The Gacha Machine
“Damn it.” Mikhail flicked the report lying on his desk. The stack of papers slid weakly across the wood and hung precariously off the edge. Josepina Jugashvili. In a single word, the report that pint-sized administrator had delivered was a death sentence for the whole “lottery business.”
This isn’t going to fly? He sank deep into the sofa and dragged both hands down his face. The document’s logic was airtight and brutally reasonable. First, lotteries in the empire were a monopoly of the Ministry of Finance—or, more accurately, the Emperor’s personal monopoly. Only businesses with explicit imperial approval could run them, and because they were dressed up as “public works and welfare promotion” while reliably filling the imperial coffers, such permits were almost never granted.
A mere prince—especially a banished, good-for-nothing one—trying to butt into that? Approval? Not in a million years.
I didn’t realize it was His Majesty’s personal cash cow… What the hell did the original Mikhail even know?
Second, the fundamental flaw in the business model. Josepina’s analysis had been merciless. Traditional lotteries pooled money and paid out a portion to winners. But what Mikhail intended to offer wasn’t cash—it was the physical Eternal Special Membership Card, an item with a fixed value. To preserve that value, he would need to sell an absurd number of tickets. The question was whether anyone would actually buy them.
People weren’t idiots. Educated nobles especially. Most buyers would likely be commoners chasing the long-shot odds. Yet those same commoners could neither afford nor even imagine traveling all the way to the Far East Maritime Province to use the casinos or resorts. And if the wealthy did buy them, they’d probably flip the cards for a mere fifty thousand gold at best. Value retention was doomed from the start.
“I underestimated this,” Mikhail clicked his tongue. The world—especially anything involving money—was never as simple as it looked. So far he had bulldozed through problems with his status and 21st-century knowledge, but this time the wall was real.
He immediately erased the word “lottery” from his mental whiteboard. Nothing was more foolish than clinging to a failed plan. He needed an alternative, a new scheme.
Something that gets people excited like a lottery, but isn’t a lottery. Something where they aren’t directly buying a chance with money. And something where even drawing a dud doesn’t feel like a total loss.
Mikhail sprawled across the sofa and stared blankly at the ornate ceiling. His head throbbed. It was annoying. He briefly considered dumping the entire problem on Laura or Josepina. They were competent; they’d probably come up with something decent.
Ah, screw it. Maybe I’ll just sleep.
His consciousness began drifting away from reality. Meaningless fragments of thought floated through his mind. The boring, repetitive daily life he had lived before reincarnating as Mikhail. The cold convenience-store meals after work, the mindless scrolling through YouTube. What had he been watching back then? Nothing memorable. He had watched so much random garbage.
It had been a truly pathetic life, yet compared to this world it felt less boring in retrospect. Or maybe he had simply been more broken than the original Mikhail and felt boredom more acutely.
Even as a child, the man who became Mikhail—Kim Jae-han—had been a lost cause. Instead of playing outside like other kids, he had sat in the corner of his room staring at the TV. What had he usually watched…? Crayon Shin-chan? Doraemon?
“Ah.” Mikhail’s eyes snapped open. He bolted upright.
That thing!
A hexagonal—or sometimes octagonal—wooden barrel. You grabbed the handle, gave it a few cranking turns—clatter-clatter-clatter—then, with a satisfying clack, a small ball rolled out.
He didn’t know the official name, but it was that lottery machine.
“That’s it!” A torrent of new ideas flooded his mind. This wasn’t a lottery. People wouldn’t be buying “chances” directly. The participation method was simple.
Drink Mikhail liquor and bring in the label.
“One draw for a Red Label,” Mikhail muttered, face flushed with excitement. “Blue Label… maybe twenty pulls? Or thirty?” Or he could offer a premium gacha with better odds and flashier rewards for the higher-tier bottles. Hell, he could even provide a concierge service that came to you if you brought in a Blue Label.
The details could be left to smarter people—Laura or Josepina could hammer out the plan later. What mattered was the overwhelming advantage of this system.
Even if you get nothing, it doesn’t feel like you lost anything!
If you drew a dud, you had still enjoyed the Mikhail Red Label vodka. The draw itself was just a bonus, a free service. You got a free shot at prizes after drinking anyway—what’s a few misses? People would actually enjoy it.
First prize would naturally be the Eternal Special Membership Card. Throw in some smaller rewards and it would be perfect. Unlike a binary “win or lose” lottery, this offered modest but guaranteed fun prizes, light entertainment, and the slim chance to completely change your life with one lucky draw.
Mikhail jumped up, returned to his desk, and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. He picked up a pen and began sketching the machine from memory—the hexagonal barrel, the crank handle, the small hole where the balls emerged. It was a crude drawing, but inside his head the finished device was already spinning with a cheerful rattle.
Rattle-rattle… clack!
“Nice.” A deeply satisfied smile spread across Mikhail’s lips. “This time it’s actually perfect.”
“Krrrh.” Karl let out a satisfied groan as the sharp liquid slid down his throat. The oily, dusty burn in his throat from the factory was washed away by the alcohol.
