Chapter 17: A Gambler's Hand and Boss Shen
The casino's energy was intoxicating, a living, breathing force that pulled Yogan in deeper the longer he stayed. Laughter, cheers, and frustrated groans filled the air like the rhythm of a great drum, blending with the clinking of coins, the shuffling of tiles, and the murmurs of last-minute bets.
Yogan sat at a long, polished table, the lacquered wood smooth beneath his fingertips. Rilo was on his left, looking relaxed as ever, his arm draped over the back of his chair. Kenshiro and Haru sat across from them, both men grinning, already swept up in the anticipation of the game.
Across from them, four other players had taken their seats.
The first was an older man with streaks of gray in his hair, dressed in a fine green robe embroidered with golden dragons. His sharp, calculating eyes hinted at years of experience. Next to him sat a stout merchant, his fingers heavy with rings, already stacking his game tokens in neat, deliberate piles. The third player was a younger woman, dressed in the flowing silks of a traveling noble's daughter, her expression cool and unreadable. The last was a lean, quiet man, his simple dark robes making him seem unassuming—except for the way his fingers hovered over his game pieces with practiced ease.
A servant approached, placing a large bronze bowl in the center of the table. Within it lay twenty-four smooth, ivory tiles, each etched with a unique combination of symbols—dots, bamboo-like lines, and numbers. Alongside them were a stack of betting tokens, carved wooden chips marked with different values.
Yogan exhaled. He had no idea what the game was, but the anticipation in the air made it clear—this was serious.
Rilo leaned in, speaking just loud enough for Yogan to hear. "Alright, kid. Time to learn Shan Kui."
Yogan blinked. "Shan Kui?"
Kenshiro grinned. "Daiyo's favorite way to lose money."
Haru smirked, reaching for his own set of game tokens. "Or win it, if you know what you're doing."
The dealer, a middle-aged man in elegant brown robes, clapped his hands together. "Gentlemen, lady," he said smoothly, "shall we begin?"
The Rules of Shan Kui
The dealer reached into the bronze bowl, drawing four tiles per player and placing them in front of each gambler. Yogan hesitated as the small ivory slabs were set before him, each one marked with delicate carvings—a three-dotted tile, a single line tile, and two others marked with ancient calligraphy.
He had no idea what any of it meant.
Rilo chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Relax. It's simple. You need to make a winning set of three tiles—either by forming a match, a sequence, or a special hand."
Yogan frowned. "And how do I know what's a good hand?"
Haru, ever the quieter one, slid a hand over the table. "A match means three of the same symbol. A sequence means numbers in a row—like one, two, and three dots. And a special hand is… well, rare."
Kenshiro grinned, already stacking his bet. "And rare means big money."
The dealer continued, placing two additional tiles in the center of the table, accessible to everyone.
"Each round," Rilo explained, "you either draw, swap, or bet."
Yogan frowned. "So I can trade a tile?"
"If you're willing to pay for it," Kenshiro said. He tapped the betting tokens beside him. "Every swap costs one token. If you want to draw a new tile instead, that costs two."
Yogan's mind worked through the rules. So I have to balance what I keep, what I trade, and how much I'm willing to risk.
Haru nodded toward the center. "The first betting round happens now. Then we draw or swap tiles. Then the final bets before revealing our hands."
Yogan exhaled. "And what happens if no one has a winning set?"
The older man across the table chuckled. "Then the house wins, boy."
Yogan scowled.
Kenshiro smirked, tossing a wooden betting token onto the pile. "Welcome to real gambling, my friend."
The First Round
The bets began, moving clockwise around the table. The merchant in the fine robe placed two tokens, his confidence apparent in the way he leaned back, watching the others. The noblewoman barely flicked her wrist, adding a single token without a word. The quiet man in dark robes took his time, glancing at his tiles before matching the bet with a slow, deliberate movement.
Then it was Yogan's turn.
He looked down at his pieces again, uncertain, but Rilo nudged him subtly.
"Start low," Rilo murmured. "Just see how it plays out."
Yogan nodded, placing one token into the center.
Rilo followed with two, while Kenshiro—who clearly had no fear—dropped in three with a grin.
The dealer nodded. "First round set. Draw or swap."
