Zero’s Reign: Reincarnated with a Gacha Clone System

🎉Many Thanks to 'Enuma Elish' Supporting me on Patre0n🎉

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The morning air in Pinecrest carried the crisp scent of freshly baked bread and the faint buzz of enchanted machinery as Erwin, still in Erwin's form, navigated the bustling streets.

He moved with purpose, scanning the shopfronts for the equipment he needed for his first real investigation.

His first stop was a magic artifact shop, the kind that specialized in enchanted tools rather than grand spell tomes. The bell chimed softly as he stepped inside.

Behind the counter, an elderly dwarf peered at him through thick, round spectacles.

"Ah, a man of taste, I see. Looking for something specific?"

Erwin nodded. "Magical camera, audio recording crystal, and anything useful for discreet surveillance."

The dwarf grinned. "Ahh, I see. Private investigator type, huh?"

Erwin didn't answer. He just slid a pouch of silver across the counter.

The dwarf let out a low whistle. "No questions asked, then. Got it."

A few minutes later, Erwin walked out with:

– A magical camera – Silent capture, instant image preservation, enchanted for night vision.

– A recording crystal – Captures sound and speech, small enough to be hidden in a pocket or sleeve.

– A concealment charm – Slightly dampens his presence, enhancing the effects of the Background Character card.

As he moved to his next destination, Erwin observed the subtle details of the city—the things most people ignored or accepted as normal.

He passed by multiple storefronts with signs that read:

"No Demons Allowed."

"Humans Only Section."

Erwin paused, his gaze lingering.

Inside the shop, elves and beastkin moved freely, but there were no sections for them. No "Elves Only" or "Dwarves Only" signs.

It was just demons.

He had seen it before, of course. But today, he actually thought about it.

They aren't just outcasts.

They're the bottom of society.

Even beastkin, often seen as lesser by the highborns, weren't forced into segregation.

It was clear.

Humans were the dominant race.

He didn't need a history book to see that.

He wondered…

If they knew what I truly was—a demon's clone—would they still trust me?

He shoved the thought aside.

For now, he had an investigation to handle.

…

Back at Café Leblanc, Zero sat upstairs in the living quarters, absently staring at his hand.

He had tried again—but he still couldn't create another clone.

There was a barrier.

Something stopping him.

He let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the couch.

There has to be more to demonkind—especially Archdemons like me.

Before he could spiral deeper into thought, the door creaked open, and Soma walked in carrying two plates of steaming pasta.

"Alright, lunch break. Eat up."

Zero perked up, grabbing his fork. "Damn, I was about to starve."

Soma snorted as he sat across from him. "If you're starving, it's your own fault. You've been brooding all morning."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Zero suddenly said,

"Hey, should we hire someone to help you?"

Soma hummed, chewing thoughtfully. "Not right now."

Zero raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought we were getting busier."

Soma set down his fork, leaning back in his chair. "We are, but I want to see our stable guest count first."

Zero nodded slowly. "I get it. We're still in the hype phase. People are coming because they heard about us. But after a week or so, the real customer base will settle."

Soma pointed at him. "Exactly. I want to know our actual income before bringing in extra hands."

Zero leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Yeah… and we also don't have a stable money income yet."

Soma nodded. "Yup. You should start thinking about ways to make money, because right now, we don't have a lot of options."

Zero sighed dramatically. "Let's leave that problem to my future self."

Soma chuckled. "Classic Zero."

Zero twirled his fork. "I've been thinking about what Erwin discovered."

Soma raised an eyebrow. "About demon history being erased?"

Zero nodded. "Yeah. It makes me think back to my time in the void with Cecil. When he spun my racial ability, it landed on cloning, right?"

Soma nodded slowly. "Yeah. And?"

Zero placed his fork down, his eyes sharp with realization.

"It never called it a 'power.'"

Soma tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Zero tapped his fingers on the table.

"It called it a talent."

A beat of silence.

Soma leaned forward.

"Wait… so you're saying…"

Zero nodded. "It's not some divine power. It's just a natural talent I happened to have."

Soma exhaled. "Damn. So, theoretically, cloning isn't even your true power—it's just a talent you happened to roll."

Zero grinned. "Bingo."

Soma scratched his chin. "That means you should be able to do more—you just haven't figured out how."

Zero leaned back. "That's what I'm thinking. It's not about unlocking a new ability—it's about training what I already have."

Soma shook his head, grinning. "Man, if we had books about our race, this would be so much easier. But since all that history got erased, we're basically running blind."

Zero shrugged. "Then I'll have to experiment."

Soma smirked. "Alright. Just don't push it too hard. If you pass out again, I'm not carrying you to bed."

He grabbed the empty plates and cups, heading toward the sink.

As he passed by, he casually said, "Oh, by the way—should I tell you when the Gacha Points reach 1,000?"

Zero shuddered, remembering the Background Character roll.

"No. Let them accumulate. I don't want another useless card."

Soma laughed. "Alright, suit yourself."

Zero chuckled, then cracked his knuckles.

Time to train.

…

Soma hummed softly to himself, jotting down new recipes on a notepad as he leaned against the café counter.

The promise he had made to the guests still held—every day, a new meal.

Breakfast had wrapped up smoothly, and now, during the café's midday break, he was already preparing for the evening service.

His hands moved instinctively, slicing, seasoning, and simmering—his mind slipping into a familiar rhythm.

But then, his gaze flickered toward the storage room door.

A thought struck him.

