Victorious Athea: My Gacha Luck Decides Humanity’s Fate

The squad continued their journey, the terrain surprisingly in their favor. Every skirmish they encountered seemed almost too easy, as though their collective strength far outweighed the challenge. 

Either their enemies were weaker than anticipated, or the squad was stronger than even their statistics suggested.

"Slow and steady wins the race," John muttered to himself. This time, however, they didn't even need to be particularly slow.

But a problem loomed on the horizon, one that couldn't be ignored. No matter how smooth the journey had been, John was still just a human, bound by the limits of his flesh. 

And the Athea—despite their advanced nature—relied on human-like brains, which meant they too required rest to function at peak efficiency.

"Let's set up camp," John commanded after scouting out a safe and obscure location nestled in the cover of a rocky outcrop.

"Finally, my feet started to become tired." Vera smiled while putting away her shotgun. 

Nova, swinging her rocket launcher over her shoulder with a grin. "I thought you were going to make us march all night."

Irish frowned, her gaze scanning the area cautiously. "Are you sure this spot is secure, Commander? The last thing we need is an ambush while we're recharging."

John nodded, his sharp eyes flicking over the surroundings. "It's as safe as it's going to get out here."

The squad moved quickly, establishing a makeshift camp. Vera set up her gear with an efficiency that belied her playful attitude, while Irish methodically checked her weapons and sensors, her focus unyielding.

John, meanwhile, leaned against a nearby rock, feeling the weight of the day's journey pressing down on him. He closed his eyes for a moment, only to snap them open again when Vera's voice cut through the quiet.

"Hey, Commander," she teased, "you're not planning to leave the night watch to us, ladies, are you? A gentleman would take the first shift."

John shot her a dry look. "I'm taking the first shift. But if you'd like to volunteer for the second one, I won't stop you."

she smirked, plopping down on a patch of soft ground. "I'd rather get my beauty sleep, thanks. Can't be a team mascot if I'm running on fumes."

Irish rolled her eyes but didn't comment, settling into her own spot near the campfire.

The group settled into a tentative rhythm, the quiet hum of the night broken only by the faint sounds of the wasteland around them. The occasional crackle of their makeshift campfire filled the air, adding a comforting yet fragile warmth to the desolate environment.

"Hm, so this was the life of a commander, huh?" John muttered to himself, leaning back against a boulder. His tone carried a blend of amusement and resignation.

'It's pretty bad. No wonder no sane person bothers to do this,' he thought, biting back a chuckle.

Still, as he stared into the flickering flames, he couldn't help but admit that this was...fun. Or at least, better than being stuck in a corporate office chair for half the day, shuffling through reports and endless meetings.

John reached into his pouch and pulled out a bar of energy-dense food. The packaging read Synthesine—a product he knew from the lore fueled the entire city of Tevat. In the game, it was a minor detail, often mentioned in passing, but now? It was a staple of his survival.

He unwrapped the bar and took a cautious bite.

His first thought: bland.

His second: tolerable.

The texture was smooth, almost too smooth, and the flavor could only be described as appealing in the most clinical sense. It wasn't exactly bad, but it wasn't good either—just edible.

"Well," John said aloud, his voice tinged with dry humor, "better than starving or those cheap microwave meals I lived off as a broke student."

Nova, overhearing him, perked up from her spot by the fire. "What's that, Commander? Complaining about food already?"

"Not complaining," John replied, waving the bar lazily. "Just sinking in the realization of the job"

Nova snickered. "Trust me, you'll miss it when it's gone. Out here, Synthesine's basically a five-star meal."

Irish sat cross-legged on the ground, meticulously inspecting her machine gun. She raised an eyebrow at Nova's comment, her expression skeptical. "Somehow, I doubt the Commander's used to fine dining."

John smirked, swallowing another bite. "Touché. But hey, I'm not picky. Bland's better than food poisoning. Besides, I've had worse. Academy dorm food still haunts my dreams."

His gaze shifted, lingering on his companions—the mass-produced Atheas. In the game, they were just faceless units, generic placeholders meant to fill the ranks. 

Yet, sitting here with them, seeing their personalities emerge, made them feel far more real. He noticed how their expressions softened in the firelight, their humanity shining through the cold, mechanical precision they exhibited in combat.

Especially now, when they weren't wearing their combat armor. Beneath the masks and gear, they were strikingly beautiful—each in their own way. 

John couldn't help but marvel at how normal they seemed, how human they looked despite being manufactured.

"Commander, why are you smiling like that?" Vera's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

She was seated a few feet away, carefully polishing her oversized shotgun. Her sharp green eyes glinted with curiosity and a hint of mischief.

"Smiling at you guys," John replied bluntly, his smirk widening. "My girls are so pretty."

Vera froze for a moment before her lips curled into a wide grin. "Wow, Commander. You're one of those guys, huh? The kind who's into Atheas." 

She leaned forward slightly, her hand resting on her chest in an exaggeratedly alluring pose. "Admit it, you've got a thing for us."

John rolled his eyes but kept the smirk on his face. "Weird coming from the one winking at her commander while polishing a gun twice her size. Real subtle, Vera."

Vera let out a laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Oh, come on, Commander. Don't tell me you're not a little flustered." She added a playful wink for good measure.

Irish's scoff deepened, her icy-blue eyes narrowing as she tried to maintain her composed demeanor. "Cut it out, Vera. He's just being polite. Don't let it go to your head." Her tone was clipped, though the faintest pink hue on her cheeks betrayed her irritation—or perhaps embarrassment.

