The world battlefield never lacked for gas—big or small, they were everywhere.
And the one Rita found herself in now... while ga skills were currently unavailable, the ga items were as eye-catching as ever.
Rita stared at the massive gacha machines behind the Fat Ducks, her eyes practically glowing.
She grabbed her now-booted ga console and ran to a corner of the playfield, pointing it toward the ongoing match.
Skill activated: Ga Bleeds into Reality.
[Detecting Ga – "Defend the Gacha"]
[Recording ga... please wait...]
[Progress: 2%... 17%... 52%... 98%...]
[Recording complete]
The ga console’s main interface had ten blank slots representing ten gas. Now, the first slot had an image on it.
Possibly because the console was still damaged, the resolution was embarrassingly low—only 720p. What year was this, again?
The screen showed the very sa grass-tile playfield she was on now. On the left were a group of Fat Ducks charging forward. Behind the mini-gacha-wielding Ducks stood a colossal gacha machine. On the right were a crowd of Blocks players.
Just from the visible figures on screen, Rita could already identify a dozen she recognized in real life. Down in the bottom-right corner was a tiny Blocks figure with a gacha machine on its back—that was her.
And in the bottom-left corner of the Ducks was a bald, unard Fat Duck flapping its wings, pointing directly at the sa Blocks figure on the sa row.
It was a 1:1 replica.
Then... would the players’ skills and items be identical too?
Would ti spent playing this ga affect her ti-freeze duration?
Her joystick was currently rigged with a square-shaped Block, so it was a bit clunky to operate, but still functional.
She moved the egg-shaped cursor to [Enter Ga].
[Please choose a side — Invaders / Gacha Defenders]
...
Two hours later, after another match concluded, Rita adjusted her posture with the console in hand. The glowing cat paw on her hand now displayed a Waste Index of 61.
She had thought that spacing out under the sun at one point-netting just one point per minute—was already slow. But turns out playing gas was even slower.
Barely one point every two minutes.
Was it because playing gas didn’t count as "wasting ti"? Or because she’d spent the entire ti analyzing and morizing players’ skills and items?
Once the ga began, each player had three icons above their heads: two skills and one ga item.
Clicking on a player brought up their detailed info. When she played on the Invader side, her job was to queue up these players strategically and assign them to specific lanes.
Only 17 players had question marks in place of skill and item icons. The other 83 all displayed clear information, and every ti a new player popped up, she could study their skill card in full.
And since the available skill pool wasn’t limited to just those unlocked in this current ga, this console effectively let her peek into these players’ entire arsenals.
When playing as a Gacha Defender, her job was to arrange the Fat Ducks on the field and assign their mysterious traits.
To be honest, no matter which faction she played, both sides were evenly matched and grueling to operate.
As for that mini-Blocks character with the gacha machine on its back... Rita didn’t even want to talk about it.
If she didn’t know it was herself, she’d have found this paper-thin R-ranked unit infuriating.
It was the only character on the field with just two icons, since all her actual items were locked in the gacha machine. Every match, she’d be randomly assigned two of her real skills, and every ti she entered the field, she’d barely last 20 seconds.
Two whole hours. In all that ti, the tiniest Blocks figure never even left the starting tile.
Whether she sent it out early or late, it was always the sa. This wasn’t a ga of luck—everyone had AOE skills flying in every direction.
The only silver lining: this mini-Rita’s cooldowns were 2.1 seconds, aning Where’s the Owl Already was successfully lowering the adjusted cooldown from 3 seconds.
Her three Doormat Balloons—each tied to healing skills—were pulling their weight. Without them, she probably wouldn’t even last five seconds.
But still... it wasn’t enough.
The fact that she could last 20 seconds was only because the other players in the simulation weren’t specifically targeting her.
Mini-Rita usually died to incidental AOE damage from other players and Gacha Defenders.
But in real life? The mont the ga started, everyone who had followed her here for the Divine Relic would gang up on her. They didn’t care about the match—only about killing her.
Split the loot later? You bet they had thods.
Even with Mont Reversal usable every 2.1 seconds, it wouldn’t matter. Once the number of attackers hit a certain threshold, she’d be burst down before even reaching 2 seconds.
Forget about using Fairy Tale Before Bed—even if she were allowed to select it, it wouldn’t save her.
Not even three constantly-healing balloons could bridge the power gap.
The difference in strength was far too great for three healing skills to make up.
Clearly, this ga had been handpicked.
Could she distort perceptions? Make everyone see a different player as BS-Rita? Or make them believe they couldn’t attack each other?
Clutching the console, Rita fell into deep thought.
Could the traits of the Gacha Defenders be used to her advantage?
The whole setup really was like a divine version of Plants vs. Zombies.
The Gacha Defenders’ traits resembled the special abilities of PvZ plants.
So acted like wall-nuts—insanely durable, only retreating after a set number of hits.
So caused sleep or freezing effects on nearby invaders.
One type exploded on contact, cutting its own health by 50%, but dealing 80% damage to every player on the field.
Could she swap these traits using Mont Reversal?
But... she didn’t have a trait of her own. What would she exchange?
The Defender traits were represented as icons over their heads—just like skills. Could she reverse one with her own skill?
Could she reverse factions?
If she joined the Gacha Defender side, would she avoid punishnt after being killed?
Or what about using There’s a Cat Here to transform into a cat? Even if she exposed that this skill matched the mysterious cat from the maze, the invincibility only lasted 8 seconds. It took 60 seconds to advance one tile—useless.
Idea after idea flickered through her mind as she stared at the glowing cat paw.
Ever since she stopped gaming and started thinking seriously about possible survival strategies, the Waste Index was climbing even slower.
Four whole minutes had passed—and it had only gone up by one.
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