World Hopping With Gacha

The police? They'll never find me. Why?

First, I only ever showed my face once—during the very first Glock deal. After that, I started wearing a hoodie and a mask. With my hair now blonde and my eyes green, no one really knows what I look like anymore.

But let's be honest, that's not even the biggest development.

---

The biggest develomepent is that I got approached by an actual mafia member. Yeah, a real one—not some wannabe gang leader trying to look tough. This guy looked like he meant business. Clean suit, slicked-back hair, and that "don't mess with me" vibe.

Apparently, their boss—or group leader, whatever they call him—wants to meet me. Makes sense. When you're selling top-quality guns at prices lower than the black market, people start paying attention.

And with 28,000 pounds in my pocket already, this could be my chance to really level up my operations.

---

Before the meeting, I decided to prepare an offer they couldn't refuse.

So far, I'd been dealing strictly in firearms, but the CS System had more to offer. Among the items I could pull from were Kevlar vests and full armor sets.

Here's the pitch:

A standard Kevlar vest for 2,000 pounds.

A full armor set (helmet, vest, and leg guards) for 3,000 pounds.

Considering the kind of "work" these guys do, it's a no-brainer. Protection is priceless, especially when your life depends on it.

---

The meeting was set at a fancy Italian restaurant near the edge of the city. It was the kind of place that screamed "mafia headquarters"—dim lighting, private booths, and staff that knew better than to ask questions.

I walked in wearing my usual "business attire"—hoodie, mask, and gloves. While it might've looked out of place in a high-end restaurant, no one stopped me. Guess the mafia owned this place.

I was escorted to a private booth at the back, where the "boss" was waiting.

---

Boss was a middle-aged man, dressed sharply in a tailored suit. A glass of red wine sat on the table in front of him, untouched. His eyes were sharp, assessing me as I approached.

"You're the kid causing waves in the city," he said in a deep, smooth voice.

"Depends on who's asking," I replied, taking a seat across from him.

His lips curled into a small smile. "I like your confidence. You've been selling quality goods—guns that don't jam, ammo that doesn't misfire. My people speak highly of you."

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," I said, leaning back in my seat. "So, what's this about?"

---

"I want an exclusive deal," the boss said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "You sell only to me and my organization. In return, I'll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."

I raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. In truth, I'd already decided against exclusivity. Selling to just one group would limit my reach—and my profits.

"Tempting," I said slowly. "But I'm not sure if tying myself to one group is the best move for my business."

The boss's smile didn't falter, but his eyes darkened. "It's not a request."

---

This was where [Charisma: B] came in handy.

I straightened up, meeting his gaze head-on. "I get it. You're used to getting what you want. But think about this: my success isn't just about the guns. It's about the trust I've built with my clients. You take that away, and the whole operation falls apart.

"Besides," I continued, "you don't need exclusivity to benefit from this. What you need is priority access. You'll get first pick of my inventory, and I'll even give you a discount—10% off every purchase."

The boss leaned back, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Priority access, huh?"

"Exactly," I said. "You'll still have the edge over your competitors, without me losing the network I've worked so hard to build. It's a win-win."

---

After a few moments of silence, the boss nodded. "Alright, kid. You've got yourself a deal."

We shook on it, and just like that, I'd secured my first major client.

---

Before leaving, I decided to show off a little.

"Grazie per l'opportunità," I said, standing up.

The boss raised an eyebrow. "You speak Italian?"

"Of course," I replied with a grin. "Languages are a hobby of mine."

In truth, it was thanks to the White Room. knowledge of multiple languages had transferred over to me, making communication in foreign tongues as easy as breathing.

---

Over the next few weeks, my operation grew exponentially.

With the mafia as my primary client, I had access to resources I'd never dreamed of. They provided safe houses, transportation, and even connections to other criminal organizations.

I kept the CS System working overtime, churning out weapons and armor like a one-man factory.

The money poured in, faster than I could count it. I stored it in the CS System's bank.

---

In between running my "business," I continued training with Magecraft.

Reinforcement was coming along nicely, and I'd started experimenting with Projection—creating temporary constructs using magical energy.

My first successful projection was a dagger. It wasn't much, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

Caliburn, meanwhile, continued to grow more attuned to me. The sword seemed to respond to my emotions, glowing brighter when I was determined and dimming when I was tired or frustrated.

---

With my foundation firmly in place, it was time to start thinking about the future.

The Harry Potter universe was still the safest universe, but I needed to be prepared before making the next jump.

"Time to spin the wheel again," I muttered, opening the Gacha System.

---Note

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