Watching Eren get punched in the face was becoming a regular Tuesday activity.
I sat on a slightly damp, splintering wooden crate a safe distance away from the action, resting my chin heavily in my hands.
The afternoon sun of Shiganshina District beat down on the cobblestone alleyway, baking the smell of stale bread, horse manure, and unwashed bodies into the stagnant air.
It wasn’t exactly a glamorous setting for a childhood, but it was all we had.
Down in the dirt, about thirty feet away, three older boys were currently using Armin Arlert as a makeshift football.
They were the usual neighborhood bullies.
Older, slightly taller, and clearly suffering from a lack of adult supervision or basic hobbies.
“Hand it over, heretic!” one of them sneered, snatching a small, worn book from Armin’s trembling hands.
“What is this garbage?
The ocean?
You really believe this illegal trash?”
Armin was curled into a defensive ball, trying to protect his ribs.
“Give it back!
It’s my grandfather’s!”
I let out a long, exhausted sigh, watching the scene unfold from the comfort of my crate.
My everyday-guy brain was rapidly calculating the effort required to intervene.
‘If I stand up now, I’ll have to walk exactly thirty-two steps.
Then I will have to engage in physical confrontation.
My ten-year-old muscles will likely suffer blunt force trauma.
The return on investment is terrible.’
Before I could even convince my lazy legs to move, a familiar, furious war cry echoed from the end of the alley.
“Let him go!”
It was Eren.
Naturally.
He came sprinting around the corner like a rabid honey badger, screaming about freedom at the top of his lungs, completely ignoring the fact that he was outnumbered, outsized, and outmatched.
He didn’t have a plan.
He didn’t have a weapon.
He just had pure, unadulterated, suicidal rage.
‘Ah, yes.
The Yeager frontal assault,’ I mused lazily, not even bothering to adjust my posture.
‘Zero tactical awareness.
One hundred percent collateral damage.’
Eren launched himself through the air, throwing a wild, looping punch at the biggest bully.
He managed to graze the kid’s cheek before another bully simply stepped to the side, stuck a foot out, and tripped my aggressively loud twin right into the mud.
Eren hit the dirt hard, completely eating the cobblestone, but he immediately scrambled back up, spitting dirt and screaming more insults.
The bullies just laughed, circling him like hyenas.
‘I really should go help him,’ I told myself, feeling a tiny twinge of brotherly guilt.
‘If he gets his teeth knocked out, Carla is going to yell at us both.
And Carla yelling is incredibly exhausting.’
I placed my hands on my knees, preparing to execute the monumental task of standing up.
But then, a shadow fell over the entrance to the alleyway.
The temperature in the air seemed to drop by about ten degrees.
The stray dogs rummaging through the trash nearby suddenly stopped and whimpered.
Mikasa Ackerman was walking toward the group.
She wasn’t running like Eren.
She wasn’t screaming.
She was just walking at a steady, rhythmic pace, her dark eyes devoid of all human emotion.
In her right hand, she casually held a thick, heavy piece of chopped firewood.
She didn’t raise it aggressively.
She just dragged it slightly, her aura radiating pure, concentrated lethality.
“Oh, look,” I muttered to myself, relaxing back onto my wooden crate.
“The executioner has arrived.
Guess I can stay seated.”
One of the bullies glanced over his shoulder, his mocking laughter dying instantly in his throat.
He saw Mikasa.
He saw the firewood.
He saw the absolute lack of mercy in her eyes.
“It’s Mikasa!” the boy shrieked, his voice cracking by a full octave.
Panic instantly infected the other two.
The bravado melted away, replaced by the primal, desperate instinct to survive.
They dropped Armin’s book in the dirt and took off sprinting in the opposite direction, practically tripping over each other to escape the terrifying nine-year-old girl.
“Hey!
Get back here, you cowards!” Eren yelled, taking a few steps after them, completely ignoring his bleeding nose and scraped knees.
“I was just getting warmed up!”
I finally stood up, brushing the dust off my pants with a heavy sigh.
Being the twin brother of a suicidal blockhead was a full-time job with zero pay and terrible benefits.
“You weren’t warming up, Eren, you were being actively used as a mop to clean the cobblestones,” I said lazily, slowly walking over to the group.
Eren whipped around, glaring at me.
“I had them right where I wanted them, Kai!
You should have jumped in!”
“If I had jumped in, we would just have two Yeagers eating dirt instead of one,” I replied flatly, reaching into my pocket to hand him a relatively clean rag.
“Wipe your face.
If Carla sees you bleeding again, she’s going to ground us.
And I hate being grounded.
It ruins my nap schedule.”
Mikasa quietly picked up Armin’s book, dusting off the cover before handing it back to the blonde boy.
“Are you okay, Armin?” she asked, her voice soft and completely devoid of the murderous intent from five seconds ago.
“Y-Yeah.
Thanks, Mikasa.
Thanks, Eren.
Thanks…
Kai, for observing,” Armin stammered, offering me a weak smile.
“I provide moral support from a safe distance,” I nodded sagely.
“It’s a very important tactical role.”
I turned away, preparing to start the long, exhausting walk back to our house.
The Colossal Titan was due to kick a hole in our wall in a matter of months, and I had exactly zero combat skills to prepare for it.
