SSS Ranked Summoning: I'm An Extra With The Strongest Harem System-Chapter 33: Rows(1)[Bonus]

He stared at the system notification, unable to believe what he was seeing. It felt unreal, like something he shouldn't be seeing.

In truth, at first his mind rejected it, but his eyes told him otherwise.

Still, he had to confirm it again.

His gaze fell back to the text, attempting to confirm what he had read.

[Reward: Player has received gift " Future Sight"]

'Future Sight?' His thoughts rang inwardly a whisper, disbelief laced in every syllable.

His eyes flicked down, and there it was— displaying on a pop-up image was a stone. Small, rough-edged, with carvings etched into its surface. Above it, bold letters glowed- Future Sight. And below it was the description.

His breath hitched as his disbelief gradually began to fade away.

'I actually got it. I actually got Future Sight... the stone.'

Despite the evidence which was shown afront of him, his mind was stuck on a single thought—

'How?'

He had failed the mission. He didn't complete it. That was a fact. And yet, here it was, a reward he shouldn't have received.

His fingers curled as he considered the possibilities.

'Maybe it wasn't about completing the mission... Maybe all I had to do was play through it. That made more sense. Because, before, the system had displayed 2 out of 3 slots completely—maybe that had been enough.'

Still, regardless of the "how" or "why", none of that mattered. What mattered now was that he had it—the Future Sight stone. The very thing he'd been searching for.

Still, there was a downside.

Yes, he got Future Sight. Yes, he didn't have to retry the mission. But in return, he lost something valuable. No level-up. No stat boost despite her hard he hard genuinely tried.

Nevertheless, his joy remained unqenched as he exhaled, shaking his head.

He had the power to see the future. That alone was priceless. How many people in the world would kill for that? And he, got it all for the price of recieving a good deepthroat.

His lips curled.

"Damn right. No complaints."

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Now, there was only one logical thing to do.

Find out his fate.

A grin tugged at his lips as he imagined it.

' Well...If I had to guess... I'd probably become a god. Maybe a harem god, a sex creator, known across the world...'

He chuckled at the thought.

' Or maybe I became the strongest man alive, feared and respected, surrounded by beautiful women, living the life of a king.'

But then— there was still the $7,000 he owed Son Parker.

He wasn't even close to getting that amount, that was the worst part and if he did come in short at the stated deadline, without a doubt, he'd regret it.

' That's right... My priority isn't just power. It's money.'

He needed it. Not just for Aurora, but to save his own ass as well. As selfish as it might have sounded, it was true.

Therefore, pausing for a short moment to think, he deciphered that the most responsible thing to do was- Complete missions. Make money. Secure the original goal before doing anything reckless.

That was the logical choice that anyone, even an idiot in his situation would choose.

Yet, despite knowing that...

He ignored it.

Without hesitation, he clicked Future Sight.

A confirmation popped up, affirming his selection.

[Would player like to proceed?]

[Yes][No]

The second the words appeared— he selected Yes.

Just as before, bright rays of light exploded before him, blinding yet familiar. It swallowed him whole.

He barely had time to brace before he felt it—his body being pulled, stretched, like he was slipping through something intangible.

A medium.

It wasn't uncomfortable. It was soothing, although at first.

As he moved through the medium, despite being unabled to see, his mind was caught with glimpses of what seemed to be flash backs, or perhaps memories—faint, fragmented visions.

A hammer.

It lay on the ground, its surface smeared with blood, and rain pouring over it.

A pair of legs.

Suspended mid-air. Motionless.

And lastly, a blurred point of view—someone staring down at their own bloodied hands, and below his hands were pools of blood.

Several. Spreading. Unmoving. If anything, it truly did feel like an unending nightmare as one after the other, the flashes viewed in his mind, each image more terrifying than the last. Until-

Flicker.

Flicker.

Flicker.

His body felt light. Weightless.

His eyes gently snapped open, immediately catching sight of a blur of brightness. His vision squinted against the light directly above him, his arm instinctively raised, shielding his eyes.

As the glare dimmed, awareness settled in.

He could feel his body.

His skin. His breath, and ofcourse, his racing mind.

'Where the hell am I?'

It didn't feel like an illusion. This was real.

His gaze drifted forward, catching sight of a true eyesore.

There—seated in a wooden chair directly in front of him—was a boy.

Not just any boy. Without a doubt, it was him, it was Mikey. But... not quite.

His hair was longer, unkempt, strands falling over his face. His jaw bore faint traces of hair—not enough to call a beard, but enough to show time had passed.

And his face...Gloomy.

Not lifeless, but drained. Hollow.

He was dressed in all white—an off-white jacket, matching trousers.

His wrists, ankles, and chest were restrained. Chained to the chair.

His head was down, eyes locked aimlessly on the floor, and his mouth slightly open.

He was breathing. Barely, but without a doubt, he was not right at all.

'Well...that isn't what I expected.'

A sharp noise cut through the silence.

A microphone—screeching as it turned on.

Mikey's head barely moved, but his eyes twitched, reacting to the sound.

The microphone stood in front of him, connected to a glass panel.

Beyond the glass panel were people.

Rows of spectators sat in silence, their expressions ranging from solemn to openly hostile. Yet, what caught his eye the most was a man clad in a long gray coat. His slightly balding head and the deep lines etched into his face suggested he was in his mid-forties, and there was something about his gaze—calculating, almost predatory—that unsettled him.

His chest tightened.

"What the hell is this?"

And then, at last, the man spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we gather here today in the name of justice to witness the execution of Michael Dickson, found guilty of bodily harm, attempted murder, and multiple counts of first-degree serial murder...."

Mikey's breath hitched. His mouth fell open in shock. He wasn't some hero of the future, nor a villain with grand ambitions. No—he was a condemned man, a death row prisoner.

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