I became 1-Star fodder in a gacha game (Chapter 3) (Patreon)

On his way back after a long day, Al stared out of the bus’s window.

It was already dark, the sun’s last rays fading behind the horizon. Shadowed clouds rolled in over the mountains, their journey hastened by a strong, cold wind. Already, fine droplets of rain misted against the window—a portent of the coming downpour. It was uncharacteristic for the season, being in the middle of summer.

Grumbling to himself, Al shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could already tell he’d be soaked on his way back from the bus-stop. It reminded him of what he missed most about being an adult—owning a vehicle. Having turned sixteen at the end of last year, he could apply for a driver’s license, but between the written and practical tests, it would take a month to pass.

With nothing else to do, he fished out his phone from his pocket, turning it on. It was a dozen-or-so seconds before the home-screen lit up, notifying him of a few messages. After checking them and seeing nothing important—just some idle chatter from friends, and notices in his group-chats—he flipped through his apps, opening Heroes of Nexus.

When the game loaded, he immediately went to his inventory, clicking a few tabs. Finding what he was looking for, he hesitated, his finger hovering in the air.

Earlier today, during a lull in his afternoon training, he’d messed around in-game. It was just running a random dungeon, the type he’d done a hundred times before to farm loot and materials. However, toward the end, he’d encountered a unique enemy. It was a hooded figure, similar to the cultists he faced on his current Plane. Judging by appearances alone, it didn’t seem any different. If its name wasn’t so messed up—a string of strange, jumbled characters—Al wouldn’t have suspected a thing.

He couldn’t help but worry, wondering if there was some hidden mechanic he didn’t know about. Those did pop up now and then, and usually didn’t bode well.

Fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. In fact, the thing was abnormally weak. After engaging in combat, his team had easily wiped all the enemies, leaving it as the last one standing. It had tried to run, but his mage had incinerated it in one spell, bringing the encounter to an end.

Al had waited for something to happen, but when nothing did, he continued with the rest of the dungeon. The rest had likewise been smooth-sailing, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

It was only when he was done, having waited until the end to check his spoils, that he noticed something strange. That cultist had dropped a summoning crystal—the same type used to summon heroes. However, not conforming to the usual five-colored rarity system, this particular crystal was black as ink. He’d never seen anything like it.

Attempting to access the details tab didn’t help either. When Al tapped the item, wanting to at least see the name, his screen suddenly started flickering and glitching. A long string of unusual characters appeared there, similar to what he’d seen from the cultist.

He’d wanted to take a screenshot and post it online, but his phone froze up entirely. After fiddling with it and managing to achieve nothing, he had to do a forced shut-down, unable to even exit the game. Having gotten somewhat busy, he hadn’t been able to check again until now.

After thinking it over, Al shook his head inwardly. Most likely, it was some kind of glitched item. Even if he did manage to use it without bricking his phone, it might not even give him anything.

He put it out of his mind for now, exiting the game. The bus had almost arrived, and he was going to have to make a run for it if he didn’t want end up soaked, and have to do laundry twice this week.

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“For fuck’s sake…”

Stuck out in the driveway with the rain pouring down, Al fiddled with his remote. His parents had a new security system installed before leaving on their trip. A rather high-tech one, capable of activating on its own, and did so whenever the house was empty.

He’d tried to disable that particular feature, finding it a hassle whenever he returned from school, but hadn’t managed to figure it out. The damn thing was too complicated, having about a bajillion buttons. Even turning it off was sometimes a coin-flip. Input too many wrong commands and he’d find himself locked out—just like today.

After trying and failing for about fifteen minutes, not managing to get the thing working, Al gave up. His hand going to his pocket, he decided to call his parents. They couldn’t help him, but they could contact the security company. Being some kind of big-shot private firm, the place only communicated with direct clients.

However, while taking it out, he suddenly heard a car coming down the street. He didn’t think much of it at first, only catching his attention because of the brights practically blinding him. But to his surprise, it headed directly for his house, slowing down and rolling up the driveway.

Al turned around, still clutching his phone. He didn’t recognize the model. Certainly, his parents didn’t own anything like it. Neither did anyone else in a rich neighborhood like this. Frankly, the trucked looked a little… beat up.

He wondered if the person was going to get out and ask for directions, or perhaps as if he needed some help. Or maybe they hadn’t noticed him, pulling over to answer a call?

Yet, as the seconds ticked by without anything happening, Al couldn’t help discarding those ideas. He had no clue what the truck driver was up to but, he got the feeling he was being watched. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Dialing his father with one hand, he reached around to his back, grabbing the handle of a wooden rod with a crossguard. After finding out his private school had a course in swordplay, he enrolled immediately. What boy didn’t secretly want to learn how to use one?

While the phone rang, Al stared piercingly at the windshield, his expression not exactly friendly. He didn’t say anything either. If the person had business with him, they could damn well get out of the truck and say something.

