2025-01-14 13:28:40Seated on his throne, Peter Donovan stared down at the kingdom he had built, reflecting on the long and painful road that had brought him here. The rise of a gambler who had once sworn never to take a risk.
This is the tale of how he became the Gambit King. The day started like any other. “RISK NOTHING, GAIN NOTHING.” Peter pulled his scooter to a halt in front of a massive gambling billboard, the slogan glowing brightly. He stared at it, trying to make sense of the words, but the more he thought about them, the more repulsive they seemed. “Risk nothing, gain nothing?” he muttered under his breath. “No… it should be risk nothing, lose nothing. Risk anything, and lose everything.” His name was Peter Donovan, a seventeen-year-old pizza delivery boy in Monte Carlo, Monaco. In a city where gambling was the beating heart of the economy, Peter was an anomaly—a teenager who refused to bet his luck. For him, life was simple: a steady job, a beautiful girlfriend, and a loving mother. What more could he possibly need? “Why risk anything, only to lose everything?” he often told himself. He sighed and continued his delivery, navigating the bustling streets until he reached his destination: The Chariot Hotel, Room 410. Peter stood at the foot of the towering hotel, staring up at the endless rows of windows. “Damn… I hope they have an elevator.” Unfortunately, the elevator was broken. He climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last. By the time he reached the fourth floor, his legs felt like lead. He stopped in front of the door, catching his breath and fixing his uniform. He had to look presentable if he wanted a tip. When he was ready, he rang the doorbell. “Pizza delivery,” he announced, forcing some enthusiasm into his voice. “Coming!” a female voice called from behind the door. Peter froze. That voice… it was strangely familiar. An uneasy chill ran down his spine. The door swung open. Naomi. His girlfriend stood in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a towel. Her dark hair was damp, clinging to her shoulders, and her lips curled into an amused smile. “Peter?” Her voice carried a mix of surprise and amusement. “Naomi?” His stomach clenched. “What... what are you doing here?” his mind racing to make sense of the situation. Naomi’s smile widened slightly. “Damn. I really didn’t want you to find out this way.” She stepped aside, revealing a shirtless man lounging on the bed. He was sipping a drink, his gaze locked onto Peter with a smug expression. Peter’s world tilted. “Naomi… what do you mean? What’s going on here?” His voice trembled with disbelief. The man set his drink down and stood, stretching lazily. “Ah, so you’re the boyfriend she’s been cheating on. How convenient.” He wrapped an arm around Naomi’s waist, pulling her close. Naomi didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into the man’s embrace, her eyes meeting Peter’s with an unapologetic smirk. “I’m sorry, Peter,” she said, voice dripping with insincerity. “But I’ve moved on. I’ve found someone who can give me what I want.” The man chuckled. “And what you want is clearly not a pizza delivery boy.” He sneered at Peter’s uniform. Something inside Peter snapped. “You’re just going to stand there and tell me you’re cheating on me? After everything we’ve been through?” His voice cracked as he fought back the burning sting of angry tears. Naomi shrugged, her face indifferent. “I never promised you anything, Peter. You were just… a convenient distraction until something better came along.” Her eyes glowed with cruel amusement and malice “And something better has come along.” The man grabbed the pizza box from Peter’s hands and tossed a wad of cash in his face. “Take this and leave. We don’t need your services anymore.” He smirked before turning to Naomi. “Unless you have something else to tell him, my love?” Naomi let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “I think I’ve made myself clear. It’s over, Peter.” Peter’s heart felt like it had been ripped apart. Without another word, Peter turned and walked away, his mind numb, his chest hollow. Behind him, he could hear the man’s laughter echoing down the hallway. He could feel Naomi’s gaze burning into his back, mocking him. But he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The air outside was heavy, the clouds gathering like a brewing storm. Peter sank onto the curb in front of the hotel, staring blankly at the pavement, the neon lights flickering above him. The rain started to fall, cool drops sliding down his face--- but he wasn’t sure if they were rain or unshed tears. His hands clenched the fabric of his jeans, knuckles white. His chest ached like it was caving in, crushed beneath the weight of Naomi’s betrayal. He loved her with every fiber of his being. Sure, she was always high-maintenance, but he made sure to worked extra shifts just to keep up with her lifestyle. She was his everything. And she had thrown him away like he meant nothing. Peter sat there for a long time, unmoving, as the rain began to fall—hiding his tears. Then, his phone vibrated. A message from the only other woman in his life. (Peter, where are you? It’s about to rain.) His mother. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his face, rose to his feet, and rode home. …. When Peter arrived, the trailer park was eerily quiet. Their small, rundown home was dimly lit, the flickering bulb casting shadows along the peeling wallpaper. “Hey, Mom. I’m home,” he called. His mother rushed toward him, wrapping her frail arms around him. “Peter, you’re back. I was starting to get worried.” She coughed into her handkerchief. Peter’s stomach clenched. Her illness was getting worse. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was just…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. But she noticed. She always noticed. “Peter, what’s wrong?” she asked gently. “Naomi broke up with me.” His mother fell silent for a moment, then pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I know how much you loved her.” “Yeah, Mom. I really did.” “Come, sit down. Let me make you some hot cocoa. That ought to cheer you up.” She turned, coughing harder this time, blood speckling the handkerchief. Peter’s heart pounded. “No, Mom, you need to rest. Please, just take your medicine.” “Nonsense.” She waved him off, heading to the kitchen. “And after this, I’m calling that little miss to let her know no one breaks my Peter’s heart and gets away with it.” Peter chuckled weakly. “Oh no, you will do no such thing.” “Why not?” she called from the kitchen. “Because that would be mean… and embarrassing.” “For who?” “Both of you.” His mother laughed. “You’re just like your father. Always thinking about everyone else. He’d be proud of the man you’re becoming.” Peter’s smile faded. He turned to look at the family portrait on the wall—him, his mother, and his father. The more he looked into it, the more memories of a time it was three of them, and they were happy. And one of his favorite memory played back in his head. It was of six years ago. Peter sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a deck of cards spread before him. Across from him, his father chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, I guess you win this time, Pete.” Rather than be esctatic about the win, Peter frowned in confusion. “Mom,” Peter called as she walked into the room carrying a tray of food. “Dad’s one of the best gamblers ever, right?” “Yes, Peter,” his mother replied. “One of the best in the entire world,” his father added proudly. Peter tilted his head. “Then why do I sometimes beat him?” His mother hesitated. She looked to his father, who simply smiled and leaned forward. “Never always win, or they will stop you from playing.” Peter blinked. “What? What does that mean?” His father’s gaze turned serious. “In gambling—and in life—it’s not just about winning. Sometimes, you need to know when to win and when to lose. That way, you control your losses.” Peter frowned. “I don’t get it.” His father chuckled. “You will… in time.” Six months later, his father was dead. And every night for a long time Peter kept asking himself: Did they take him because he never stopped winning? or was it because he lost too much that they took him. But none of that mattered now, his father was gone and that was all there is to it. Now it was him and his mother. Then, suddenly, Peter noticed that the only thing he could hear was the kettle, screaming at boiling point. “Mom?” he called out No response. His stomach dropped. “Mom?” Louder this time. Still nothing. He rushed into the kitchen—and froze. His mother lay on the floor. Unconscious. “MOM!” Peter shouted, his voice cracking as he dropped to his knees. Thunder roared. Peter fumbled for his phone, his fingers trembled as he dialled emergency services. “911, what’s your emergency?” “My mom! You have to save my mom!”
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The Gambling System Chapter 4: Black
Her smirk widened into a grin. “All of it? Big move, kid.”She frowned slightly as she appraised and checked through each chip to make sure they were valid and legit, before stacking the 25 chips, each worth a thousand euros. For a moment, she hesitated, then said quietly, “Good luck. You’ll need it.”She slid the chips across the counter. Peter stared at them like they were grenades waiting to go off. His hands shook as he picked them up.As he turned to face the tables, the weight of what he was about to do hit him. This wasn’t just about money. It was about his mother’s life.And now, there was no turning back.Peter stepped onto the gambling floor, gripping his chips like they might vanish if he let go. The noise hit him like a wave—laughter, shouting, the clinking of glasses and chips, the mechanical whir of slot machines. It felt overwhelming.And the stares—he could feel them. They weren’t just glancing this time. People were whispering, pointing.“Is that what I think i
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Chapter 70: The Final Quarter Begins – A Battle Against Time
The buzzer screamed, echoing through the packed Pacific Coliseum like a war horn calling soldiers to their last stand. The start of the fourth quarter.And for the briefest of moments, Peter exhaled.One more quarter.That was all.Twelve more minutes.Just a short, final stretch of play stood between him and the end of this torment, the unrelenting, skull-crushing agony that had latched onto him like a parasite, sinking its claws deeper with every second. His body was rebelling against him, his nerves burning, his vision a mess of shifting colors and dark, creeping edges.But none of it mattered.Because when this game ended, it would not truly be over.He would be here again. With knowledge. With power.And this time, he wouldn’t just be a spectator.He would control everything.The Pacific Coliseum was no longer just a venue—it was a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of thousands. The energy in the air was suffocating, thick with tension, anticipation,
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Halftime had come and gone, but the tension inside Pacific Coliseum had only intensified. The air was thick, electric with anticipation, as fans murmured and shifted in their seats, waiting for the next act of this high-stakes drama to unfold.On the scoreboard, the numbers stood frozen like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled:Golden Blades 48 – Nightwings 48.A deadlock.But not for long.The Halftime Adjustments – A War of StrategiesBoth teams had spent the break not just recovering, but recalibrating. In the Golden Blades’ locker room, their coach had hammered in a singular message: Speed. Attack. Pressure. They would push the pace even harder, forcing the Nightwings into mistakes, into exhaustion.The Nightwings had responded with resolve. They weren’t going to let the Golden Blades dictate the game. Their plan? Tighten the defense, control the boards, and let Malcolm Raines take over.As the players emerged back onto the court, the difference in energy was visible.Chris Hollowa
Chapter 69: Second Quarter: The Pulse of the Game