The merchant swapped one tile, trading a line-marked one for a new piece. The noblewoman drew from the pile, paying two tokens. The quiet man simply kept his hand, his expression unreadable.
Yogan hesitated. He wasn't sure if his set was strong, but something in him told him to hold his ground. He shook his head. "I'll stay."
Rilo, watching carefully, did the same.
Kenshiro, however, swapped a tile immediately—paying the extra cost without a second thought.
The dealer nodded again. "Final bets."
The table grew tense. The merchant smirked, pushing in four more tokens. The noblewoman followed, adding two. The quiet man raised by five, his expression still unreadable.
Kenshiro grinned. "Oh, I like you," he said, adding five of his own.
Yogan swallowed. His tokens felt heavy in his hands. He wasn't sure if he had anything good, but…
His fingers brushed against his pieces.
"Trust your instincts," Rilo muttered.
Yogan exhaled—and matched the bet.
The dealer clapped his hands. "Reveal!"
The Turn of Fortune
The first player, the merchant, laid his tiles down.
A near-perfect sequence. A strong hand, but not unbeatable.
The noblewoman smirked and revealed hers—a full match of three calligraphy-marked tiles. Even stronger.
The quiet man exhaled and laid his tiles flat.
A winning special hand.
The table stilled.
Kenshiro whistled. "Ohhh, damn."
Yogan's stomach twisted. He glanced at his own hand. He had a sequence… but it wasn't enough.
Rilo sighed and laid his own down—close, but not a winning hand.
Then, at last, Kenshiro flipped his tiles.
A perfect three-match.
The tension broke as he won the entire round.
The noblewoman exhaled in annoyance, while the quiet man simply nodded. The merchant scowled, pushing his losses aside.
Yogan sighed. He had lost—but he understood now.
Kenshiro smirked. "Well, Yogan?" he teased, stacking his new winnings. "How does it feel to lose your first real bet?"
Yogan exhaled.
Then, to their surprise, he smirked.
"Deal again."
The night was far from over.
The second round of Shan Kui began quickly, the energy at the table shifting as the players adjusted their strategies. Yogan, still absorbing the game's mechanics, observed more than he acted, his fingers tracing the edges of his tiles as he studied the moves of the others.
Rilo played with confidence, his posture loose, his bets steady but never reckless. Kenshiro was far bolder, throwing in tokens with a carefree grin, daring others to match him. Haru remained as calculating as ever, making minimal movements, his expression unreadable.
The quiet man in dark robes, however, was the true mystery. He had won the second round effortlessly, his hand revealed with no hesitation, as if he had already foreseen his victory from the moment the tiles were drawn. In the first round, he lost intentionally—Yogan could tell—folding before the final bets, preserving his tokens. Then, in the third round, he struck again, revealing another winning hand, clean and efficient.
Yogan was beginning to understand something important. This isn't just a game of chance. It's a game of control.
By the fourth round, Yogan had improved significantly. He understood the logic behind drawing and swapping tiles, how to read patterns, and—most importantly—how to observe his opponents. He noticed how Rilo barely changed his facial expressions when bluffing, how Kenshiro relied too much on luck, and how the merchant across from him was beginning to grow frustrated from his losses.
When the fourth round ended, Rilo emerged as the victor, his first win of the night. The table let out murmurs of approval, but Yogan knew—he was getting close.
The fifth round was going to be his.
The dealer reached into the bronze bowl, carefully drawing the next set of tiles. The ivory pieces clattered softly as they were placed in front of each player—four for each gambler, as before.
Yogan's hands hovered over his tiles, his breath steady as he flipped them over.
A matched pair of line tiles. A single bamboo tile. And a number tile etched with a seven.
Not bad, he thought, though not a winning hand—not yet.
Kenshiro grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Feeling lucky, gentlemen?"
The merchant across from him snorted. "Luck won't save you."
The noblewoman simply adjusted her sleeves, expression impassive. The quiet man, as always, said nothing, his fingers brushing against his tiles like an artist sizing up his next stroke.
The first bet began.
The merchant tossed in three tokens, trying to regain his losses. The noblewoman added two. The quiet man matched their bets with a slow, measured movement.
