Without wasting another moment, Peter slipped out of the auditorium and made his way to Room E52. His footsteps echoed in the quiet hallways, his heart pounding harder with every step. The faint hum of slot machines and the occasional clinking of chips drifted faintly from somewhere in the building, but it was all background noise compared to the storm raging in his mind.Stay calm. Focus. One round at a time.He reached the room and pushed open the door. At the center was a sleek blackjack table, its felt surface glowing under the overhead lights. Two chairs sat on either side of the table, and behind it stood a dealer in a crisp uniform. She radiated an air of professionalism, her expression unreadable.One of the chairs was already occupied.The man sitting there wore a loud Hawaiian shirt splashed with neon flowers, clashing spectacularly with the solemn atmosphere of the room. He lounged casually, his grin wide and carefree as if he were on vacation.“Hey, pal!” the man call

[SYSTEM REPORT: QUEST COMPLETED] REWARD: 5 EXP acquired. New skill unlocked. SKILL UNLOCKED: Tactical Vision (Level 1) Explanation: Spots the best possible move within a few seconds. --- Peter stared at the notification on his smartwatch, his mind racing. Tactical Vision? What kind of skill was that? The name sounded useful, but in gambling? Would it really help? He had no time to figure it out. The moment he stepped out of Room E52, searching for his next match, a loud voice called out. "I’ll be damned—you actually made it!" Peter turned toward the sound, spotting Ace walking toward him with a smirk stretched across his face. "Oh hey, Ace. How’d your game go?" Peter asked, shaking off his lingering tension. "A joke. My opponent was some unlucky chump with no skill. It was over in minutes. But you? You went up against Zack Lynne and won. Never saw that coming." Peter frowned. Zack Lynne? "Wait—you know him?" Ace scoffed. "The infamous card counter? Of course, I do. That

[SYSTEM REPORT: GAMBLE LOST] PENALITY: -3exp deducted EXP LEFT: 9xp Peter couldn't help but feel like the system was mocking him. But then again, his loss wasn’t entirely a waste—or at least that’s what he told himself. He had studied Jonathan’s movements, absorbed his playstyle, and seen, even in crushing defeat, the patterns hidden beneath the surface. All he had to do now was win the second round and then the third. "How hard can it be?" he muttered under his breath, as if he had already forgotten the sheer brutality of the previous match, as if he had amnesia and had somehow erased the memory of being completely annihilated. But sinking into despair wouldn’t help either. They had a short recess of three minutes, but neither of them moved from their seats. There was no tension release, no moment of casual relaxation. Their eyes remained locked onto the chessboard, dissecting, creating, and recreating probabilities, running through moves in their heads like a silen

A second chance? What the hell did that even mean? A redo? A way to erase mistakes?Peter hadn’t given it much thought earlier, but now, now he was just plain confused. How could he have a second chance? Wouldn’t that be breaking the very laws of reality?His mind raced, trying to process the impossible, but before he could make sense of it, he noticed something—a countdown.7.A cold chill ran down his spine.6.Was it even possible to replay a game he had already lost?5.Would it actually work?4.Would the system somehow force the arbiter to reset the match? Rewrite the past? That was ridiculous.3.And if this was real, wouldn't it be cheating on a cosmic level?2.But what was he going to do? Pass on the chance to save his mother just because he was afraid of bending the rules?1.Fuck it.(Activate: Second Chance.)The moment Peter activated Second Chance, time collapsed inward.The world lurched backward, not smoothly, but in a violent, gut-wrenching spin. T

Peter’s head pounded with a relentless ache, a dull, throbbing weight pressing against his skull. His body still hadn’t recovered from the match—his fingers twitched involuntarily, sore from gripping the chess pieces so tightly. His legs felt heavy, as though they carried the burden of two different realities.Stumbling slightly, he made his way toward the lavatory, muttering a weak excuse as he left the room.The restroom was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the overhead lights. Peter barely glanced at his reflection as he turned on the sink, cupping his hands beneath the icy stream and splashing the cold water onto his face.Once.Twice.Three times.The sting of the cold barely registered against his skin.But the pain in his head? That was something else entirely.His reflection in the mirror wavered as his vision blurred for a moment. His chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, but no matter how much water he threw on his face, it wouldn’t wash away the storm raging in