorly-disguised attempts at groping him, or getting him them into situations where they’d be naked together. Eventually, Al couldn’t take it any more, deciding to seek the help of his homeroom teacher.

A confrontation happened, with the woman denying all accusations. Her defense was competent and premeditated, as expected of a lifetime offender. Though, Al himself was likewise a tough nut to crack, cleverly weaving arguments without dropping his childish façade. Despite being unable to get her locked up, he did manage to escape back to the orphanage. And that was the end of it.

Then he had a few years’ respite, until the start of middle-school.

After the first two ill-fated adoptions, the orphanage treated Al’s applications with more caution. Every candidate was screened meticulously, with him having the final say.

He wasn’t sure how much the child’s wishes were considered in these situations, but it had seemed odd to him that it hadn’t been the case before.

Regardless, when he turned eleven, starting his first year of middle-school, another couple had been approved. They were a… peculiar pair. Not in a bad way. At least, Al didn’t think so.

They were wealthy, uptown folk, coming from a big city. In fact, it was something of a coincidence that they’d stopped by, having passed through the town on the way to their seaside retreat. In the market for a child, they’d taken the advice of an acquaintance to check the local orphanage.

Al had been familiar with the concept of a trophy wife, but apparently there was such a thing as a ‘trophy child’ as well. And him being so clever, well-behaved and good at sports made him the perfect candidate.

At first, he wasn’t convinced. The interview made it abundantly clear they saw him as an object instead of a child. He was like a fancy purse or watch—something that would make them look good in public.

Yet, after thinking it over, Al realized he didn’t exactly hate that kind of attitude. After his previous two adoptions, suffering at the hands of people who were far too emotionan and had too much baggage, being treated indifferently didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

They gave him a day to consider their offer, not seeming too bothered over whether he’d accept or reject. In the end, he decided to give it a shot. Maybe he was a bit hasty after everything, but he was a lot less risk-averse in this life. He’d already died. What’s the worst that could happen?

As it turned out, the third time was indeed the charm. He fit snugly into their little family, like a hand in a glove.

Richard and Annabelle—those were their names—were extremely hands-off with their parenting. They didn’t really see themselves as ‘parents’ in the first place. Their relationship with Al was more like a kind of partnership, where they’d satisfy his needs and wants as long as he continued being the perfect son. Whether it was clothes, food, or toys and game-consoles, he was practically showered in the stuff. He had everything he could ask for, and permission to enjoy it to his heart’s content.

Not only was he happy to do so, Al was more than capable of it. Even after he’d been transferred to a private school, he easily scored at the top of his grade. He was likewise the star athlete of his year-group, using his newfound freedom to exercise as much as he wanted. After being practically imprisoned by his previous two mothers, he simply couldn’t get enough of being outside.

Though, even if he did step out of line in some way, it was unlikely the two would’ve noticed. They were almost never home, away on business trips or living their best lives in some remote, exotic location. Aside from checking his report cards, and occasionally showing him off in front of some big-wig colleague, they barely paid him any attention.

It was bliss. Really, Al couldn’t have gotten a better deal.

And as the saying went, time flew when one was having fun. Although he’d returned to childhood, he seemingly didn’t regain the childlike ability to dilate time, where every year felt like an age unto itself.

The years flew by like the turning of pages. Before he knew it, he was already sixteen, and a high-school sophomore.

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After turning in early last night, tired after a long day running track, Al woke up at the crack of dawn. Though the academic year only started today, their team started practicing early to maintain an edge over the competition.

It was somewhat out-of-character for him to work so hard; he’d been a rather lazy in his past life, but that seemed to have changed. Not that he’d necessarily changed as a person, however. He just liked winning. And with the mind of an adult, and his body being rather talented, doing so was easy.

Frankly, his advantages made it a little unfair, but so what? It wasn’t like he’d been the one to reincarnate himself.

Setting such thoughts aside, Al rolled over before getting up, grabbing his phone off the bedside table—the newest, most expensive model. As usual, his parents were away, and checking his messages revealed an empty inbox. Not that he minded, though.

Slipping it into his pocket, he headed over to his attached bathroom. Even now, he couldn’t help feeling like the place was too big, his bedroom included. He just didn’t use the space, making it feel like wearing an oversized shoe. But his parents had insisted. It was one of their rewards, though one he hadn’t asked for.

Opening the bathroom door and stepping inside, he came face-to-face with himself, reflected in a full-length mirror. Handsome features, framed by medium-length black hair, and pale, blue eyes stared back at him. Shirtless, his toned physique was on full display—the result of years playing various sports and exercising regularly.

Feeling a tad uncomfortable, Al looked away. It was a lot like looking at a stranger. This body being so different from his old one only added to his cognitive dissonance, making it difficult to take pride in his appearance.

Sighing to himself, he went to the basin to brush his teeth before getting in the shower, blasting his head with a jet of cold water. He often pushed himself in the gym, so it had become something of a habit, a way to speed up his recovery.

Due to the unpleasantness, he didn’t linger, scrubbing himself down and rising off before getting out.

After drying, he wore his school uniform—black leather shoes, grey trousers, a white shirt with tie, and a blazer with a vest. It wasn’t the most comfortable getup, but he had to admit, it looked rather smart.