Yogan glanced at Rilo, who was watching him now.
"Go with your gut," Rilo muttered.
Yogan exhaled and placed in two tokens, keeping himself in the game without overcommitting.
Kenshiro, naturally, raised by five, flashing his usual reckless grin.
The dealer nodded. "Draw or swap."
The merchant swapped one tile, his expression twitching slightly as he slid another into his hand. The noblewoman drew from the pile, paying the two-token cost. The quiet man, again, made no swaps.
Yogan stared at his pieces. He needed a third match or a perfect sequence.
His fingers hovered over his bamboo tile. This isn't helping me.
He swapped it for a new draw. The dealer slid a fresh tile into his hand.
Another line tile. A match of three.
His pulse quickened. He was getting close.
Kenshiro swapped two tiles at once, whistling under his breath. "Feeling good about this one."
Yogan ignored him. His focus was locked on the quiet man. He hasn't swapped a single tile in five rounds, yet he's won two already.
The final betting round arrived.
The merchant hesitated before placing four tokens. The noblewoman matched it. The quiet man, calm as ever, placed six, raising the stakes.
Yogan's heartbeat thrummed in his ears.
He could fold here. Play it safe.
But then—
He saw it.
The quiet man's fingers, which had always been still, had twitched—just slightly—before placing his bet.
He was uncertain.
It was a subtle thing, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Yogan's mouth curled into a small, almost imperceptible grin.
He matched the bet.
Kenshiro groaned. "Spirits help me." Then, with his usual reckless bravado, he matched it too.
The dealer clapped his hands. "Reveal your hands."
The merchant flipped his tiles first—a near-perfect match, but not strong enough.
The noblewoman revealed hers—a full sequence, respectable, but not unbeatable.
Then—
The quiet man laid down his tiles.
A strong special hand.
The table tensed.
Kenshiro exhaled. "Well, I'm dead." He flipped his tiles, revealing a mediocre set, and groaned dramatically. "So much for my luck."
Then, at last—
Yogan placed his tiles down.
Three perfectly matched line tiles. And the final piece…
A rare winning symbol—the Dragon Tile.
The table stilled.
For the first time all night, the quiet man's eyes widened.
The noblewoman exhaled, tilting her head in faint surprise.
The merchant scowled, muttering something under his breath.
Then—Kenshiro let out a loud laugh, slapping the table. "You're shitting me!"
Rilo grinned, shaking his head. "Well, damn. Would you look at that?"
The dealer smiled. "A perfect Shan Kui hand." He gestured to the winnings. "The pot goes to Yogan."
Yogan inhaled sharply as the pile of betting tokens was pushed toward him. The weight of them was real, solid in his hands.
For the first time that night—he had won.
Kenshiro leaned in, grinning. "Not bad for a first-timer."
The noblewoman gave a small nod. "Impressive."
The quiet man simply studied him, then—without a word—gave a single, slow nod of respect.
Yogan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His hands were steady, despite the rush of excitement burning in his chest.
He had played it right. He had seen the hesitation. He had trusted his instincts.
And for the first time in his life—he had gambled, and won.
Rilo clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, alright. Enjoy your victory while it lasts. Because the next round?" He smirked. "I'm taking the pot."
Yogan chuckled, shaking his head. "We'll see about that."
The night was still young.
And, for the first time, Yogan was starting to enjoy the game.
The game of Shan Kui had taken on a life of its own. The once casual gathering of eight players had become something greater—a battle of wits, luck, and instinct, each round shaping the rhythm of the night.
Yogan, now fully immersed in the game, had begun to play with confidence rather than hesitation. Each tile he drew, each token he bet, was no longer an uncertain gamble—it was a calculated decision.
The next four rounds were hard-fought battles.
In Round Six, Yogan secured another win, this time with a perfect sequence that had Kenshiro groaning into his hands.
"Alright, that's it," Kenshiro muttered, shaking his head. "This kid's a menace."
Rilo exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Remind me again why we thought it was a good idea to teach him this game?"
"Because we were idiots," Kenshiro declared. "We just created a monster!"
Yogan smirked, stacking his winnings. "Maybe you two should go back to being the students."
Kenshiro groaned dramatically. "I hate you."
