The Gambling King

The bitter aroma of tobacco smoke clung to every corner of the room as Michael stepped into the bar. The clinking of glasses and the boisterous laughter seemed to be sucked dry by the frigid air he brought with him. The old man across the table, who had been laughing loudly just moments before, abruptly straightened his posture.

A waitress approached with a silver tray, attempting to pour whisky into Michael’s crystal glass. However, when her eyes accidentally met his—dark, void of expression—her hands began to tremble violently.

“F-forgive me, Sir ..,” she whispered, her voice catching. A few drops of whisky splashed onto the expensive wooden table. “Please, mercy … it was an accident.”

The bar’s guards, stationed in the corners, instinctively reached for the weapons at their waists. They were wary of Yohan’s son; Michael’s reputation preceded him as the man who once broke a dealer’s fingers simply for misdealing a single card.

“Master, should we handle this stupid woman?” a bodyguard asked.

“Forget it. I don’t have time to deal with such insects.”

Michael merely glanced at the spilled liquid, then returned his gaze to the old man before him without a word. He wasn't angry, but his silence was far more terrifying than any shout.

“Replace the server,” the old bar owner commanded in a gravelly voice, trying to mask his own nerves.

Michael curved his lips into a thin, sharp smile. He took the glass and sipped slowly, while the rest of the room finally dared to exhale the breath they had been holding.

A waiter then placed a stack of poker chips on the table.

“You must be getting senile, Old man. I came here because you claimed to have a potent cure for any scar. Not to play games,” Michael said, propping his feet up on the gambling table.

It had been a long time since he’d visited a nightlife haunt. His visit today was solely to meet an illegal medicine peddler who boasted of a miraculous oil. Michael, now fully recovered, had zero interest in the poker game being offered, but leaving empty-handed would make the trip a waste.

“Hehe, I know.” The man smirked. “But it’s no fun if I just hand it over.”

“So, you’ve decided to play games with me after all.”

“Patience, Boy. You’re the one who loses if you don’t get the medicine.”

Michael raised his index finger. His aide deftly opened a black briefcase filled with stacks of cash. Harmer, the old man, stroked the side of the bag before closing it. “You have plenty of money, but this item is rare. I’ll give it to you if you win the bet.”

“Think carefully. If I play, you won't walk away with a single cent.”

“You think I’m a beggar? My money isn’t your business.”

“Hmph. Fine.”

The old man laughed boisterously, clearly enjoying the confidence of the man dubbed the Gambling King. He pulled a scantily clad woman onto his lap and shouted, “Let’s begin!”

The Texas Hold’em game commenced. The dealer shuffled and dealt the cards after the blinds were set. Each player received two hole cards. The old man smiled, feeling it was a promising start. He pushed several chips into the center, followed by Michael.

“You’re going to lose tonight, Boy,” he mocked, kissing the girl on his lap.

With a deadpan expression, Michael lifted the black briefcase and hurled it into the center of the table. All in. He was wagering the actual cash, not just poker chips. Even though the dealer had only flipped three cards, he didn't entertain the thought of losing for a second.

“Cih, such an arrogant fox.” The old man pulled out a small vial stoppered with cloth. He wagered the bottle along with all his remaining chips.

“Your bet is still short,” Luna’s lover remarked. “What I just threw down is enough to buy this entire place and every girl in it.”

“Damn you. Calculate the difference; I’ll cover it. Continue!”

“Stubborn old fool. One foot in the grave and still pig-headed,” Michael muttered with a low chuckle.

The dealer proceeded to the turn. Four cards were now face-up. Both players grew wary. Finally, the dealer called the river, completing the five community cards. A flush—all diamonds. The 10, Jack, Queen, and King.

“Ha! I won!” the bearded man yelled enthusiastically, revealing his hand: 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9.

All hearts. A straight flush. He was certain this lethal combination would crush his opponent.

“Only fools rush in,” Michael countered. He flipped his cards over with a sharp thud on the table. The Ace of Diamonds. The dealer immediately declared Michael the winner.

“You’re older than my father. You really shouldn't have embarrassed yourself by losing to me.”

“I want to go again.”

“If you just want to play, find someone else to keep you company.”

Michael took the vial from the table and tucked it into his jacket pocket, while his aide reclaimed the briefcase.

“I have a better wager,” Harmer said proudly.

“Is there a more potent medicine?” Michael asked, sitting back down with forced patience.

“It’s a different kind of 'medicine,' but perfect for a young man like you.” The man whistled, and a girl in a black bunny costume emerged from behind a curtain.

She danced gracefully for fifteen seconds, flaunting her curves in the tight outfit, before slowly removing her mask. She was a Russian beauty with sky-blue eyes and natural blonde hair. Her skin was as pale and smooth as polished jade. Her beauty left Michael’s guards momentarily dazed.

“Well? Beautiful, isn't she? A rare treasure. She can warm your bed. If you win; she’s yours.”

Michael burst into a fit of laughter so hard that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “What for? I already have plenty of servants cleaning my house every day. I don’t have room for a new one.”

“Come now, boy. Don't be shy. Look at your bodyguards—they’re already riled up. There’s no way you aren't aroused.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Old man.” Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. His aide sparked a lighter for him. “I have a world-class woman at home. Someone like this isn't even fit to wipe my feet.”

“You mean that whore you stole two years ago? The one from the nightclub you burned to the ground?”

Michael’s eyes snapped wide. He had intentionally erased that place and everyone in it, precisely so no one could ever look down on Luna again. “So, you were the rat who scurried away after the fire started?”

“Haha, you finally remember.”

“You’ve miscalculated, old man. Did you really think I’d just let you go?”

The Blue Blood’s heir stood and walked over. He grabbed the woman sitting on Harmer’s lap and shoved her to the floor. Then, he leaned in and whispered to the man, “Burning down another nightclub is easy. Did you really think you’d leave here in one piece after insulting my woman so brazenly?”

“Oh? And what are you going to do?” challenged the man wearing the gold choker. With a single signal, several hulking men appeared. “Boys, do we need to teach Young Master Michael some manners?”

Harmer looked triumphant as his men surrounded Yohan’s son. It turned out he was a relative of the nightclub owner who had perished in the flames the night Michael stole Luna away.