I didn't wake up to noise or pain —
I woke up to the feeling that I was ridiculously comfortable.
Too comfortable.
The mattress was soft without swallowing me whole, the pillow fit my neck perfectly, as if it had been chosen just for me. I lay there for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling.
Then I exhaled.
— So it's all real.
The words slipped out on their own. No panic. No shouting. I even smirked and let out a quiet laugh, covering my face with my hand.
Honestly?
I felt… good.
Not scared. Not anxious.
Calm — and strangely happy.
I sat up, swung my legs over the edge of the bed onto the cold, smooth stone floor, and stood. My body moved perfectly. No stiffness, no aches, no familiar morning heaviness. I felt light, like this was how I'd always been meant to move.
I looked around.
A high ceiling. Carved beams. Heavy dark curtains. A massive canopy bed. A fireplace made of black stone. The room was large, but not empty. You could tell immediately that this wasn't a house — it was a manor. A place where people actually lived.
I noticed the mirror at once.
Huge, set in an old, heavy frame. I stepped closer and froze.
A young man in his early twenties stared back at me.
Tall. Very tall — nearly one meter ninety-five. Broad shoulders, a fit build, confident posture. Even just standing there, I couldn't take my eyes off myself.
My face…
So handsome that every MILF in the multiverse would want to sit on it.
I snorted and chuckled.
The features were sharp and expressive, without being overly soft. Black curly hair — thick, slightly messy, as if it didn't give a damn about rules or decorum.
My eyes were golden. Not yellow, not brown — gold. Deep and alive.
And on my right eye — a birthmark. White. Clear. Distinct. As if it had been placed there deliberately. Not a flaw, but a mark.
I leaned closer to the mirror.
— Looks like luck decided to leave its mark on me, I muttered.
I tilted my head, studying the reflection.
— And you know what… that's actually pretty great. I like it.
I straightened and smirked.
— I look like a mix between Domino and Henry Cavill.
A pause.
— …Hot as hell.
I said it out loud and laughed. My mood was light, satisfied — almost celebratory.
I went back to the bed and sat down, resting my elbows on my knees.
— Alright. Let's see what I've got.
The air in front of me rippled — and two essences appeared.
I picked up the first one.
— Gacha… alright, let's do this.
I uncorked it and downed it in one go.
The taste—
I instantly grimaced.
— Tastes like unicorn vomit.
Bright, disgusting, and way too magical for a normal mouth. I hastily dismissed the bottle — it vanished instantly.
— Ugh.
The second essence.
— Traveler.
I took a sip.
— That's not bad, actually, I said thoughtfully. — Kind of like spoiled orange juice.
I exhaled — and suddenly everything clicked into place.
— Let's see what this gacha thing is about.
The rules settled into my mind all at once, clean and complete.
The rules are simple.
Every day, I receive one gacha point. One point equals one pull. That means thirty pulls per month. There's also a purchase option: I can spend one hundred units of whatever currency exists in the world I'm in — galleons, dollars, euros, dragons, whatever — to buy an additional one hundred pulls. There's also a world-lock function. In any world I'm currently in, I can choose to bind the gacha to that world and receive items only from it.
I snorted.
— Sounds pretty damn good. Cuts down on the junk.
I checked the counter.
— One hundred and thirty.
I looked up at the ceiling.
— And I already have them.
A pause.
— Thanks for the gift, asshole.
There was no anger in it — more like gratitude.
I took a deep breath and decided to test my next ability.
— Probability manipulation…
I walked over to the desk and picked up a small knife. Probably for letters or some other rich-people bullshit.
— This'll do.
I tossed the knife into the air and stepped directly beneath it.
The blade spun wildly — and landed straight down, stopping a millimeter from my nose.
I blinked.
Picked it up and tried again.
Second time.
Third time.
I threw it from different angles, adjusted trajectories, stood exactly where it should have hit me.
But every time, something went wrong.
It fell to the left.
To the right.
Hit with the handle.
Twisted at the last second.
Slid through the air as if reality itself was correcting the outcome.
I stopped.
Looked at myself.
And grinned wide.
— God damn, I'm awesome.
I set the knife back on the desk, exhaled, and felt everything settle comfortably into place.
This world?
Yeah.
I like it