He had worked in restaurants before—well, his main body had in his past life.

Yet no matter how much he cooked, the ingredients never ran out.

He hadn't really thought about it before—but the sheer variety was unreal.

Everything was always perfectly fresh, no matter how long it sat there. Every rare spice, premium cut of meat, and delicate herb he could ever want was always within reach.

Unlimited.

He exhaled a soft chuckle.

If I had this back in my old life, I wouldn't have spent years starving.

The thought was bitter, yet strangely distant.

His childhood in foster care flashed through his mind—the constant shuffling between homes, the cold, empty nights, the foster parents who never really wanted him.

He had been prayed for a good home. A family. But instead, he had jumped from one broken place to another, some outright abusive, others just using him for money.

His fingers tightened slightly around his pen.

It almost felt silly now—knowing his bad luck wasn't some cruel divine joke, but an actual curse absorbing misfortune meant for others.

He let out a slow breath, shaking off the thoughts.

No point thinking about old wounds. I'm in a new life now.

Just as he was about to return to his notes—

A sharp knock echoed from the café entrance.

Soma frowned, glancing at the clock.

Lunch break. Café is closed until evening service.

Wiping his hands on a clean towel, he moved toward the door.

Through the glass, he saw three well-dressed men standing outside.

Their suits were tailored, expensive, but their posture was too casual, too confident.

Not customers. Something else.

Soma pulled the door open, offering his usual friendly smile.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Sorry, but we're closed for lunch. We reopen in the evening."

The man in the center—a lean figure with slicked-back hair—tipped his hat slightly, offering a polite smile.

"Good afternoon to you, too, sir." His tone was smooth, but his eyes were calculating.

Soma nodded politely and moved to close the door.

A hand caught it.

The lead man's fingers pressed against the frame, stopping it from shutting.

His smile didn't fade, but his coat shifted slightly—just enough to reveal a polished revolver holstered at his hip.

A silent message.

Soma's eyebrows arched slightly.

Well, that escalated fast.

The man tilted his head slightly.

"How about we have a little chat instead?"

Soma's lips curled into a casual grin.

"How about a coffee?" He gestured toward the tables. "It's on the house."

The men exchanged glances, then stepped inside.

Soma shut the door behind them, locking it with an audible click.

Time to see what they really want.

…

The midday sun bore down on the busy merchant streets of Pinecrest. The air was thick with the scent of spices, fresh produce, and the occasional whiff of horse manure.

Among the bustling crowd, one figure blended seamlessly into the background.

Erwin—disguised in his Background Character form—stood by a fruit stall, casually inspecting apples. His gaze, however, was locked onto one man.

Mandy's husband.

A simple merchant, dressed in the usual attire of his trade.

From morning until now, he had been doing nothing out of the ordinary. Selling goods, bartering, greeting fellow merchants—it was all routine.

Erwin's fingers tapped against the wooden stall.

So far, nothing unusual. But patience is key.

He knew that criminals didn't always operate in broad daylight.

If Mandy's husband was involved in something, there would be signs.

And then—as if answering his silent request for excitement—a commotion erupted.

Across the street, a rough-looking man in a fine coat grabbed Mandy's husband by the collar, shoving him against his own stall.

"You think you can keep dodging payments, huh?" the man snarled.

The husband paled, raising his hands defensively.

"Please, I just need more time—"

More time?

Erwin's eyes narrowed.

He wasn't just being harassed—he was being threatened over a debt.

Good. This is my opening.

Erwin switched tactics instantly.

He released the Background Character disguise and shifted into his Conan Edogawa form.

A small child, wide-eyed and curious, stepped forward.

He ran up to the struggling merchant, his voice filled with concern.

"Uncle, are you okay?"

The merchant turned, startled by the sudden presence of a child.

The rough-looking man—clearly intimidating the merchant—glanced at Conan, but paid him no real mind.

Perfect. No one takes a child seriously.

The merchant let out a forced chuckle, trying to calm his nerves.

"It's okay, little one. That's why you should study diligently and stay in school, so you don't have to make deals with men like him."

He patted Conan's head gently, as if reassuring himself just as much as the boy.

Then, with a faint sigh, he grabbed an apple from his stall and handed it to Conan.

"Here, take this."

Conan smiled brightly, nodding in gratitude.

As the merchant turned back to clean up the mess, he suddenly paused.

Something felt... off.

He rubbed his temple, trying to recall something.

But—

Wait…

Who was that kid again?

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to remember his face.

All he could recall was the moment he was shoved to the ground.

The details blurred in his head, and Erwin was already gone.

"Tch. That throw must've taken the wind outta me." he muttered, shaking his head.

Back in Background Character form, Erwin trailed behind the thug.

The man hadn't even noticed.

This skill is seriously broken.

The thug walked with two others, both well-dressed but rough around the edges—men who clearly weren't merchants but operated in the marketplace like they owned it.

And, as Erwin observed carefully, he realized they kind of did.

They moved from stall to stall, demanding "security payments" from merchants.

A protection racket.

But something odd caught Erwin's attention.

Some merchants paid immediately, heads lowered, fear evident in their posture.

Others, however, had a short conversation with the thug's leader.

Instead of handing over money, these merchants received a pat on the shoulder and were left untouched.

No payments. No threats.

Erwin's eyes sharpened.

Interesting…

Pulling out his notebook, he quickly jotted down the names of the shops where the men didn't collect money.

This wasn't just a random protection racket.

This was something bigger.