I took exactly one step forward.
Suddenly, a sharp, high-pitched PING echoed directly inside my skull.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The air in front of me rippled, distorting the view of the dusty alleyway.
A bright, translucent blue screen materialized out of thin air, hovering exactly two feet from my face.
I blinked.
I rubbed my eyes.
I looked left, then right.
Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were completely oblivious.
They were already walking past me, arguing about whether or not the bullies would come back tomorrow.
They couldn’t see the screen.
It was entirely in my head.
‘[Warning: Host has reached the required age of cognitive maturity.
Neural link established.
Initiating Gacha Survival System.]’
A robotic, distinctly non-sentient voice echoed in my brain, completely devoid of emotion or personality.
I stared at the floating blue box.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t drop to my knees in joy.
I didn’t punch the air.
I just felt an overwhelming, bone-deep sense of exhaustion.
‘A system?’ I thought, glaring at the glowing text.
‘Now?
I have been living in this titan-infested death trap for nine years.
I have survived on unseasoned potato stew, no modern plumbing, and the constant threat of being eaten alive, and you show up now?’
The screen completely ignored my mental complaints.
The text dissolved, shifting to a bright, cheerful tutorial menu.
‘[Welcome, Host, to the Gacha Survival System.]’
‘[This interface has been designed to assist in your continued existence within a highly lethal environment.
The System allows you to draw random items, abilities, and character templates to aid in your survival.]’
Okay, I had to admit, that actually sounded promising.
My average-guy persona was desperate for a shortcut.
Maybe I could just draw an Iron Man suit, pick up Carla, and fly away from this doomed island before everything went to hell.
Or maybe I could get a Kryptonian bloodline and just laser the Colossal Titan from the comfort of a lawn chair.
‘Alright, you cheapskate algorithm.
Let’s see how this works,’ I thought, my heart actually beating a little faster.
‘Give me the infinite cheat codes.
Make me a god.’
The system flashed, completely shattering my dreams in the very next paragraph.
‘[Rules of the Gacha System are strictly enforced as follows:]’
‘[Rule 1: The Host is granted exactly one (1) Free Basic Draw Ticket on the first day of every calendar month.]’
I paused.
‘One?
Just one free pull a month?
That’s terrible odds.
What if I pull a toothpick?’
‘[Rule 2: Additional Basic Draw Tickets can be purchased by exchanging items of high tangible value, accumulating local currency, or by successfully altering significant canon plot outcomes.]’
My eyes narrowed.
‘You want me to pay you?
In this economy?
I am nine years old!
My net worth is three smooth rocks and a piece of string!’
The system operated on cold, hard, unfeeling capitalism.
It didn’t care about my impending doom.
It didn’t care that bread was a luxury item in the Shiganshina district.
‘[Rule 3: To prevent neurological system overload and maintain dimensional balance, the Host is strictly limited to purchasing a maximum of five (5) Exchanged Tickets per month.]’
I did the math in my head.
One free ticket.
Five paid tickets.
That was a grand total of six draws a month.
Maximum.
Even if I somehow robbed the royal treasury and became the richest man on Paradis Island, the system would aggressively bottleneck my progression.
‘There goes my plan to spam the draw button until I get omnipotence,’ I groaned internally, rubbing my temples.
‘I can’t farm infinite power.
I’m going to have to actually rely on luck.
My luck is terrible.’
The tutorial text faded away, replaced by a sleek, minimalist dashboard.
‘[System Tutorial Complete.]’
‘[Current Inventory: One (1) Free Monthly Ticket.]’
‘[Would you like to initiate your first draw?]’
I glanced over my shoulder.
Eren was currently trying to climb the side of a wooden house to retrieve a cat that didn’t want to be rescued.
Mikasa was standing at the bottom, holding her arms out with an expression of deep, profound patience.
The apocalypse was coming.
I was weak.
I was lazy.
I was entirely mortal.
I needed a miracle.
‘Yes.
Roll the gacha,’ I commanded mentally, bracing myself.
‘Please.
Give me a UR.
Give me an SSR.
Give me Superman’s powers.
Or at least a really good sniper rifle with infinite ammo.
I promise I will stop complaining about chores.’
A massive digital slot machine appeared on the translucent screen, completely blocking my view of the alleyway.
The machine began to spin rapidly.
Flashy lights blurred across my vision, emitting a high-pitched, digital chiming sound that made my chest tighten with anticipation.
This was it.
The moment my life changed.
The moment I stopped being the useless, lazy twin and became the overpowered protagonist who saves humanity with a casual flick of his wrist.
The slots clicked into place with a loud, triumphant DING, raining digital confetti across my vision.
The light shining from the screen was a dull, completely uninspiring bronze.
My heart sank immediately.
Bronze never meant anything good in a gacha game.
‘[Congratulations, Host!
You have successfully pulled a [Common] Tier Reward!]’
Common?
My eye twitched violently.
‘That didn’t sound like a cheat code.
That didn’t sound like a cheat code at all.’
The digital confetti cleared away, and the system presented the final result of
my highly anticipated first draw.
‘[Reward Claimed: The “Duck Tales” Dollar Store Bundle.]’