World Hopping With Gacha

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at the spinning wheel of the Gacha System. My excitement had long since dulled—expectations crushed by months of mediocrity. "Come on, something good," I muttered as the spinning slowed, the anticipation building despite myself.

The results popped up:

[Rusty Spoon]: Exactly what it sounds like. No hidden powers.

[Frog Slippers]: Comfortable, sure, but utterly useless.

[Jar of Pickled Onions]: A gift for the daring eater.

I groaned loudly, letting myself fall back onto the bed. "Why do I even bother?"

The Gacha System, as amazing as it sounded, sometimes seemed more like a curse in disguise. Sure, I'd scored some great stuff early on—Garuda, The Template and my Combat Space were invaluable. But after January, it had been a downward spiral of mediocrity. I glanced at the Frog Slippers, now sitting innocently on my desk. At least they are cute.

---

While the Gacha had been a disaster, my spy network was thriving. Garuda's influence had spread like wildfire. Birds brought in information faster than I could process it. Most of it was minor gossip—who had a crush on whom, which professor was planning a surprise quiz—but every so often, something worthwhile came through.

One evening, a raven swooped into the Owlery, delivering a message directly to me. "Quirrell was in the Restricted Section again. Late last night. Talking to the shadows."

I frowned. The "shadows" could only mean Voldemort. "Anything else?" I asked.

The raven tilted its head. "He mentioned a mirror. Something powerful."

The Mirror of Erised. That meant Dumbledore was likely already aware of Quirrellmort's movements. Good. Let the old man handle it. I wasn't about to get involved in a fight with Voldemort—not now, not ever, if I could help it.

---

Tonks's lessons had been invaluable, but with her NEWTs approaching, she'd become busier and less available for dueling practice. I didn't blame her; she had her own life to deal with. I'd made good progress under her tutelage, learning spells like Expelliarmus, Stupefy, etc and even some basic shield charms.

But now, most of my training happened alone in the Room of Requirement. I'd taken to pushing myself harder, experimenting with combinations of spells and practicing until I was drenched in sweat. I wasn't aiming to become the next Dumbledore—I just wanted to be strong enough to survive.

One night, after hours of practice, I collapsed onto the cushioned floor of the Room of Requirement. Garuda perched nearby, watching me with a mix of amusement and concern.

"You're working too hard," he said. "Even a king needs rest."

"I'm not a king, Garuda," I replied, wiping my face with a towel. "I'm just trying to make sure I don't die young."

Garuda let out a low, approving cry. "Wise words. But don't let fear drive you. Power gained in desperation rarely serves well."

---

It wasn't until mid-April that I realized how much of a reputation I'd accidentally built for myself. Walking through the hallways, I started noticing the whispers.

"Isint that him?"

"Yeah, Arthur Wayne. The Golden Prince."

"He's so cool!"

At first, I thought they were talking about someone else. But then I overheard a pair of Hufflepuff girls giggling as they passed. "Did you see him in Transfiguration yesterday? Perfect transformation on the first try. He's so dreamy."

I froze. Golden Prince? Dreamy?

It clicked when I caught a glimpse of myself in a nearby window. My golden-blonde hair, neatly combed, and my calm, confident demeanor were enough to earn me a ridiculous title. Being the top student in my year probably helped, too.

Back in the common room, I asked Hermione about it. She didn't even look up from her book. "Oh, you didn't know? Everyone calls you that. Top marks in every class, that knightly look... you're practically a walking fairy tale."

I groaned, sinking into the couch. "Great. Just what I needed—a fan club."

Hermione smirked. "Better than being called the Boy-Who-Lived, don't you think?"

'Fair Point but Damn.'

---

Despite the whispers and my growing reputation, I kept a low profile. My spying network ensured I was always aware of any brewing trouble, allowing me to avoid it entirely. Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Always at the center of the storm. Me? Far away from it.

When news of their encounter with Fluffy reached me, I made a mental note to never wander near the third-floor corridor. When they started asking questions about Nicolas Flamel, I pretended not to hear. And when rumors of the Philosopher's Stone reached my ears, I shrugged it off.

Let the Golden Trio handle it. I wasn't a hero.

---

Sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, I reflected on how far I'd come since arriving at Hogwarts. Sure, the Gacha System wasn't giving me anything life-changing at the moment, but I'd built something far greater—a foundation for the future.

With Garuda's network keeping me informed, my training progressing steadily, and my reputation keeping the bullies at bay, life at Hogwarts wasn't so bad.

I leaned back in my chair, watching the flames dance. "Golden Prince, huh?" I muttered to myself. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

From his perch on the mantelpiece, Garuda let out a soft chirp. "It suits you, Arthur. But remember, a title is just that—a title. What matters is how you use it."

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. Garuda was right. Titles didn't matter. Power didn't matter. What mattered was surviving, thriving, and staying one step ahead of whatever life threw at me next.

---Note

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