Lilianna spread her arms in a helpless shrug. "What would you like to do? The cards are the cards."
"Change her," Ciel said imdiately. "Soone else deal. Anyone. The robot. I’ll take the robot."
Lilianna tilted her head pitifully, but there was amusent playing at the corner of her mouth. "We’re only three gas in."
"Three gas in and all losses," Sarah muttered, arms crossed.
Lilianna pressed a hand to her chest, acting distressed. "I’m hurt."
"You’re clearly the suspicious one. Why are you looking pitifully for?" Ciel grumbled.
"Are we still going to play?" Neville asked, cutting off the conversation.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Neville showed a small smile. After all, he didn’t want the ga to end without any splash.
Frankly, Lilianna’s cheating technique was impressive. The problem was that she wasn’t being subtle about who she wanted to lose.
He did plan to lose—throw a few hands, keep the evening light and fun. But Lilianna was winning every single round, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it.
Another two gas of this, and even Bryan would start asking questions.
Ciel, who could never resist a challenge, slamd his palm on the table.
"Play! What can I do but play!"
He sat down harder in his chair.
Sarah uncrossed her arms, muttering. "I swear. If I lose again."
The fourth ga began.
Ciel had finally lowered his bet to 10,000—not out of sudden enlightennt, but out of the primal survival instinct when he noticed the nacing stare of the one sponsoring him.
Thiago hadn’t said a single word, but his silence had grown increasingly eloquent.
Ciel was not so far gone that he couldn’t read the subtext of that gaze: one more reckless bet and I’m cutting you off and making you drink plain water for the rest of your life.
The cards were distributed.
Lilianna dealt the cards like before, but this ti, the table breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Ciel won. Sarah won. Julius won.
Bryan, already comfortably ahead, won again. He believed that it was because the universe favors the newbies and wasn’t shy about it.
However, Neville busted.
His two cards were an eight and a four.
Twelve.
A reasonable hand, a hand that called for a hit. Even if he already knew the next card, he still had to hit.
So, he did.
Sure enough, Lilianna dealt a card to him, a Jack. She might be frowning in front of him, but her eyes glinted in mirth at his misery.
Twenty-two.
A Bust.
Lilianna busted too—her queen had revealed a hidden six, and the eight she drew pushed her to twenty-four.
But the bust was planned, a calculated sacrifice to prevent anyone from being suspicious of her.
With everyone else’s chips replenished, it was enough to keep them playing, and Neville’s stack diminished by another stack.
As Neville pushed his lost chips toward the center, Lilianna’s smile widened a little with a slight crinkling around the eyes.
’Now,’ the voice suggested, ’do it again. Harder this ti.’
Lilianna’s smile stayed fixed, thinking, yeah, it was ti.
Neville saw a change in her smile. He already knew that she was up to no good in the next ga.
Thiago, who had been watching on the side, began to worry about Neville’s losing streak.
He turned to look at Grayson: Are you seeing this? Are you not going to do sothing about it?
Grayson saw it, too.
But then he also saw Neville’s expression.
It had changed.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Grayson, arms crossed, said nothing.
Interesting.
Across the table, Neville sat with his chin resting lightly on the heel of his palm. His nerd glasses reflected the ambient lighting, making his thoughts impossible to read.
But it was perfect because he was deep in his thoughts.
He replayed the sequence of the deck in his head.
The shuffling, tracking each manipulation, and then running the simulation forward.
The order in which the cards would leave the shoe.
Which card was which.
When he foresaw how round five would be, he almost smirked unconsciously. But he managed to press his lips together and adjusted his glasses instead.
"Alright," Lilianna announced, straightening a fresh stack of chips with a tap of her nail. "Place your bets."
The table moved.
Ciel slid a neat column of chips forward—his standard bet, 10,000.
Julius placed his bet without a word, placing the stack of chips.
Bryan pushed his own column forward with two fingers, casual, almost bored.
Sarah slapped her chips down as if that gesture would bring her more luck.
Then, there was Neville—
Neville placed 20,000 in the main betting circle. Then, he set 10,000 on the player pair side bet and another 10,000 on the 21 3.
The table went quiet for exactly one and a half seconds.
Until Ciel broke the silence.
"What are you doing?"
He leaned forward, both palms flat on the felt. His voice was pitched slightly higher than normal in distress.
"Why would you split your bet like that? The pair payout is 11:1, but the odds are—the probability is—surely, you already know that. And the 21 3 isn’t even a standard ratio! You’re bleeding chips for no reason!"
Thiago turned slowly toward Grayson since he also agreed with Ciel.
His thoughts clearly said: Is your boyfriend out of his mind?
Grayson just smiled. He took a glass of aged Xylosian whiskey and took a sip.
Thiago stared at Grayson, waiting.
But Grayson offered him nothing.
Thiago, done with everyone’s nonsense, turned on his heel and walked toward the bar without a word. His silence and actions were louder than anything he could’ve said.
Ciel watched him go, then swiveled back to Grayson. He had a look in his eyes that could only be described as feeling betrayed.
"Is nobody going to say anything about this?" Ciel asked loudly.
Thiago returned, carrying a tray. It had a glass filled with green liquid.
Next to the glass was a small plate of what appeared to be flat, triangular slices of sothing purple and crisp.
It vaguely resembled that of a pizza if pizza had been reimagined by an alien botanist.
He set the tray on the side table, picked up a slice, and held it in front of Ciel’s face.
Ciel blinked at it.
"Eat," Thiago said.
"I’m asking—"
"Just eat."
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