Gacha Harem System

Lukas sat forward slightly in his seat.

The skill Liam had just used was not a [Hero] skill. He was certain of that.

He’d felt it the moment the golden energy erupted. That familiar feeling of divinity. He couldn’t mistake it for anything else. After all, it was the same energy that always erupted whenever he used [Smite].

This could only mean that Liam’s second class was connected to something religious. Something similar to [Angel] or [Priest].

Rollo’s voice filled the air as he began to announce the next match, but Lukas wasn’t listening. The words simply passed through his ears but he didn’t even parse them.

His mind was fully on Liam’s skill, a question rolling over and over again. ’Can [Wing Fortress] absorb that attack?’

He thought about the wave. The way it had shattered everything it touched. The force of it as it sent Verity flying.

There was no way about it, the skill was indeed powerful, but then, he remembered where he’d gotten [Wing Fortress].

It was a Two Star skill, which meant it was on the same level as the top Awakener skills. It’ll definitely hold.

He exhaled and leaned back, finally focusing on the match that was about to begin.

The match wasn’t particularly interesting, but the ones that followed were a bit engaging, but regardless of all of that, Lukas watched all of them.

He wasn’t watching for entertainment. Instead, he was cataloguing every detail he could find.

He was observing each fighter’s tendencies, noting which skills they led with, how they responded to pressure, and where their confidence became overconfidence.

Any one of the winners could end up across from him tomorrow, so he had to be prepared. Any information he was able to gather now would become ammunition which he wouldn’t have to scramble for later.

And so ten matches passed, with him watching all of them. Then it was the thirteenth match of the day.

"Our next competitor has already made an impression on everyone who saw him yesterday." Rollo announced.

"A man who walked through fire and came out without a scratch. A man who fought fire itself and still found a way to keep swinging."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a defensive powerhouse the likes of which this tournament has rarely seen... Lukas Valentiiiiine!"

Lukas stood.

He was a bit surprised to see the reaction from the crowd. It was a bit more positive than he’d expected.

He’d thought they’d be more aggressive because of the way he’d fought Kaida, but a genuine cheer filled the air.

He could even hear shouts of encouragement somewhere in the upper stands that sounded suspiciously like the group who had appointed themselves his supporters outside the stadium the previous evening.

He made his way to the center of the arena, standing there as Rollo turned to the other side.

"And his opponent, a young man who proved yesterday that raw power is only one way to win a fight. He thinks. He plans. And he conquers."

"He always finds a way to get what he wants, and most never sees him coming." Rollo smiled slightly at that. "Metaphorically, of course."

"A terror in the ring and a craftier fighter than his appearance suggests, I present to you... Ansel Potterrr!"

Ansel stood from his seat, adjusted his glasses with one finger, and walked onto the arena floor as if he was strolling to a meeting instead of a fight.

He stopped a few meters away from Lukas.

Lukas stared at him.

Ansel stared back, a grin on his face.

Unlike the polite grin he’d shown outside the hotel this morning, this grin was as if he knew something that Lukas didn’t.

Lukas frowned at that.

Something was off. He couldn’t tell what it was, but his instincts were almost never wrong.

Rollo raised his arm.

"Begin!"

It came down, but neither of them moved.

Lukas stood there, arms at his sides, simply watching Ansel.

Ansel also stood there with that same grin on his face, watching Lukas back.

They stood there in silence, neither of them taking the initiative to attack.

The crowd, which had been cheering loudly since they’d both gotten on the arena, began losing volume slowly.

Confusion filled the air as they stared at the combatants who refused to move from where they stood.

"What’s going on? Why aren’t they fighting?"

"Did something go wrong? Is it somebody’s skill or something?"

"Move! Fight! What are you guys waiting for? I didn’t come here for this shit!"

Someone near the front of the spectator seats closer to the arena cupped their hands around their mouth. "We didn’t come here to watch two men stare at each other!"

Laughter rippled through the surrounding section.

Ansel finally chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"I should have known you wouldn’t make the first move." He shook his head. "You just ruined my moves, you know. I had a whole speech planned too. It would have looked very cool."

Lukas said nothing. His eyes roved over Ansel, taking in his posture. The man looked way too comfortable.

It was as if he was waiting for something he’d already arranged, and that was the problem.

"I’ll admit, you’ve got good instincts," Ansel said, still smiling. "It was quite smart not to shake my hand this morning."

He paused.

"Though it won’t change the outcome of this fight."

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

A tingling sensation moved through Lukas’ entire body at once, then it was gone in under a second, leaving nothing behind that he could point to.

"What did you just do?" Lukas asked, his voice cold.

Ansel took a small step closer, dropping his volume until only he and Lukas could hear his words.

"Did you know my class is [Shaman]?" he asked. "Most don’t pay me any attention when they hear that, but one of my skills is called [Curse of Misfortune]."

"When the curse is active on a target, everything tilts slightly against them."

"Their attacks begin missing more often than they should. Occasionally, their skills stutter or fail to activate. Any healing they receive could be disastrous or its effect cut in half."

He tilted his head. "And the effect compounds. The longer the fight goes on, the more the misfortune builds."

"But this is the interesting thing. The mark is applied through physical contact."

Lukas frowned as he heard it, then spoke. "But you didn’t touch me this morning."

"Or did I?" Ansel’s grin widened. "Think about where you were this morning, Lukas. When touching a stranger wouldn’t feel unusual."

He waited.

Lukas’ mind ran through where he’d been throughout today, and he realized what Ansel was talking about.

"The gate," he said flatly.

That was the only place where there was a dense crowd, and everybody was bumping into each other, so physical contact wasn’t particularly surprising or notable.

Ansel pointed at him. "Exactly."

He straightened.

"Now that the curse is active, your luck is running against you. All that is left... is your defeat."

He spread his hands slightly at his sides, and a breeze that had no business being there moved through the arena.

A white and translucent shape materialized in front of Ansel.

"Say hello to my spirit."

It was a Deathstalker Scorpion, its body flickering as if trying to decide if it should appear here or not. It clicked its pincers, the sound reaching Lukas.

"Go forth and tear apart." Ansel grinned.

Then the spirit lunged towards Lukas.