It was an uncomfortable minute, waiting for his parents to answer. To his dismay, the call eventually went through to voicemail. Al cursed inwardly. He didn’t know what he expected. Even if they saw it, they wouldn’t answer if they were busy.

Thinking fast, he brought the phone up to his ear, pretending to talk. He didn’t want to give the impression he was out here alone, unable to contact anyone.

“Dad? Hi. Yeah, it’s me. Oh, you were busy? Sorry for interrupting. No, I’m fine, and you guys? I just came home from practice. It went well. Yeah. Listen, it’s raining and I’m outside. Can you-… Oh, okay. It’s not a big deal, it’s just been a few minutes. But someone pulled up-…”

Surreptitiously keeping an eye on the truck, Al continued his spiel. He hoped it would get rid of the creep, but unfortunately that didn’t happen. The truck just idled there eerily in the rain, its diesel fuels stinking up the driveway. He could only continue talking to himself for was probably five minutes, though it felt like an eternity.

When Al had gone on longer than that, the driver still not getting out or leaving, he was forced to end the call. He was running out of things to say, and didn’t want to seem suspicious.

“…they’re around the corner?. Oh, I see. You’re checking the feed? Don’t worry, it’s fine-… Okay, I guess I’ll see them soon. Yeah, you too. Goodnight.”

Speaking loudly, he made sure to bring up the security company, and the CCTV cameras dotted around the estate. His message was clear—it wouldn’t be possible to pull something without being noticed.

Sighing inwardly, he lowered his phone, wondering what to do next. The only thing he could think of was calling the police. However, he didn’t know the number. He’d have to look it up-…

Suddenly, before he could finish his train of thought, the truck’s door clicked, swinging open slowly.

Al’s heart skipped a beat. Tightening his grip on the rubber handle, he watched as pair of big, booted feet came down on the driveway, skipping the truck’s single step.

Lowering his head under the frame, a big, lumbering man climbed out of the vehicle, coming to stand on the pavement.

Though he faced Al directly, it was difficult to see his face. Clad in a raincoat with the hood up, his only recognizable feature was a stubbled chin, the individual bristles reflecting the truck’s headlights.

Al remained quiet. Not only did he have nothing to say, he didn’t want to appear nervous.

The man likewise didn’t seem to be in a hurry, looming silently in the driveway. The only movement was his hands, fiddling with something in his coat pocket. It bulged against the material, all hard lines and sharp angles.

Al narrowed his eyes. A gut feeling told him it was some kind of weapon.

He had no clue what was going on, why someone would want to have a standoff with him. However, rather than figuring it out, he needed to get in contact with the police. He had confidence in his abilities, but if the man had a gun, his training sword might as well be a pile of sawdust.

He glanced at his phone, dragging his thumb across the screen. If he could get a link, he wouldn’t even need to dial-…

“Put your phone away, Alistair.”

Speaking for the first time, the man’s voice was a slow drawl. Gruff, and sounding scratchy from disuse.

Al had to fight to suppress his shock. How did the person know his name? No, it didn’t matter. If he wasn’t sure about bad intentions before, he was now. He needed to make the call.

His gaze flicking between the man and his screen, he spoke casually, pretending to be unconcerned.

“Who are you?”

The man’s reply was a flash of silver, suddenly pulling a revolver from his pocket. He pointed it at Al’s gut.

“I won’t ask again.”

Al’s jaw clenched, his face turning somewhat pale. He’d been held at gunpoint before, but it wasn’t any easier the second time around.

“Okay, okay. I’m putting it down.”

Holding it outward, though with the screen facing toward him, he bent his knees as if to set it down. 

Without breaking eye-contact, he secretly dragged his finger across the screen. If he had it right, the number was currently dialing. Hopefully the police would overhear their conversation.

The man watched him for a moment, seemingly hesitating.

“…no. Walk over and give it to me. But drop that stick in your hand first.”

Al’s lip twitched.

“You have a gun, don’t you? What I could I possibly do-…?”

The man clicked his tongue, cocking the revolver.

“There’s that smart mouth of yours. Don’t talk back. Do as I said.”

At this point, Al was starting to have his suspicions. Obviously, the man knew who he was, but he hadn’t seemed familiar. Not until now.

He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the hood’s shadow. He felt his certainty growing, like a word hovering on the tip of his tongue.

And then it clicked.

“Wait. You’re-…?”

His eyes wide, he stared incredulously at the man’s figure. He couldn’t believe it. But at the same time, he believed it entirely.

Suddenly, he threw his head back, laughing loudly.

“Haha, it’s actually you!”

Al went on chuckling amusedly for a few seconds, but then as suddenly as he started, he stopped.

“What the hell are you doing here, Fred? Are you fucking stupid? You’re out on parole, right? Jenna told me.”

When Fred didn’t say anything, his stiffness all but confirming his identity, Al continued. Despite his situation, he was unable to keep the sneer from his face.

