Ra’s LanceThe basement restaurant
And so the second night of the casino party rolled around.
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“Mgh, Niiiice… Do we really have to go? We do, don’t we…?”
“Jacuzzi… Saying that at the hideout or the building’s entrance would be one thing, but saying it in here is weird.”
Jacuzzi was standing in the door of the casino hall, his eyes filling with tears.
Their group would have drawn too much attention if they all showed up at once, so Nick and the others were entering the building in twos and threes.
A big guy like Donny would be spotted right away. However, since everyone was wearing similar tuxedos and evening gowns, it wasn’t possible to tell who else belonged to their group without taking a close look at their faces.
After the previous day, Jacuzzi had nearly collapsed from nervous strain, and he’d slept until evening. Nice tried to encourage him. “You were lucky you slept so late today. I hear there was a bear in Central Park at noon, and even the police were in an uproar.”
“A-a bear?!”
“If you’d gotten up early and gone for a walk, you might have gotten caught up in all that. So you see? Luck is on your side. Keep that up and win at the casino, too.”
Nice usually spoke a bit more casually around Jacuzzi, but she was currently wearing an evening gown and feeling rather like a rich young lady.
Jacuzzi thought, Nice sure is pretty, but he didn’t have the courage to tell her. He kept slipping further into pessimism. “That bear… Do you think they caught it? Or did they kill it…? What if they shot it dead, and now it hates humans and wants to come back to haunt us? I don’t know how to fight a ghost bear if it attacks us…”
It sounded like a joke, but Jacuzzi was getting jumpy, as if he genuinely thought there might be a spectral beast around.
Gazing at him fondly, Nice took his hand and began to lead him around the room. “Come on. Today is going to be mostly about watching and waiting again, but let’s play the part of high rollers as best we can, shall we?”
“Agh, agh-agh, wait, Niiice!”
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Behind the pair, a scowling shadow was watching them. “A-ain’t that…? They told me they didn’t have any dough, so what’re they doing here?! Were they here yesterday, too?!”
Fearful of the Gandors, Dallas Genoard had snuck in, disguising himself with a false beard.
“Dammit… What are they trying to pull? If they’re making enough rhino to play at a place like this, then as their landlord, I’ll have to go collect…”
He wanted to grill them right this minute, but if he got careless and drew too much attention, the Gandors might spot him. Keeping his irritation to himself, Dallas decided to slowly circle the casino and case it for a table he’d definitely be able to win at.
Granted, there was no such thing as a table anyone could definitely win at…
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Melvi Dormentaire was in a bad mood.
His pride was everything to him, and Claire Stanfield’s declaration that he was Firo’s inferior had become a thorn that kept needling him with unbearable humiliation.
He liked to flatter himself that he was a chosen one.
His pride was supported by the Dormentaires, and it had given him confidence. It hadn’t been long before it had sublimated Melvi into an “exceptional being,” as advertised.
As a matter of fact, excluding a handful of individuals, Melvi considered the people around him to be mere pawns, there to be used.
He thought of “abnormal” people such as other immortals and Claire as exceptions, but even then, he assumed he’d be the one to control them in the end.
Both Huey’s hand on his head and the warning from Claire had been utterly humiliating, and the first thing had actually frightened him.
However, even after admitting that, he still believed he could ultimately surpass them.
Szilard Quates had been a genius who’d once tried to acquire the whole world for himself.
By rights, his knowledge should have gone to Melvi.
Even Melvi understood that what he lacked most was experience.
That was why he wanted the “experience” Szilard Quates had accumulated more than anything.
Szilard had wanted youth, while Melvi wanted experience. If one could have fused their two spirits, Sham-like, everything would have been perfect.
Yet Szilard no longer existed.
All that remained of him was his vast knowledge, and that was inside the skull of a two-bit thug named Firo.
Feeling an intense urge to kill Firo, who was somewhere in this same casino, Melvi maintained his sociable facade and kept an eye on his “marks.”
Just one more day of kissing up to this trash.
What part of this is a gamble? What part of it is testing your luck? People like you lost the bet the moment you were born.
Possibly it was because his body had been based on the Avaro family head, but he’d always had a tendency to look down on others. Right now, though, Melvi was trying to rid himself of his fear of Firo and the humiliation Claire had dealt him by doubling down on this conviction.
They all look the same.
Melvi shrugged internally, keeping an “agreeable young dealer” expression plastered across his face. He was running a perfectly ordinary poker table.
There was nothing ordinary about Melvi’s skills, though.
Put briefly, he was cheating.
He cut the cards in a way that seemed natural, but in fact, he was cleverly controlling where they went. He’d made his table look like an easy place to win at first glance, and then he had been relieving customers who could place large bets of all their money.
The oblivious gamblers kept coming. As he watched their shifting emotions, Melvi felt a sadistic sense of superiority. It was hilarious, the way they talked about good luck and moaned about bad luck, never knowing it was all by design.
Behind his breezy smile, Melvi wore a smirk. He basked in the feelings of someone who was playing God—but then the current changed.