Liam’s Lucky Haul

As the sun dipped below Liyue Harbor's horizon, the Teyvat Internet Cafe's bustling hum faded, its doors locking shut promptly at nine o'clock under the evening sky.

A chorus of reluctant groans rose from the departing guests, one grumbling, "Closing at nine? I was just getting into it!" while another vowed, "I'll be back tomorrow—I will beat this thing!"

A merchant sighed, "It's dark already? My wife's going to skin me alive," his voice tinged with dread, matched by a fellow player's wail, "A whole day here? I'm dead when I get home!"

The crowd trickled out, their spirits still buzzing from the day's thrills, hooked on the novelty of two games that refused to lose their grip until mastered.

Liam opted against a night shift for now, savoring the quiet as he bolted the door, eager to tally the spoils of his first day in this strange new venture.

Between machine time, snacks, and bottled drinks, the day's haul neared 20,000 Mora, a figure that dwarfed the dwindling profits of his old-world cafes, long eclipsed by home computers.

With a steady 20,000 Mora daily, he'd never want for funds in Teyvat, a comforting buffer for a man still finding his footing in this elemental land.

Yet Mora was mere pocket change compared to the real prize: emotional points, the lifeblood of his system, harvested from every gasp, curse, and cheer echoing through the cafe.

Common folk offered modest trickles of emotion, but their sheer numbers stacked up, a collective hum that paled next to the torrents from Hu Tao and Keqing.

Hu Tao's meltdown and Keqing's stubborn fury had flooded his reserves, though Zhongli's unshakable calm yielded little—imagine if he cracked, a sevenfold Archon-grade jackpot!

Breaking Zhongli's stoic shell seemed a tall order, though, unlike Wendy or the Traveler, whose tempers might flare more easily in future branches at Mondstadt or Inazuma.

It was only day one, and Liam resisted the urge to splurge his points on upgrades or new games, prioritizing a boost to his own strength for survival beyond these walls.

Today's haul tallied 3,300 emotional points, with a single draw at 1,000—though a newbie discount slashed his first ten-pull to 3,000, perfectly within reach.

The lottery tiers gleamed in his mind: White for commoners, Green for adept mortals, Blue for strong Vision bearers, Purple for demon kin, and Gold for god-tier might.

"Come on, let's roll ten draws—I've crossed worlds, so luck's got to be on my side!" he declared, brimming with confidence as he triggered the system's lottery in his consciousness.

He pictured himself bathed in golden light, a time-traveler's destiny demanding at least one Gold pull—double or triple Golds wouldn't be too much to ask, right?

The lottery churned, then spat out ten orbs of light, each unveiling its prize with a faint shimmer that dimmed his grin as the results sank in.

A pack of dandelion seeds, a Guatai keychain, a Wufeng Sword, a longbow—nine White one-star trinkets piled up, their mundanity a slap to his lofty expectations.

Then came the tenth: a Purple four-star, the Dante Spartan primary template, a lone spark of violet amid a sea of lackluster white, salvaging his pride.

"No Gold, but Old Man Dante's template? I'll take that any day," he mused, nodding with approval at the iconic devil-hunter from his old world's tales.

It was only the basic version, pegged at Purple four-star strength—akin to the third game's Dante, a top-tier demon kin in Teyvat's hierarchy of power.

By that scale, the fourth game's Dante would rival Teyvat's mightiest demons, while the fifth's peak True Devil form could stare down Celestia itself.

Liam activated the template without hesitation, his body igniting as demonic energy surged through his veins, reshaping him in a blaze of heat and power.

His blood roared, steam rising from his skin as the fusion rewrote his frail mortal frame into something far beyond, a half-hour ordeal of exhilarating transformation.

When it settled, he exhaled a long, satisfied breath, the word "cool" barely capturing the rush of wielding a devil's might in his once-ordinary bones.

Before, he'd been a mere man, defenseless outside the cafe; now, the Spartan blood granted near-immortal healing—short of decapitation, no wound could fell him.

In those old games, Dante shrugged off countless stabs, a family trait of resilience, and even this basic kit armed him with the Rebellion sword and twin guns, Ebony and Ivory.

It was a starter pack, sure, lacking the flashier arsenal of later Dante, but it was enough to stride Teyvat's wilds without cowering behind his cafe's invincibility.

He headed for the shower, washing off the sweat of transformation, the hot water a soothing balm after the day's chaos and his newfound strength.

Fresh and invigorated, he stepped out into Liyue's night market, the air alive with lantern glow and the sizzle of street food calling him to unwind.

Back in the cafe, the day's emotional harvest lingered in his system, a potent mix of Hu Tao's terror, Keqing's rage, and the crowd's restless thrill, all fuel for his ascent.

The 20,000 Mora jingled in his pouch, a tidy sum, but the 3,300 points—and now Dante's power—were the true treasures of his first day's gamble.

He'd need more draws for extra weapons or upgrades, a goal for tomorrow, but for now, he savored the freedom to roam without fear of hilichurls or worse.

The night market buzzed around him, vendors hawking grilled skewers and sweet buns, a stark contrast to the cafe's digital chaos he'd left behind.

Liam grinned, biting into a skewer, his mind already drifting to the next day—more players, more points, and maybe a shot at that elusive Gold pull.

This was his foothold in Teyvat, a bridge between worlds, and with Dante's edge, he was ready to carve out a name beyond the cafe's glowing screens.

***

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