“Don’t you think it’s hilarious? Of all the people you screwed over, it was your adopted seven-year-old who put you in prison!”

He flicked his hand irritably, like shooing away a fly.

“Have some sense for once in your life and get lost. If something happens to me, you’ll be the number one suspect-…”

Suddenly, while Al was in the middle of his sentence, there was a loud ‘Bang!’, followed by a flash of light.

He felt something tearing through his thigh, almost taking his leg out from under him.

Stumbling backward, his nerves flared, flashing signals of intense pain. Blood leaked down his trouser leg, dripping on the driveway.

Gritting his teeth, Al mustered all his scorn, plastering it over his face. He would rather die ten times over than give scum like Fred an inch.

“Kill me if you have the balls, you dumb fuck.”

For a moment, Fred seemed if he would do just that, his eyes flashing dangerously in his hood. However, showing uncharacteristic self-control, he breathed out slowly, relaxing his pull on the trigger.

“…you’re still like this. I just wanted to talk, but you won’t even give me a little bit of respect.”

Gesturing with his still-smoking gun, he pointed toward the back of the truck.

“Get in.”

Al responded by baring his teeth, brandishing his wooden sword. It was somewhat pathetic, but it was all he had.

“Let’s see if you can make me. You better hurry though. The police will be here soon.”

Even without seeing his face, it was easy to see Fred was furious. The look in his eyes was ice-cold.

Still pointing his gun, he took a few steps closer, backing Al into the corner of the driveway.

“…you’re angry at me. I understand. If I disciplined you properly, things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

Al’s reply was a glob of spit, hocked toward his face.

Unfortunately, it missed.

“Kill yourself.”

Fred didn’t reply, inching a step closer. Then, when he was in arm’s reach, he suddenly lurched forward, swinging the gun at Al.

Al had expected something like this, ducking while sending a blow directly at Fred’s head. Unfortunately, the tip was dulled so he couldn’t go for an eye. With a bit of luck, he hoped to crack his skull, or at least give him a concussion

However, what he didn’t expect was for Fred to receive his sword directly. He practically blocked it with his face, the wooden edge smashing hard against his cheek.

Having put his weight behind it, and using his five years of training and experience, Al’s hit was no joke. He could feel the force transmitting to his palms, along with the sensation of Fred’s jaw fracturing.

Both of them seemed equally shocked—him at Fred’s ‘maneuver’, and the person in question at just how hard he’d been hit.

Though his leg was hurting intensely, Al didn’t want to miss this opportunity. He knew very well how a single moment’s surprise could reverse the odds. 

Stepping inside Fred's reach, he pivoted his sword in an unconventional move. The damn thing was too blunt to deliver much aside from bruises and the odd fracture—everywhere except for the cross guard.

Twisting the handle, he shoved the narrow tip toward Fred’s eye-socket. If possible, he wanted to stick it through the bastard’s eye, all the way into his brain.

However, before he could get very far, there was another flash of light, followed by a ‘Bang!’.

Briefly blinded, Al felt a burning line being drawn through his torso, almost coming out the other side. Unlike when he’d been shot in the leg, he could tell the bullet had hit something important.

Feeling the strength leaving his body, he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. His wooden training sword flew out of his hands, clattering distantly against the pavement. 

The pain was excruciating, almost robbing him of his senses. He could practically feel his eyes glazing over, his consciousness turning fuzzy.

He barely managed to claw his way back from the brink. 

However, by the time he regained clarity, it was already too late. Fred was looming over him with revolver in hand, gingerly touching the side of his face. Some swelling was already visible.

Looking down at Al, he sighed before bending over, picking up his phone. The screen was obviously cracked, though still on.

“Like I thought, you didn’t call the police-… Huh, what’s this?”

Hearing the confusion in his tone, Al’s gaze moved from Fred’s face to the screen.

That couldn’t be. Of all things, why was ‘that’ open right now?

“…why won’t it go out? Are you trying to hide your calls?”

Mumbling to himself, Fred swiped irritably, not accomplishing much. The phone was totally frozen. 

Stuck on a familiar inventory screen of a certain mobile game.

Al couldn’t make any sense of it. He didn’t know whether he’d misclicked, or if he’d opened it on autopilot, guided by muscle memory.

He didn’t think so. But that didn’t matter to him right now. Neither did his situation, bleeding out on the ground.

Instead, his gaze was inexplicably attracted to the image of a rotating, black crystal, labeled in esoteric, blood-red lettering. 

And Fred’s thumb, squarely pressing down on top of it.

“Whatever.”

Fred palmed the phone absentmindedly before dropping it on top of Al’s chest. Turning around, he seemed about to leave, probably worried about the gunshots were reported.

However, there was no truck behind him. The streets, lights, trees and even the houses where likewise gone. 

Everything was black.

Al stared in shock, his eyes wide as dinnerplates. But it was only for a moment. 

Soon, even Fred was gone. Even he was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

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