With time to spare, he went down to the kitchen, descending two flights of stairs. Along with owning plenty of other properties, his parents’ main house was actually a three-story mansion. Needless to say, they had a lot of money. Richard himself was a hedge-fund manager, while Annabelle was a director in a big tech company.

Said kitchen was more like a cafeteria, having enough space to feed a classroom. Al guessed it was meant for people employing a handful of cooks, but they didn’t have anything like that. His parents might’ve been rich, but they weren’t wasteful. They themselves were basically never home, and Al could look after himself.

Since it was still early, he hard-boiled a few eggs, serving it with some crumbled bacon, green onion, bell pepper, mustard, cream cheese and paprika. It was a light, but his appetite was mild, usually not being very hungry in the morning.

When he’d finished eating, quickly rinsing his plate and eating utensils, he brewed a pot of premium-blend filter coffee.

With the cup in one hand, he fished out his phone, heading for the living room and plopping himself down on a sofa. Thumbing the screen a few times, he came to the last page of apps, tapping a depiction of a colourful purple-and-gold crystal.

It was somewhat embarrassing to admit, but since he’d gotten his phone around three years ago, he’d been addicted to a mobile game called ‘Heroes of Nexus’. He never had much patience for those in his past life. Mostly, they seemed hell bent on sucking up as much of the player’s money as possible.

However, his daily schedule was so packed he couldn’t find two or three hours to sit down in front of a computer or console. The junk-food-like nature of gacha games appealed to him in that aspect. He could scratch his gaming itch just by logging on for fifteen to twenty-five minutes every day, hammering out his dailies and using up his stamina before logging off.

Though, if it was just that, Al might’ve left instead of taken it. From the beginning, it was a genre he was negatively predisposed to. A gacha game would need a certain special something to hook him. As it turned out, Heroes of Nexus did indeed have a few clever tricks up its sleeve.

The first of these was randomization. Levels, enemies, loot—they were all procedurally generated. The heroes were likewise entirely randomized, with no two being exactly the same.

It wasn’t that Al hadn’t played such a game before—they’d been getting popular before he died. Yet, the volume of content and lack of quality-control usually led to things feeling bland and ‘mishmash-y’, like ingredients thrown haphazardly into a pot.

Heroes of Nexus had solved that problem. The world was polished, well put together and incredibly immersive, more so than most hand-crafted games. The characters too. Somehow, they were all compelling and believable, with their own quirks, talents and shortcomings.

But that wasn’t the end of it. The game… had permadeath.

If a mission went south and the player was unable to extract their heroes, they would die for real. And outside of a few extremely rare methods, there was no way to revive them. Not even with money. If the party wiped, they were gone forever.

Adding insult to injury, higher rarity heroes were difficult to come by. Very, very difficult. After playing for three years and summoning thousands upon thousands of heroes, Al had pulled exactly five epics. And legendries? Zero. Nada. Zilch. Not a single one. His experience with them was entirely second-hand, only having seen them on gaming forums and so on.

Supposedly, there was a ‘Mythic’ rarity above that, but not only had he never pulled one, he’d never even seen anyone pull one. Neither had anyone else. If their existence hadn’t confirmed by a leaked blurry screenshot, the player base would’ve been oblivious.

All of this was frankly an insanely risky and ballsy decision on the developers’ part.

Al had barely spent any money on the game, but was still liable to fly into a rage when one of his heroes died, even lower-rarity ones. The feeling of losing weeks, months or even years of progress in a single moment was beyond upsetting. He couldn’t imagine how he’d react if he’d actually spent a lot of money in the game.

However, that same difficulty had captivated him. He was someone that liked a challenge. If there were no stakes, he wasn’t having fun.

That isn’t to say he was an amazing player. Okay, well, maybe he was. Difficult to believe, given he only owned five epics, but with how stingy and unforgiving the game was, most players didn’t even stick with it long enough to pull one. And if they got lucky, it was probably dead before the week ended.

Only the most long-term, dedicated players managed to maintain a decent roster. Al’s wasn’t bad, despite consisting mostly of uncommon and rare heroes. His three core teams were all level forties or fifties, ranked to four- and five-star respectively. Limited by their rarity, they couldn’t go any higher.

One would think that, with how much the game tried to screw them over, players would at least be able to develop their low-rarity heroes to a satisfactory degree. But the genre was ‘gatcha’, after all. If whites, greens and blues could beat the highest levels, how would the developers make money?

Epics and legendries were better. Much better. Not only did they have amazing base stats and unique abilities, they could rank up to six-star. To put things into context, a fully-leveled six-star could easily wipe an entire team of five-stars. And legendries could be ascended further through a unique mechanic, further boosting their stats and evolving their abilities. They were in a league of their own.

And yet, Al’s ‘trash’ roster—or it would’ve been, in any other game—ranked in the top 10% of all players. Rather than his skill, it was a testament to his stubbornness, and the game’s outrageous difficulty.

Sipping the last of his coffee, he watched his team auto-clearing a ruined city, stuffed to the brim with eldritch cultists. In the beginning, this kind of mission would’ve had him sitting on the edge of his seat, but now it was just part of his daily routine.

When they were done and he’d checked the loot, he exited the game, stuffing his phone in his pocket. At least today’s gains weren’t bad. He couldn’t level his heroes any further, but there were other ways to increase their power, if only a little bit at a time.

Though, now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Having gotten a little carried away, he was running a few minutes late. If he didn’t hurry, he might actually miss his bus.

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