Zero’s Reign: Reincarnated with a Gacha Clone System

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the living quarters above Café Leblanc, casting a soft glow across the wooden floors. The city of Pinecrest was already awake outside, the distant hum of horse-drawn carriages and the chatter of merchants filtering through the thin walls.

Zero groaned, barely conscious, his face half-buried in his pillow. He stretched an arm out blindly, feeling for warmth—no one.

With a slow blink, he lifted his head.

Soma and Erwin were already dressed and moving.

Zero squinted. "Where the hell are you going?"

Soma, adjusting his apron, rolled his eyes. "Running the café, you idiot."

Zero waved him off, shifting his gaze to Erwin, who stood near the door, fastening his tie over a sharp black suit.

"Not you, frying pan. I meant the little shitling."

Erwin barely spared him a glance as he smoothed down his lapels. "Library."

Zero frowned. "Library? The hell for?"

Erwin adjusted his glasses. "I need information. Anything written about demon races—specifically, Archdemons. If I'm going to be your face in public, I need to understand our origins."

Zero yawned, rolling onto his back. "Cool. Have fun with that."

Soma and Erwin exchanged glances.

Soma snorted. "Are we sure we're clones of this lazy bastard?"

Erwin hummed. "At this point, I have my doubts."

Zero flipped them off before tugging his blanket over his head. "Screw both of you."

Soma nudged Erwin. "You want breakfast before heading out, detective?"

Erwin took a seat at the small dining table. "Full stomach will help me read better."

Soma smirked. "Nerd."

As Erwin ate, Soma leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"Are you sure you wanna go as Conan? Why not Erwin?"

Erwin finished chewing, wiping his mouth before answering. His voice was calm, measured.

"If I go as Erwin, people will see me as a threat. If I go as Conan, I'll be seen as an innocent curiosity—harmless, just a child asking questions. It'll lower their guard."

Soma let out a low whistle. "Manipulative little bastard. I like it."

Erwin gave him a small smirk.

Soma pointed a spoon at him. "Just don't come crying to Papa when some bad guys start following you."

Erwin's glasses glinted as he pushed them up the bridge of his nose.

"If they follow me, I'll lead them where I want them to go."

With that, he hopped off his chair, adjusted his jacket, and walked out the door.

Stepping out of Café Leblanc, Erwin took a moment to adjust to the city's rhythm.

Pinecrest was alive.

Carriages rumbled over cobblestone streets, vendors shouted daily deals, workers hurried to their jobs. The city was a blend of old-world charm and industrial ambition, where magic and machinery intertwined in a chaotic harmony.

But Erwin wasn't just walking.

He was observing. Calculating.

Rule #1 of Intelligence Gathering: Every street is a story. Learn to read it.

He noted:

Guard patrol patterns—consistent but lazy.

Merchant interactions—who looked relaxed, who looked paranoid.

Demon presence—how they walked, how they were treated.

That's where he saw it—

The stark contrast between humans and demons.

At a fruit stall, a human woman handed over coins for an apple. Simple.

Right after her, a horned demon man stepped forward to do the same.

The vendor's demeanor shifted instantly.

His expression hardened, his lips curling slightly. "Double the price for your kind."

The demon hesitated, clearly annoyed but not surprised.

Without a word, he placed twice the amount on the counter and walked away.

The vendor smirked, scooping up the extra coins.

Erwin adjusted his glasses.

Demon tax? No. This is something else. A quiet rule. An unspoken law.

He kept walking, not drawing attention to himself.

Further down the street, he caught movement in a side alley.

A young demon child, barely seven years old, was cornered by two older human boys.

The small demon, his curved goat-like horns barely visible under his hood, pressed himself against the brick wall as the older kids loomed over him.

"Where you running, huh? Thought you were tough?"

One of them shoved him against the wall.

The child flinched, trembling.

Erwin didn't stop walking.

But he calculated.

Intervene? Risk exposure.

Call for help? No nearby authority.

Cause a distraction? Best choice.

His fingers found a small stone in his pocket.

He flicked it with expert precision—

It clattered loudly against a metal trash can in the alley, sending a sharp clang through the narrow space.

The two older kids whipped around, startled.

The demon child seized the moment, bolting past them and disappearing into the crowd.

Erwin didn't look back.

Too many moving parts. Can't solve everything at once. Gather information first. Make a plan later.

The Royal Library of Pinecrest loomed ahead, a massive structure lined with marble pillars and ornate carvings of historical events.

Inside, the scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, the dim glow of floating crystal lanterns giving the place a solemn, ancient feel.

The librarian at the front desk glanced up, blinking at the sight of a well-dressed child walking in alone.

Erwin approached confidently, resting his hands on the counter.

The librarian squinted. "You lost, kid?"

Erwin smiled. "No, sir. I'm looking for books on demon history—specifically, Archdemons."

The librarian tilted his head. "Odd request. What's a kid like you doing researching demons?"

Erwin's expression didn't change.

"It's for a history project. I'm really interested in learning about them."

The librarian hesitated.

Then sighed. "Follow me."

As Erwin walked deeper into the archives, his face calm and neutral, but his mind was already racing.

The world saw demons as monsters. But what were they really?

And more importantly…

What was he?

…

The scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air as Erwin followed the librarian into the history section of the Royal Library. The dim glow of enchanted crystal lanterns overhead flickered slightly, casting long shadows between the towering bookshelves.

The librarian—a tired-looking older man with round spectacles—led Erwin down one of the aisles and stopped at a single shelf. He gestured vaguely at the books, barely suppressing a yawn.

"Here you go, kid. Hope it's not for your final project, 'cause this is all we got on demon history."

Erwin's brows furrowed as he glanced at the shelf.

There were only a handful of books.