In Round Seven, the stout merchant finally managed to claw back a victory, matching a rare three-set of dragon-marked tiles, causing the entire table to let out impressed murmurs. Yogan placed second, his near-perfect sequence just one tile short of another win.
The merchant grinned triumphantly, gathering his winnings. "Finally, some respect."
Kenshiro grumbled. "Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, old man."
In Round Eight, Haru finally revealed his true skill, securing a special hand that made even the quiet man raise an eyebrow in acknowledgment. Yogan once again placed second, his instinct and growing expertise keeping him just one step behind.
Haru smirked, finally allowing himself to look pleased. "You almost had me, Yogan."
Yogan exhaled, shaking his head. "I should've swapped my last tile."
"Wouldn't have helped," Haru said smoothly, stacking his winnings. "I had this round from the start."
"That's what you think," Yogan muttered in a barely audible voice.
In Round Nine, Yogan claimed his third major victory of the night, using a bold strategy—bluffing his way through the final bet before flipping over a high-risk, high-reward sequence.
Rilo exhaled dramatically, throwing his hands up. "This is bullshit!"
Kenshiro laughed. "I know, right?! We let him win once, and now he's acting like he's played for years!"
Yogan grinned. "Maybe you two should've been a little less generous with your advice."
Rilo grunted, waving at a nearby server. "Alright, fine. But since you're the big winner now, you're buying the next round of drinks."
Yogan smirked, raising a hand. "Make it three large bottles of sake. And bring some spicy hot meat to go with it."
The surrounding players chuckled at his confidence, offering light applause. Even the noblewoman—who had been reserved most of the night—smirked slightly at his growing reputation.
The dealer bowed his head. "An excellent choice, sir. Your order will be brought shortly."
As the murmurs of approval spread through the room, Mariko arrived, carrying the drinks and food.
Yogan hadn't expected to feel awkward. But the moment Mariko's gaze settled on him, he felt a brief flicker of hesitation.
"Well," she said, smirking as she placed the sake bottles down, "you seem to be enjoying yourself."
Kenshiro immediately perked up. "Ohhh, this is the waitress?"
Yogan shot him a warning glance.
Rilo snorted. "The very same."
Haru, to his credit, simply raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Mariko sighed, setting the meat down in front of Yogan. "I should've known you'd cause a scene wherever you go."
"Hey," Yogan said, leaning back with a smirk. "This time it wasn't my fault. Apparently, I'm just naturally gifted."
Kenshiro groaned. "Shut up."
Mariko rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in her expression.
"Are we going to talk about last night?" she asked, voice casual but measured.
Yogan rubbed the back of his neck. "After this round. You're about to see history."
Mariko raised an eyebrow. "History?"
He grinned. "You'll see."
As Mariko stepped away, Yogan's gaze flickered toward the quiet, tall man across the table.
For the first time all night, the man shifted uncomfortably. His posture remained composed, but—when Mariko had arrived—his hands had subtly curled, his head tilting slightly away from her, as if avoiding her gaze.
But then, just as quickly, he flicked his eyes toward her once before returning his attention to the game.
Yogan narrowed his eyes slightly. What was that about?
But there was no time to dwell. The final round had begun.
By now, the casino had taken notice of the table. Dozens of spectators had gathered, murmuring in excitement over Yogan's performance.
"Rumor is he played a perfect sequence earlier," someone whispered.
"Think he can do the perfect game?"
"Unlikely. That kind of luck doesn't happen twice."
Yogan exhaled slowly, his focus razor-sharp.
The dealer shuffled the ivory tiles in the bronze bowl before drawing four for each player.
Yogan turned his over.
Two dragon-marked tiles. One numbered tile. And a single-dot tile.
Not a perfect hand yet… but close.
The first round of betting began. The merchant placed two tokens. The noblewoman matched. The quiet man raised by three.
Yogan matched it.
Kenshiro groaned. "Here we go again…"
The draw phase began.
The merchant swapped one tile. The noblewoman drew from the pile. The quiet man did not swap.
Yogan exchanged one tile.
The dealer slid a new tile into his hand.
A third dragon tile.
Kenshiro cursed under his breath. "No. No, no, no—"
Rilo leaned in. "You better not…"
Yogan smirked.
