Gacha Is a Wicked Civilization

"…"

"Remaining points: 421,789. Newly acquired points: 250,000."

"…"

"If I spend the full 671,789 points… I can spin the Superhuman Gacha all over again…!"

There was, it must be said, a distinctly manic edge creeping into his voice. Naturally, Jessica responded by swatting him across the head with one of her rabbit ears, trying to rein him in.

"Commander, please stop for a moment. If you quit now, you'll only have burned through two hundred thousand points!"

"…"

"Think about it. If you hold on to what you have, you might not stay at the absolute top of the rankings, but you could still keep a solid high placement."

"…Hmm."

Jessica's argument was perfectly reasonable. Most users on the gallery were quietly prioritizing shop spending over ranking climbs anyway, and the fact that nobody had cracked five hundred thousand points yet was practically common knowledge at this stage.

And yet, even as she stood there in that carefully mixed ensemble of bunny-girl outfit, bodysuit, and uniform—her necktie dangling free and fluttering in the air—Jessica's earnest expression as she tried to halt his spiral of madness made Icarus briefly wonder if maybe she was right. Maybe he should stop here.

But then his eyes landed on the shop window entry for the Random Causality Lock Ticket (Superhuman Exclusive) — 1 Use: 45,000…

Click.

"Commander?!"

"Forgive me, Jessica… this is the last time."

"That road leads straight to hell, Commander!"

"Not a chance."

Operating on the principle that you might as well pull if you're going to pull—and determined to land one final, all-or-nothing strike—Icarus reached for the forbidden power despite Jessica's protests.

And now, precisely four minutes and fifty-three seconds after that spectacularly stupid decision…

"Jessica. Jessica."

"…"

"Gacha is a wicked civilization. It must be destroyed."

"…Wouldn't it have been wonderful if you'd arrived at that conclusion about five minutes ago, Commander?"

Staring at the ten brightly gleaming Event-Exclusive Resource Boxes sitting in front of him, Icarus finally understood why gacha was called a vile, wicked civilization that needed to be crushed. Jessica, standing beside him, could only deliver a thoroughly unimpressed scolding.

But he couldn't stay crushed under something so "minor" forever.

"Commander, with all due respect, the number of points you just lost makes it very hard to call this 'minor.'"

"Shh. Quiet."

Besides, he had never planned to rely on the rankings in the first place. With the gap already blown wide open, there wasn't much point fretting over it. So Icarus decided to go all-in: he would post a full gacha-disaster certification thread on the gallery and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠publicly declare his withdrawal from the ranking race.

Of course, a gacha-disaster post didn't need some long, tearful backstory. Unlike his usual carefully worded question threads, Icarus just slapped down whatever came to mind, closed the gallery window, muted the notifications, and resolved to start grinding points all over again.

Even if he couldn't crack the absolute top of the rankings, as long as he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't in the bottom 100%, there were still rewards. So he revised his goal: finish inside the top 50% and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chase those so-called "guaranteed random rewards(?)" instead.

But while Icarus was busy having these strange little thoughts, the gallery—notifications muted and all—was already being hit by an unexpected storm, all thanks to the certification post he himself had just dropped.

The reason was simple. Icarus barely used the gallery, so he had no idea—but ranks 1 through 10, himself included, were surprisingly well-known figures in the community. Icarus in particular had forced the Pirate Empress to surrender, and whenever he dipped into PvP he racked up nothing but perfect win streaks. Combined with the fact that, unlike other rankers, he almost never posted, a certain air of mystique had settled around him, and his name had quietly become quite famous…

So when that same Icarus dropped a certification post that completely contradicted every assumption users had about how many points a "ranker" was supposed to hold, a new thought began clawing its way into people's heads: maybe the point threshold to even become a ranker was way lower than anyone had predicted.

At first, of course, people only saw Icarus's post and reacted with suspicion.

Most people were more inclined to call the doubters idiots than entertain the theory. But once suspicion and controversy take root, they almost never settle themselves quietly—and everyone already knew that.