“Hey, hey. Pace yourself, dumbass.” Yan, sitting across from him, grumbled as he refilled his own glass. Glug glug. The clear liquor splashed roughly into the crude glass.
“Shut up. It’s my day off. I’m allowed to drink this much.” Karl picked up a piece of rock-hard jerky with his fingers and tossed it into his mouth. The saltier it grew the more he chewed, perfectly cutting through the harsh burn of the liquor.
“Anyway, did you see that Ivan bastard throwing another tantrum yesterday?” Yan set his glass down, face twisted with irritation. “He grabbed the new kid by the collar because a thread got tangled in the loom. It was pathetic.”
“He wasn’t even going to fix it himself. Always acting like he knows everything.”
“Exactly. What’s the point of being a supervisor if he doesn’t even know his own wife is spreading her legs for half the neighborhood?”
Yan nearly spat out his drink. “Dude! Watch your mouth!”
“What? Did I say something wrong? Is there a single guy in this factory with a dick who hasn’t slept with her?”
“Well… that’s true, but.” Yan chuckled, though his expression turned somewhat bitter. “Don’t you feel a little sorry for him sometimes? The poor bastard has no idea he might be raising another man’s kid.”
“Ugh, shit. You just killed the mood.” Karl knocked back the rest of his glass in one go. A hazy memory suddenly surfaced in his mind—sweaty skin, the feel of an ass so large it seemed almost comical. Her tits and ass really were huge. Anna’s body had been perfect. Her bedroom skills were on another level. Maybe that was why one husband wasn’t enough… Karl couldn’t say for sure.
“What are you smirking about?” Yan’s voice snapped him out of it.
“Nothing. Just remembered something from the past.”
“Obviously. You were thinking about Anna, weren’t you, you dog?”
“You slept with her too.”
“Hell yeah I did. How could you not with a woman like that?”
The two men looked at each other and burst into stupid laughter. A moment later, Yan picked up the empty bottle and shook it.
“Too bad. Would’ve been perfect if we had one more.”
“You broke?”
“Look who’s talking.”
Karl grumbled as he stood up. He grabbed the empty bottle and headed toward the corner where the others were piled. If he returned them all at once later, he could at least get a few coppers back.
“Hey.” Yan called out to him. “You not peeling the label off that?”
“The label?” Karl looked back, puzzled. “Why would I? It’s a pain in the ass.”
“Idiot, haven’t you heard the rumor?” Yan stood up with an exasperated sigh and walked over. “They’re doing a giveaway event. Some company called Mikhail or whatever.”
“Giveaway?”
“Yeah. Supposedly if you bring in the label, you get to do some kind of draw.” Yan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Whole town’s losing their minds over it. You really didn’t know?”
“So what do they give out?” Karl still sounded uninterested.
“Man, it’s no joke. Listen.” Yan began talking excitedly. “Fifth place is some coaster or cup mat thing, fourth place is a free bottle of this Red Label! Third is some expensive crystal glass. And second place—you know what it is?”
“What?”
“Blue Label!”
“For real?” Karl’s eyes finally widened. Blue Label. The expensive stuff only nobles supposedly drank. Rumors said one glass cost more than a worker’s monthly wage.
“Then what’s first place?”
“That’s the real jackpot.” Yan lowered his voice to a whisper. “Some kind of membership card. They say one of those is worth 240,000 gold.”
“Bullshit.” The curse slipped out before Karl could stop it. 240,000 gold. Even if he spent his entire life pulling threads in the textile factory, he would never touch that kind of money. Not in one lifetime—hell, not even if his grandchildren worked until they dropped dead.
“Don’t screw with me. There’s no way something like that exists.”
“I’m telling you it’s real! It’s insane, man.”
“Crazy nobles.” Karl clicked his tongue. Yet his gaze had already fixed itself on the red label of the empty bottle in his hand.
Maybe…
A very, very faint spark of hope. He knew it was a ridiculous fantasy, but his heart was already racing on its own.
“Hey.” Karl looked at Yan. “How do you even get this thing off? It’s stuck on there like it’s glued.”
At those words, Yan grinned like he had been waiting for them. “I’ll help you. So listen, dumbass—if you somehow pull a Blue Label… you gotta let me have a sip, yeah?”
“I’d sell it, you moron. How the hell would I drink it? I’ll buy you meat instead. Full course.”
Karl laughed as he handed the empty bottle to Yan. The two men headed to the kitchen. With practiced movements, Yan filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Soon, steam began rising from the spout.
“Watch this.” Yan carefully pressed the label side of the bottle against the hot kettle wall. “The heat melts the glue underneath and weakens it.”
He held it there for a moment, then began gently scraping at the edge of the label with his fingernail. Sure enough, the stubbornly attached paper started to lift.
“Whoa, it works.” Karl’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.
“See? Told you.” Yan puffed out his chest and finished peeling the rest of the label. The corner tore slightly, but it was mostly intact.
“Here, you try now.”
Following Yan’s example, Karl brought over the other empty bottles piled in the corner and repeated the process.
Even if it’s just a free bottle of liquor, that’d be nice. He thought as he worked.