The energy inside Pacific Coliseum was an uncontrollable wildfire, burning hotter with each passing moment. The first quarter had been a whirlwind—momentum shifts, highlight plays, defensive clashes that left the crowd gasping. The Los Angeles Nightwings and the San Francisco Golden Blades were locked in a battle of wills, neither team willing to surrender an inch.As the buzzer signaled the start of the second quarter, the scoreboard glowed like an omen:Golden Blades 28 – Nightwings 26.The lead was fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, ready to snap.Peter barely registered the score.He wasn’t here to celebrate a win or mourn a loss. He was here to learn. To absorb. To engrave every shift in the game into the marrow of his memory.Because when this was over—when he activated Second Chance—he wouldn’t be betting on probabilities.He would be betting on certainty.The Pain Creeps InA dull, persistent pressure pounded behind his eyes, growing heavier with every flicker of move
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Chapter 65: Round 5
Pain.It was becoming a constant. A companion he never invited but could no longer shake.Peter’s head pulsed with it, a dull throb behind his temples that refused to ease, no matter how much he tried to steady his breathing. The world around him felt strangely off—too bright, too loud, too fast.Peter’s head was pounding.The ache had settled behind his eyes, a dull, unrelenting pressure that refused to fade. Every breath felt heavier, his body sluggish, his thoughts running in loops. The encounter in the restroom still clung to him, but he shoved it aside. He had to focus.The moment he and Logan stepped back into the Viewing Center, the grand display walls flickered to life. Screens stretched across the room, wrapping them in a high-definition arena of color and movement. The very air hummed with the weight of high-stakes betting.Peter barely registered it.His fingers twitched at his sides. His breathing was slow but uneven. The pain wasn’t fading—it was building. Growing sh
Chapter 64: The Restroom
Peter’s vision swam as he gripped the sink tighter, his knuckles turning white against the porcelain. The pain wasn’t fading—it was evolving. What had begun as a dull, relentless pounding was now a knife twisting behind his eyes, burrowing deeper into his skull like a parasite feeding on his thoughts. His breaths came slow and heavy, each inhale laced with nausea, each exhale trembling with the effort of control. He wasn’t sure if this was just the aftermath of Second Chance or something deeper. Something breaking inside him. It felt like his mind was splitting apart. Like his reality was fracturing. Two pasts. Two futures. Two versions of himself fighting for dominance. His body still remembered the crushing weight of defeat. But his mind clung to victory—the flawless counterplay, the rewinding of time itself, the win that shouldn’t have been possible. Both realities bled together. Neither willing to be forgotten. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the spiraling tho
Chapter 63: The bar
The bar Logan chose was nothing like the one before. This wasn’t just luxury—it was an exhibition of wealth so obscene it bordered on arrogance. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen lightning, casting fractured light across the obsidian marble floors. The air carried the scent of aged whiskey and untouchable status.Logan led the way, his movements slow, calculated, every step a statement.Peter followed, masking the pain clawing through his body with every step. The Second Chance ability had taken its toll, an invisible knife slicing through his nerves with each passing second. But he couldn’t show it. Not to Logan. Not now.They reached the private lounge, a secluded alcove bathed in dim gold lighting, where silence held more weight than words. Logan gestured toward the pristine leather seats, his expression unreadable.Peter sat, forcing himself to exhale slowly.The pain was getting worse.It felt like his bones were vibrating with a frequency not meant for the human body, l
Chapter 62: Scripted?
As the final wicket fell, as Australia erupted in celebration and England trudged off in defeat, Peter leaned back in his chair. He exhaled, slow and measured.Logan leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed, his smirk just shy of arrogance. The dim light of the viewing center caught the sharp angles of his face, the smooth glint of his whiskey glass as he tilted it slightly in his fingers. The ice clinked.“Are you kidding me?” Logan mused, shaking his head. “What a waste.”Peter didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly, as if savoring something unseen. The weight of the race still hummed in his bones, the echoes of the crowd, the pounding of hooves, the adrenaline-fueled final stretch—it was all still there, just beneath the surface.But Logan?Logan had no idea.Peter rolled his shoulders, stretching his fingers against the polished wood of the table. His body still felt heavy, like he’d been run over, his nerves raw from the strain of what had just happened—w
Chapter 61: The Gentleman’s Game
The fourth round began.Victory still clung to Peter like a second skin, its warmth settling deep into his bones, its thrill a heady rush of adrenaline coursing through his every thought. He had won. Finally. A foothold in this war. A breath of control in the chaos.The score stood at 2-1—Logan still in the lead. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.Because Peter had something far more valuable than a single win.A second chance. A guarantee.Second Chance had turned the tide in his favor, letting him rewrite his mistakes, glimpse beyond the present, bend fate to his will. But the side effects…A wailing storm inside his skull.A relentless pull, like a rubber band stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.A constant gnawing at the edges of his mind, whispering of consequences yet to come.Peter gritted his teeth and shoved it all aside. Pain was irrelevant. Doubt was irrelevant. Only the game mattered.The wheel spun.Click-click-click.The symbols blurred—football, b
