This Life, I Will Be the Protagonist

After a brief moment of contemplation, Rita reopened the game, trying to find a way out. If there truly was no path forward, then she'd have no choice but to leave.

What she wanted most now was for her in-game character to randomly draw Moment Reversal. She needed to see what could be reversed with that skill once the character was on the field.

Game after game, Rita had never taken one so seriously before. She used to play games casually, never worrying about strategy or tactics. If she couldn't beat something, she'd just look for a way to cheese it or find a shortcut.

Now she had to find loopholes in the game system herself, memorize every player's attack patterns and special items—because this information might prove useful later on.

The invader side had just cleared another path, and things immediately got chaotic.

Since only the first player to reach the gacha machine could actually draw, cooperation among the invaders instantly turned into competition. Players in the tiles behind began to bombard the one who had stepped off the grass and was making the final push.

But there was still a three-meter gap between the grass and the gacha machine—an invisible game tile.

That meant the player who had left the path had to survive a full minute under fire from both the remaining players and the Gacha Defenders before they could reach the gacha machine and make contact.

Rita watched as one Blocks player struggled through a barrage of abilities, slowly pushing forward toward the gacha machine, which had lit up upon the path being cleared.

Eventually, the player's hand reached the machine.

The game paused, entering the gacha interface. He had earned ten draws.

This wasn't the first time Rita had seen it happen. She casually tapped the gacha button, though her mind had drifted elsewhere.

The gacha machine…

There were no icons hovering above it, but the gacha machine did come with an info screen outlining its rules. It would only activate if a path was cleared, and only the first player to make it through the grass could use it.

When the path wasn't cleared, the gacha machine was just a decoration. Regardless of faction, tapping it did nothing—it only displayed the rule description.

Any skills that landed on it would be bounced back into the game field at random locations.

She'd been eyeing this feature for a while, but no icons ever appeared. It seemed more like an innate trait of the machine—after all, abilities couldn't normally affect it...

Wait.

Wait…!

Wait!!!

Rita suddenly sat up and yanked the gacha machine she'd been using as a pillow right into her lap.

This gacha machine could auto-adjust to a convenient size—but could it scale to maximum or minimum based on the player's will?

Answer: yes.

Seconds later, Rita stood in the middle of an open field, carrying an enormous gacha machine on her back. It was so big it nearly swallowed her up completely.

But even with its giant size, it remained featherlight—effortless to carry.

Two wide straps secured it across her chest, and the machine shielded her entire back.

And ground-based skills? Please—she could fly! The game only prohibited leaving the tiles, not the ground.

Plus, if she flew parallel to the floor, the coverage area of the gacha machine would expand even further.

Wasn't this essentially an S-tier defensive item?

Even if some stray skill slipped through the straps and tagged her, she had three pocket healers floating in gacha capsules, and Moment Reversal in reserve. No way she was going down right at the start.

Overjoyed, Rita flattened the gacha machine against her head and ran wild across the field like a madwoman.

This was it! This was her win condition!

Image? What image?

This was her final evolution—SPBS-Rita—a limited-edition skin!

Sure, the tactic was kind of shameless, but Rita didn't care. This was a game—no, a battlefield. If balance was that important, then winning and losing wouldn't exist.

She kept playing the game console.

Maybe because her mentality had shifted, Rita was less stressed now. Even though she was still clicking through player info and memorizing skills and items, her Waste Index rose faster than before.

Now it ticked up by 1 point every 75 seconds.

…

Something's wrong. Enemy nearby!

Startled, Rita snapped awake, her eyes flashing with vigilance and deadly intent.

Only to find herself surrounded by a ring of Blocks heads staring down at her.

Rita: ˙?˙ ?

Maple Syrup: "You're up?"

Mistblade: "Unbelievable."

Seahorse: "...You actually fell asleep? Teach Verdant Whisper · Windrush how to do that. She can't."

Verdant Whisper · Windrush: ?

Rita, slightly embarrassed, cleared her throat and got up. "That just means her stress tolerance is too low."

The countdown on the game field had just 20 seconds left. So she'd only been out of time-stop for four seconds.

Not wanting others to realize she'd used a time-stop, Rita had returned to the same posture she'd had before it ended. She'd also pulled Cat's Ideal back out beforehand for appearances.

Now she tucked the ship wheel back into the gacha machine and stood quietly on the ice, waiting for the match to begin.

She looked like she was zoning out, but in truth, she was reviewing the 50 buffs she'd received from Wasted Guide. The Waste Index was still glowing on her hand, frozen at 2186.

Fifty buffs—physical attack boosts, magic attack, defense, crit chance, crit damage, attack speed, health regen—not a single repeat. Duplicates had stacked.

Her biggest stat increase was in physical attack—+57,915, which was five times her base stat. Duration: 124 minutes.

Second was magic attack—+41,822, also over four times her base stat. Duration: 98 minutes.

The weakest was a buff to accuracy—barely useful.

She calmly watched the countdown tick down, ignoring the sidelong glances from other players.

3...2...1...

The countdown ended. Rita's figure vanished and reappeared on the starting tile of Lane Four.

She was the first to enter the match.

…

Gods and demons each had their own private chat groups. Despite their differing philosophies, there was one shared global server. But it was usually dead silent, maybe a few dozen messages a year—always just game updates.

Now the group had exploded—every message from gods and demons involved in Defend the Gacha at March Theme Park.

The smaller faction chats weren't enough. They'd stormed into the main channel.

"Who the hell sold her the gacha machine?!"

"Sweet Pomelo. It's him—he's the only one not carrying a gacha machine."

"Which Sweet Pomelo projection is that?"

"March."

"This is unplayable now!!"

"Shameless! What are we supposed to do?!"

"SWEET POMELO!!!"

"Captain, we can't let this continue. That gacha machine needs to be reclaimed."

"Too late. It's already sold. No take-backs."

"Exactly. There was no rule saying gacha machines couldn't be sold."

Only when a few heavyweight gods stepped in did the spam begin to slow.

[Captain]: What's going on?

[Deceitful Bloom]: Sweet Pomelo.

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