Cracking the Boxes

A box materialized out of thin air. It plummeted toward the floor as if pulled by gravity, only to brake abruptly right before my eyes, suspended midair, and begin spinning in place.

"Ooooh."

Light began to burst from it in dazzling flashes. At first, it was a plain, dull white. But as the rotation accelerated, the glow shifted.

"Blue."

"Purple."

The whir of the spinning box grew louder, its colors cascading through a vibrant spectrum. Does a shifting color mean a higher rank? In every gacha game I had ever played, the visuals grew flashier the rarer the pull. Maybe this worked on the exact same logic. I watched with bated breath, silently praying for the hue to climb even higher.

Will it go up another tier?

Right as the thought crossed my mind—

"Ah..."

The purple radiance dimmed, and the spinning slowed to a languid drift until it sputtered to a complete halt.

Thud.

It dropped straight to the floor, resting there as serenely as if it had been sitting on that exact spot all along. I had no idea how good purple actually was, but my heart hammered against my ribs all the same.

"I mean, who the hell else gets to roll gacha in a place like this?"

Brimming with anticipation, I scooped the box off the ground. What kind of prize was waiting inside? I didn't have the slightest clue.

I tugged at the ribbon tied neatly across the lid. The knot gave way in a single smooth pull, and the ribbon instantly dissolved into empty air.

"What the...?"

Bizarre anomaly logic at work, clearly. If the ribbon vanished, would the box disappear too? Sure enough, as I lifted the lid, the cardboard container dissolved like mist between my fingers, revealing the contents settled in my palm.

"Oh..."

To my eyes, it seemed pretty decent, but just to be sure, I posted the result on the gallery.

The community's reaction was lukewarm at best. Nice enough, but nothing to lose your mind over. Good if you had it, no big loss if you didn't. That seemed to be the consensus. Why were they so unimpressed? The answer arrived in the very next comment.

They were right. When I thought about it, the gallery users were focused entirely on surviving and fleeing, not conquering this place. They didn't know how to escape, and they certainly couldn't beat an anomaly in a straight brawl.

I, on the other hand, could fight them.

Besides, I had no intention of holing up in this safe room forever. Once my points ran dry, I'd have to head downstairs anyway. Camping out indefinitely was never an option. By its very design, this tower ensured that anyone who didn't descend would die.

The moment my thoughts reached that conclusion, my mind cleared. I had debated whether to gamble my points or not, but there had never been any need to hesitate. I would inevitably run into anomalies on the lower floors, and hoarding points only to die with a full wallet was the textbook definition of a rookie mistake.

There was no reason to dawdle. Setting aside a comfortable 200 points for food, I resolved to dump every last scrap of what remained into the gacha.

My predetermined lineup:

4 Standard Gacha pulls.

1 Trait Gacha pull.

1,200 points in total.

Without a flicker of hesitation, I slammed the purchase button. Sure, I could have bought two Advanced Gacha pulls instead, but why pick a trait? Simple: who could resist a trait? It was common sense to prioritize a permanent trait over advanced gear.

As I tapped purchase in rapid succession, boxes materialized one after another, orbiting around me. The Trait Box was wrapped in spotted, shimmering packaging far more extravagant than the rest, making it instantly distinguishable from the standard ones. The moment the final purchase registered, every box began to spin simultaneously, as if they had just been waiting for the green light.

Skrrrrr-clack-clack-clack—

A single box hadn't been this loud, but spinning a whole batch at once kicked up a racket so deafening my eardrums throbbed. Every single box started out white. After spinning for a few moments, two abruptly ground to a halt. The rest upgraded to blue.

The two that stopped tumbled straight to the floor, their failure sealed. Undeterred, the surviving blue boxes spun on. I had expected a couple of duds from the get-go, so while it was a slight bummer, I wasn't crushed. Nor did I let it show. After all, the Trait Box was still spinning.

A single Trait Box cost as much as twenty standard boxes. Even if every other box turned to trash, this one had to hit.

Three remained in motion: two standard boxes and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the lone Trait Box, whirling in unison. Then, their momentum seemed to stutter.