The final bets came.
The quiet man bet seven tokens. Yogan matched. Kenshiro, for all his bravado, folded immediately.
The dealer clapped his hands. "Reveal!"
The merchant's hand—a strong sequence.
The noblewoman's hand—a solid triple match.
The quiet man's hand—another special hand.
Kenshiro inhaled sharply. "He might've done it."
Yogan, calm and fully confident, flipped his tiles over.
A PERFECT SHAN KUI HAND.
The crowd erupted.
Rilo buried his face in his hands. "I hate this man."
Kenshiro groaned. "This should not be possible."
The dealer bowed. "A perfect game. A victory beyond dispute."
Yogan inhaled, letting the moment settle in. The weight of the tokens felt real as he gathered his earnings. But, as a gesture, he slid a handful of winnings toward Rilo.
Rilo blinked. "What's this?"
"Consider it an apology," Yogan said, grinning.
Rilo groaned. "I'm still mad, but fine. I'll take it."
The crowd chattered excitedly, whispering about the first perfect game in years.
But Yogan had other matters to attend to.
He stood, stepping away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Kenshiro asked.
Yogan glanced toward Mariko.
"To talk about last night."
And with that, he walked away, leaving behind the echoes of his legendary win.
The casino continued its hum with life as Rilo moved from table to table, a drink in one hand and a stack of betting tokens in the other. The scent of incense and spilled liquor clung to the air, mixing with the low murmurs of anticipation and frustration from gamblers deep in their games.
Unlike Yogan, who had drawn attention with a legendary perfect game, Rilo played with a different kind of energy—calculated chaos. He thrived in high-risk, high-reward bets, balancing bluffing with sheer intuition.
After several tables, he finally found the right one.
A long, low table sat near the heart of the casino, its lacquered surface shining beneath the warm glow of lanterns. The players here weren't casual gamblers—they were serious men, their eyes sharp, their movements deliberate.
Rilo slid into an open seat, setting his largest bet yet on the table. The dealer glanced at him, then at the other players.
"New player joins," the dealer announced, his voice smooth. "Betting is open."
Rilo grinned, tossing his first tokens forward.
The first round passed—a test of skill and patience. Rilo watched as the others played conservatively, feeling out the game, but he took a different approach—aggressive betting, risky plays.
The result?
He won.
The next round, he doubled down.
He won again.
By the third round, murmurs had started among the bystanders. By the fourth, he had drawn a crowd.
"That's the guy who was playing with Yogan, isn't it?" someone whispered.
"He's playing reckless, but… it's working."
"Rilo the Black is at it again."
The nickname had been thrown out casually, but it stuck. His long black hair, his devil-may-care smirk, the way he bet without hesitation—it all built his reputation on the spot.
And then, with a final, decisive move in the fifth round—Rilo cleaned the table out.
Coins and tokens piled up in front of him, and the table let out a mix of groans and applause. Some men cursed their luck, others laughed in disbelief, and the crowd watching from behind the players cheered him on.
Rilo leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Well, that was fun," he said with an easy grin.
But before he could make his next move—
A shift in the casino's atmosphere changed everything.
---
Behind the grand casino hall, inside the steamy kitchen, the scent of sizzling oil and fresh bread filled the air. Chefs moved busily between large chopping vegetables and searing meats, their voices blending with the crackling of flames.
Yogan leaned against a wooden counter near the back, arms crossed as he watched Mariko pour herself a drink from a clay jug. She wore a different outfit now—a loose tunic over her usual red dress, her hair tied up into a neat bun, golden pins keeping it in place.
"You left early," Yogan said, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but there was an undertone of curiosity.
Mariko took a sip, then gave him a sidelong glance. "I had work," she said simply.
Yogan tilted his head. "No goodbye?"
Mariko smirked, setting her cup down. "Would you have preferred I woke you up? You looked too peaceful for that."
Yogan chuckled. "So considerate of you."
She leaned against the counter beside him, their shoulders barely brushing. "Besides, you seemed… satisfied when I left."
A slow grin spread across Yogan's lips. "I was."
Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Then what are you complaining about?"
Yogan exhaled, shaking his head. "I guess I just expected… I don't know. Something different."