Compared to the vast sections dedicated to human history, royal bloodlines, magical advancements, and the rise and fall of noble houses, this felt… pathetic.

A single row of texts. Most of them looked old and untouched.

"That's it?" Erwin asked, feigning mild curiosity.

The librarian shrugged. "Yeah, well. Not a lotta people interested in that subject. Can't help you there. Good luck."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked off, leaving Erwin alone in the aisle.

The young detective sighed, muttering to himself. "Well… at least it won't take long to read."

He ran his fingers along the dusty book spines, pulling out a few promising ones.

Something's off. If demons have existed as long as humans, their history should be just as extensive. So where is it?

As he stacked the books at a nearby table and flipped open the first one, he mentally prepared himself for what he already suspected.

The history of demons wasn't just neglected.

It had been erased.

…

Back at Café Leblanc, the morning rush was in full swing.

Zero moved between tables, delivering plates and topping off coffee mugs, chatting with customers who had finally warmed up to him.

Some of the regulars were even comfortable enough to joke around with him now.

"Hey, boss! Don't let Soma cook today, I don't trust a guy who smiles while holding a knife!" one patron teased.

Soma, passing by, grinned widely while twirling a knife in his hand. "Oh? You sure you wanna insult the guy handling your food?"

The patron laughed nervously. "...Point taken."

Zero smirked, placing a plate down. "See? And you all thought a demon running a café was the biggest problem."

The bell above the door chimed.

A familiar figure stepped inside.

Detective Wolfe, looking even more exhausted than usual.

Soma glanced up from behind the counter. "Detective! First time coming in for breakfast."

Zero turned toward him, raising an eyebrow.

"You look like shit."

Wolfe dragged himself to the counter and collapsed into a chair with a grunt.

"Because I feel like shit." He rubbed his temples before muttering, "Get me something to eat."

Zero nodded, but his curiosity was piqued.

"Good morning, Detective."

"Morning." Wolfe barely lifted his head.

Zero leaned against the counter. "You okay?"

Wolfe exhaled, staring at his empty coffee cup as if it personally offended him. "Yeah. I've already gotten used to this."

Zero frowned slightly. "What happened, anyway? I heard from customers that patrols have been looking thinner lately."

Wolfe lifted his gaze, sharp despite his exhaustion.

"That's department business for now. You'll read about it in the papers, maybe tomorrow."

Zero studied him for a moment, then simply nodded, deciding not to push further.

Instead, he asked something more direct.

"You don't mind me being a demon?"

Wolfe didn't hesitate.

"Don't care."

Zero blinked. "...Really?"

Wolfe sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"As long as you're not a criminal, you're fine in my book. Doesn't matter if you're human, demon, or a damn talking griffin."

He rolled his stiff shoulders, leaning back in his seat. "The way I see it, there are two kinds of people—"

He pointed at Zero.

"The ones who make trouble."

Then, he gestured to himself.

"And the ones who clean up after them."

Zero chuckled. "That's a very... simplistic way of looking at things."

Wolfe shrugged. "It works."

Zero placed a freshly brewed cup of coffee in front of him.

Wolfe sighed in relief and took a sip.

For the first time that morning, his expression relaxed.

Zero smirked.

"Well, as long as you're here, breakfast is on us."

Wolfe narrowed his eyes. "I don't take bribes."

Zero laughed. "Not a bribe. Just a 'thank you' for dealing with that mess yesterday."

Wolfe studied him for a moment.

Then, without another word, he picked up his fork and started eating.

…

The grand estate of House Brenford was silent, save for the soft crackling of a fireplace within the duke's office.

Duke Alastair Brenford sat in his high-backed leather chair, fingers steepled as he gazed over a detailed map of Pinecrest, the kingdom's noble territories and trade routes marked with precise annotations.

The room was lined with towering bookshelves, filled with ledgers, political records, and documents that held more power than any sword ever could.

A knock at the door broke the quiet.

His personal butler entered, his movements crisp and disciplined, despite his age-lined face.

"My lord," the butler began, bowing. "The police have cracked down on one of the drug operations."

Duke Brenford's expression remained neutral, but his fingers tapped idly against the mahogany desk.

"How much damage?"

The butler cleared his throat.

"Roughly 1/16th of the entire kingdom's distribution chain has been dismantled."

For the first time, the duke's brows furrowed.

"They work fast."

"Not fast enough," the butler replied smoothly. "By tomorrow, the rest will move, and the police will find themselves back at square one."

Duke Brenford leaned back, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"That's excellent."

His butler tilted his head slightly. "My lord?"

Brenford folded his hands over his chest. "Losing 1/16th of my revenue from our small business means nothing. It's pocket change. But this… this gives us leverage."

He turned his gaze toward a portrait on the wall—an older painting of his grandfather, the previous duke, known for his brutal efficiency in politics.

"If we play this right, we might be able to pocket our new Chief of Police."

The butler remained stoic, but his voice was firm.

"With all due respect, sir, he will not agree. He is relentless."

Brenford chuckled.

"Everyone has a price."

The butler did not look convinced.

The duke let out a soft sigh, standing from his desk and moving toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking his estate's gardens.

His golden-haired newborn son was being pushed in a small stroller by one of the maids.

The child's gaze—though only days old—was eerily observant.

"If the chief is unwilling to be bought, then we do what we must."

He turned back to the butler.

"Keep him tangled in obstacles. Delay his investigations. Ensure that nothing he does progresses fast enough to make a real difference. By the time he realizes what's happening, the board will have already changed."

The butler bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."

The duke smiled.

"Good. The others and I will be meeting next week. There is much to discuss."

The butler exited the office with quiet precision.

Alastair Brenford returned to his desk, picking up a crystal glass of brandy and swirling it slowly.

His thoughts were already on the next move.

The police had won a battle.

But he was still winning the war.