"But he didn't call you pretty, Irish," Vera shot back with a sly grin, her teasing nature in full swing. "Maybe the Commander has a soft spot for me." She tossed her hair dramatically, striking a mockingly coquettish pose that made her oversized shotgun look almost absurd in comparison.

John chuckled at their reactions, an idea sparking in his mind. Irish, ever the serious one, rarely showed cracks in her stoic facade. Teasing her a little might lighten the mood further.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Vera," John said with a smirk. "I do have a thing for energetic girls. Bonus points if they're into anime, like me." He threw in a wink, watching as Vera's grin grew wider. 

Then, he turned to Irish, adding with a mischievous lilt, "But I said 'girls,' plural. Don't worry, Irish—you're pretty too."

The delivery was bold, his charisma carrying the words with an effortless charm that seemed to catch both Atheas off guard.

Vera blinked in surprise before letting out an exaggerated laugh, waving a hand in front of her face as if to cool herself. "Commander, you're laying it on thick, huh? Careful, or I might start taking you seriously."

Irish, on the other hand, froze. The faint blush on her cheeks deepened, and she struggled to come up with a retort. 

"I—I don't need compliments from someone who eats Synthesine like it's a delicacy," she stammered, her voice unusually shaky.

John leaned back, thoroughly enjoying the reactions his playful flirting had elicited. "Hey, Synthesine's underrated. And what can I say? You're both making it hard to focus on my five-star meal here."

Vera groaned, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Great, now we've got a flirt for a Commander. What's next, poetry?"

John grinned. "Don't tempt me."

As the conversation shifted back to playful banter, John couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie growing among them. 

For a fleeting moment, in the middle of the wasteland, the harsh reality of their situation seemed just a little further away. They were on a suicide mission, yet John was living his life to the fullest.

***

The night wore on, its silence broken only by the faint whispers of the wasteland winds. It was John's turn for the watch, and under the pale glow of the artificial moonlight, he spotted Nova standing near the edge of their makeshift camp.

She was still clad in her full gear, the metallic sheen of her equipment reflecting the dim light. Her goggles were pushed up onto her forehead, and even in the darkness, John could see the fatigue etched on her delicate face.

"Nova," he called out gently, his voice carrying just enough firmness to get her attention. "It's time. Go and get some rest."

Startled by his voice, Nova turned to him, her silver hair catching the faint glow of the moon. She let out a soft sigh. "Commander John..."

He raised an eyebrow, sensing hesitation in her tone. "What's the problem?" he asked, stepping closer.

With her goggles masking much of her expression, he could only rely on her voice and body language.

She hesitated before gesturing toward the hideout where the others were resting. "...Have they slept?"

John nodded. "Soundly, like children. No need to worry."

Nova gave a slight nod, her petite frame seeming even smaller next to his. Despite her usual confidence in battle, there was tension in her posture, as if something weighed heavily on her mind.

Understandably, not everyone could be as cheerful as Vera or as nonchalant as John in the face of hardship.

"Don't be so tense," he said lightly, his voice carrying a warmth meant to reassure her. "Life's too short to stay wound up all the time. Enjoy the little moments while you can."

Before she could respond, he reached out and gently placed his hand atop her silver hair, patting her head in a brotherly gesture. 

The unexpected action caused her to stiffen for a moment before her shoulders relaxed, the tension slowly melting away.

"You're weird, Commander," she murmured, her voice carrying a faint, sad undertone. "Caring about a lowly Athea like me..."

There was uncertainty in her words, a mix of self-doubt and sadness that John hadn't noticed before. He continued to pat her head gently, as though trying to erase that sadness.

"Don't talk like that," John said, his tone gentle but resolute. "When you strip away everything else—titles, roles, all the noise—we're all just human. Mind, heart, and soul. Your life is every bit as valuable as mine."

His words carried a quiet sincerity, and his smile held a warmth that seemed to reach Nova despite her guarded demeanor. For a moment, her tired, battle-worn eyes softened.

"You're really weird, Commander," she said, her voice carrying a faint pout as she poked his side lightly. "Are you trying to get your way with us or something?"

John chuckled, his expression light but thoughtful. "Of course, I am," he teased, a playful spark in his eyes. "But more than that, I want to reclaim the surface and build a world where Atheas don't have to suffer anymore. A place where you can live freely."

"Jeez, you're such a pervert!" Nova huffed, her pout deepening as she crossed her arms, though her cheeks betrayed the faintest hint of pink.

Her reaction made him laugh again, the sound easy and genuine. "Pervert or not, I mean it. I'll make that world for all of us—even if I have to woo every Athea along the way."

Nova narrowed her eyes, though the corner of her lips twitched into a faint smile. "Just don't go too far, Commander. Wooing Atheas might be fun, but cross the line, and you'll face our wrath."

"Duly noted," John said with a mock salute, grinning. "I'll tread carefully."

Satisfied, Nova gave a small nod, her expression softening further. "Good. Get some rest when you can."

Without another word, she turned and silently disappeared into the hideout, her silver hair catching the faint moonlight as she went.

For the first time in a while, there was a flicker of hope and trust within her—a fragile yet growing belief in her strange, unconventional commander.

'Yeah, strip down to the core, they are just human like me.'

'Mass-produced or not, they are my precious companion now.'