Mariko studied him for a moment before smirking. "Did you think I'd be waiting by your bedside? Gently stroking your hair while whispering sweet nothings?"
Yogan laughed. "You? Sweet? Not a chance."
Mariko leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Good. I'd hate to disappoint you."
The heat between them was immediate, electric.
Yogan caught her gaze, searching for any hesitation. There was none.
So, he closed the gap.
The kiss was slow, lingering, filled with the same teasing confidence they had shared the night before. Mariko didn't pull away; instead, she deepened it, her fingers sliding up to tangle briefly in his hair before she finally stepped back, her breath slightly uneven.
Yogan licked his lips. "So. We are talking about it, then."
---
Back in the casino hall, Rilo was still collecting his winnings when the atmosphere shifted entirely.
The air became thicker, conversations lowered, and gamblers instinctively turned toward the entrance.
Then—
The doors swung open.
A massive man strode inside, his broad frame clad in a dark robe embroidered with intricate golden tigers. His shaved head reflected the warm lantern light, and his face bore deep scars, the marks of a man who had lived through countless battles.
Boss Shen.
Flanking him were six towering men, their muscles thick as tree trunks, their faces unreadable.
A collective murmur rippled through the casino.
"The big boss is here."
"Shen never shows up on casual nights."
"Who pissed him off this time?"
Rilo froze.
His body, which had been loose and relaxed moments ago, went stiff. The color drained from his face.
The alcohol he had drunk earlier? Sweated out instantly.
Shen strode through the room like a king entering his throne room. He didn't need to speak—the sheer gravity of his presence silenced those around him.
Then, his eyes locked onto Rilo.
A slow, deliberate smile spread across his scarred lips.
"Rilo," Shen said, his voice a deep rumble. "It's been a long time."
Rilo swallowed hard.
He forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "Boss Shen." He cleared his throat. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Shen chuckled, lowering himself into the seat across from Rilo. The chair creaked under his sheer weight.
"Neither did I," Shen said smoothly. "But imagine my surprise when I heard an old friend was back in town… winning big at my casino."
Rilo wiped his palms on his robe.
"He knows," his mind screamed.
Shen folded his hands on the table, his smile never reaching his eyes.
"Tell me, Rilo," Shen said. "How's life been treating you… since the last time we saw each other?"
The room watched in complete silence.
Rilo swallowed again, his throat dry as sand.
"…Complicated," he finally muttered.
Shen's smile widened.
"Good," he said, voice calm. "Then we have a lot to talk about."
The casino floor still buzzed with excitement from Rilo's victories, but now the energy had shifted—the true match was about to begin.
Boss Shen sat comfortably across from Rilo, his massive hands resting on the table. The weight of his presence made the entire space feel smaller, as if the air itself was thicker around him.
A new Shan Kui game had begun.
The dealer carefully shuffled the ivory tiles in the bronze bowl, drawing four per player before placing them in front of Rilo and Shen.
The game was set.
But this match wasn't just about gambling.
It was a battle of words, old grudges, and an animosity that ran deeper than the game itself.
Rilo flipped his tiles, barely glancing at them. His real focus was on Shen.
"Five years," Rilo muttered, tossing in his first bet—a modest three tokens. "You disappeared after everything went to shit."
Shen chuckled, taking his time placing his own bet. "I didn't disappear. I evolved." He tapped the wooden table. "And now? I own all of this."
Rilo's eyes flicked around the grand casino. "A place like this? Didn't think Daiyo would let someone like you run it."
Shen smirked. "You think they had a choice?" He casually placed four tokens, raising the stakes. "Daiyo respects power. And I took mine."
Rilo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Yeah, that sounds like you."
The dealer nodded. "Draw or swap?"
Shen slid his fingers over his tiles but didn't exchange any. He was playing aggressive.
Rilo swapped one tile, tossing a token forward. He needed a stronger hand.
Shen's smirk widened. "Still hedging your bets, Rilo?"
"Just making sure I don't leave Daiyo in debt," Rilo shot back.
Shen let out a deep laugh. "Smart. But let's be honest—you're not smart enough to leave yet."
Rilo's jaw tightened.
The second round of betting began.