"Whoa..."

All three flashed purple.

"No way. Are you serious?"

I hadn't dared to hope for this. Well, maybe I had figured one or two might advance, but for all three to hit purple at once? My pulse began to race. Just how high would they climb? What was the next color? Usually, after purple came red or gold. Clinging to hope, I kept my eyes glued to the whirlwind.

"...Huh?"

Only one light sputtered out. My eyes darted frantically, tracking the position of the Trait Box. What met my gaze was—

"Yes!"

That's what I'm talking about.

The surviving boxes were spinning with a deep, crimson radiance. I slapped a hand over my mouth to smother the manic grin threatening to split my face. At first, I had braced myself for all of them to die out at purple, but having two break through to red pushed my mood through the stratosphere.

Honestly, I would have been more than happy with an SR like the Torn Rulebook. To see them ascend even higher meant whatever came out would be beyond imagination. Just staring at that bloody red glow made me beam. Naturally, climbing higher would be amazing, but I didn't want to get greedy. Getting this far was already a miracle worth thanking whatever gods were watching.

Just as I prepared to pick up the box about to drop—

"...Wait, what?!"

One box came to a halt. To be precise, only one. I hadn't checked which one had stopped yet. Peeking down, I saw it was a standard box that had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tumbled to the floor.

Gasp!

No, hold on. Not yet. Maybe the other one had stopped too, and I just hadn't noticed. Yet the grin bubbling up from my throat was already beyond my power to suppress. If it had truly broken through to the next tier...

Could it be?

Heart in my throat, I jerked my head toward the remaining box. A blinding radiance washed over my vision.

"It hit."

Gleaming right in front of me was pure, brilliant gold.

"Woah... Woooow..."

I knelt down and gathered the boxes resting on the floor. Five of them lay lined up in a neat row. For a split second, I wondered how I was supposed to tell which was which, but fortunately, the color of their ribbons marked their respective tiers. Now came the eternal question: which one should I open first?

"Standard operating procedure, obviously."

You always opened the trash first. Purple was already a fantastic tier; if I opened the highest-grade box right away and blew through my dopamine rush in one go, the rest would feel like a total letdown. There was zero reason to start from the top. I reached for the boxes tied with plain white ribbons. No need to build suspense here—I popped them open immediately.

"Well, then..."

It was painfully obvious why white was the lowest grade. God only knew what combining fifty pieces of rubble would produce, but it was completely useless right now, and the description was practically nonexistent. And what on earth was I supposed to do with a toothbrush? If toothpaste dropped later, maybe I could at least brush my teeth. Still, the white-grade trash was just the appetizer. Without missing a beat, I tore into the next box.

What was this supposed to be? I had cracked open a purple box, but what emerged didn't seem particularly essential. Maybe it would come in handy if I ever couldn't finish a meal and wanted to save the rest? It was slightly disappointing, but I still had the main courses ahead.

"Whew..."

I rubbed my palms together. A tier I had never opened before. Red. Even if it was from a standard box, it was still red. Up until now, I had ripped through them carelessly, but this time I treated it with the utmost reverence. With the most delicate care my hands could muster, I slipped the ribbon loose.

"Oh..."

Now that was genuinely useful. Inside the box rested a small keychain shaped like a tiny running wheel. Compared to the purple drops that were either single-use or utterly situational, this was an undeniable upgrade. Of course, I didn't know what kind of targets it worked on or exactly how long it would keep them pinned down, but so long as the duration wasn't insultingly brief, it would be a lifesaver.

"Alright."

Now for the grand finale. I lifted the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠box bound in radiant golden ribbon. How would this one manifest? Everything so far had taken physical form: the rulebook had been a sheet of paper, while the wheel and the can resealer were both keychains. Those were tangible objects, but this was a trait. Would it work differently?

Unlike my earlier hesitation, impatience completely took over. The second the box touched my fingers, I yanked the ribbon free as if terrified someone might snatch it away. What appeared inside was beyond anything I could have anticipated.