Shen dropped five tokens, his massive hands moving with the certainty of a man who had never feared risk.
Rilo took his time, swirling the sake in his untouched cup before matching the bet. "So how'd you actually end up running this place?"
Shen smirked. "Simple. I took it."
Rilo snorted. "Bullshit. Daiyo doesn't just hand over its casinos."
Shen leaned forward slightly. "No, it doesn't. But the previous owner made the mistake of thinking he could win against me." He tapped his chest. "He lost. Now? I'm the house."
Rilo glanced at his own tiles. Two dragon-marked tiles. A single-dot. A five. Not perfect—but close.
"Still cheating your way through life?" Rilo muttered, drawing one last tile.
Shen grinned. "Only if I have to."
The tension thickened.
The final betting round had arrived.
Shen raised by ten tokens, his expression unchanging. "Let's see if you've grown since the last time we faced off."
Rilo hesitated.
The weight of Shen's words sank in. This wasn't just about the game—this was about their history.
Five years ago.
Their last fight.
A battle neither of them had forgotten.
Shen smirked. "What's wrong, Rilo? Scared to go all in?"
Rilo inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around his stack of tokens.
He had two choices.
Play it safe. Or risk it all.
His heart pounded in his chest.
Yogan—the prodigy—was too busy making out elsewhere. There was no one here to help.
Rilo exhaled. "Fuck it all."
With one smooth motion, he pushed all his remaining winnings forward.
The crowd gasped.
"He's going all in!"
Shen grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. "There's the Rilo I remember."
Then—he matched the bet.
The dealer clapped his hands. "Reveal your hands."
Shen flipped his tiles—a near-perfect sequence.
The crowd murmured. It was strong.
Then—Rilo slowly flipped his.
A Perfect Match.
The room went silent.
Then—
A single voice muttered.
"Oh… shit."
The realization sank in.
Rilo had won.
He had beaten Boss Shen.
But winning against Boss Shen was never a good thing.
Shen slowly stood from the table.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. But his eyes were unreadable.
Rilo, despite the rush of victory, felt… cold.
He had doubled all his winnings. He should have felt euphoric.
Instead? His stomach twisted.
Shen cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders before eyeing Rilo.
"You played well," Shen said smoothly. "You've earned your winnings."
Rilo exhaled. "So we're good then?"
Shen's smirk widened. "Oh no, Rilo." He gestured to his men. "You should come with us."
Rilo stiffened.
Shen tilted his head. "You won the game, right? Well, let me take you to the back and show you what we do to our winners."
A low murmur spread through the crowd.
"This isn't good."
"Is he actually going to go?"
Rilo licked his lips, his voice careful. "You sure about this?"
Shen stepped closer. "What's wrong? You afraid?"
Rilo smirked. "Not afraid of your earthbending."
Shen's face flickered, his eyes narrowing.
Rilo crossed his arms. "Or have you forgotten the last time we fought?"
For the first time all night, Shen tensed.
Then—
The ground beneath them trembled.
The very casino floor shuddered beneath Shen's feet, as if something deep in his memory had reacted violently.
Murmurs exploded across the room.
"They fought before?"
"Is that why Rilo disappeared?"
"Just what happened between them five years ago?"
Rilo inhaled deeply. "Things have changed since then, Shen."
Shen exhaled slowly, his smirk returning. "That, they have."
He gestured toward the staircase leading up.
"Come. Let's catch up properly."
Rilo grabbed his winnings, stuffing them into his pouch. His mind raced. This was dangerous. But refusing? Even worse.
He took a single step forward.
Just then—
Kenshiro and Haru pushed through the crowd, panic flashing in their eyes.
"Rilo—!" Kenshiro started.
Rilo lifted a hand. "Relax."
Haru narrowed his eyes. "You sure about this?"
Rilo gave them a lopsided grin. "I never make good decisions."
Kenshiro groaned. "Oh, fuck this."
Rilo paused, then lowered his voice. "Find Yogan. Tell him not to worry about me."
Haru stared at him for a long moment.
Then—he nodded. "I'll find him."
And as Rilo followed Boss Shen into the unknown, a single thought burned in his mind.
"What the fuck have I just gotten myself into?"
To be continued…
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]