2025-01-15 16:57:39For a moment, Peter couldn’t even process what had just happened. The world around him erupted in cheers, gasps, and groans, but the sounds felt distant, muffled like he was underwater. The reality slowly sank in:
He had made It. His number—his number—had gone green. Peter slumped back into his chair, his breath escaping him in a rush he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him lightheaded and shaky. His entire body felt like it had been strung tight, and now the tension was releasing all at once. ….. [SYSTEM REPORT: QUEST COMPLETED] REWARD: 5exp acquired, new skill unlocked. SKILL UNLOCKED: Pattern Recognition Detector level 1 Explanation: Spot patterns or predict trends in an opponent’s gameplay ….. “Congratulations to the lucky 200,” the host’s voice boomed, pulling Peter back to reality. “You’ve made it past the first round! For the rest of you…” He gestured toward the exit, a sly grin on his face. “…better luck next time.” Peter barely registered the host’s words. As the defeated shuffled out, many with tears in their eyes and shoulders slumped in defeat, he glanced around the room. The air was heavy with mixed emotions—triumph from some, despair from others. Peter couldn’t help but notice the crushed looks on some faces, as if their lifelong dreams had been shattered by something as fickle as luck. A light grin spread across his face, surprising even himself. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had been given a chance—a spark ignited in his chest. But that spark dimmed almost instantly when his gaze landed on someone in the room. It was a face he wished he’d never see again. Sitting confidently among the other successful applicants, his posture relaxed, with a wide grin on his face, was the guy who had stolen Peter’s girlfriend. Peter’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white as his eyes burned with malice. What the hell is he doing here? “Viktor Salvatore,” a voice said behind him. Peter spun around in surprise. Standing there was a boy with spiky white hair, his pale locks catching the light. He exuded an aura of carefree confidence, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as if luck itself had blessed him. “Excuse me?” Peter said cautiously. “The guy you’re trying to murder with your eyes,” the boy said, nodding toward Viktor. “That’s Viktor Salvatore. Most people call him the Beast Gambit.” Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?” The boy grinned, shaking his head. “Not personally, but who hasn’t heard of him? He’s practically famous. I just hope I get lucky enough to face him first.” “Too bad the odds of that are ridiculously low,” a feminine voice chimed in, approaching them from the side. Peter turned to see a young woman with dark hair tied neatly back, sharp glasses, and a curvaceous figure that drew attention even beneath her modest clothing. Her eyes sparkled with intellect, and her entire presence screamed precision and calculation. The boy groaned, running a hand through his spiky hair. “Here she goes again.” The girl adjusted her glasses, her tone matter-of-fact. “The odds of you being the first to gamble against the Beast Gambit are approximately 0.093% based on the number of participants, random pairings, and gambling zones. Hardly favorable.” Peter blinked, taken aback. Did she just calculate that in her head? The boy sighed dramatically. “Sorry about her. She’s like a walking calculator.” “And he’s like a walking brain-dead slot machine,” the girl retorted, giving her brother a look. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle at their bickering. “Sorry, who are you guys?” “I’m Ace,” the boy said, extending a hand with an easy grin. “And this is my twin sister, Chloe. Trust me—it wasn’t by choice.” “Right back at you,” Chloe muttered, adjusting her glasses. Peter shook Ace’s hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Peter.” “Nice to meet you too, Peter,” Ace said. “I see you went green.” “Yeah, I got lucky,” Peter said with a sheepish shrug. “Didn’t we all?” Ace said, chuckling. “Well, except Chloe. She nerded her way through.” Peter wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious. The murmurs in the room quieted again as the host returned to the stage. “Once again, congratulations to the 200 of you who made it through the first round,” he said, his voice cutting through the crowd. “Luck is no small feat, but it won’t carry you much further. The second round begins now.” The room buzzed with anticipation. “The next round will be a two-player card game. The game and your opponents have been randomly assigned, and this information has already been sent to your smart watches along with your designated gambling rooms. Good luck.” Peter’s wrist buzzed, and he looked down at his watch. ROOM: E52. GAME: BLACKJACK. OPPONENT: ZACK LYNNE. Peter furrowed his brow. Blackjack. So far, so good. But who the hell was Zack Lynne? “Well,” Ace said, breaking Peter’s thoughts, “looks like it’s time to split up. I hope we run into each other again—assuming we are lucky enough to make it through.” “Yeah, me too,” Peter said with a nod. As they walked off, Peter overheard Chloe muttering to her brother, “Luck has nothing to do with it. It’s all about skill and calculation—” “Zip it, Chloe,” Ace interrupted with a grin. “Considering who Peter’s going up against next, he’s going to need all the luck he can get.”
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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
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Zack wasn’t relying on luck at all. His loud personality, his flashy shirt, and all the jokes—every bit of it was a carefully crafted distraction. Beneath the surface, Zack’s mind was a well-oiled machine, calculating every move, tracking every card, and silently stacking the odds in his favor.Card counting.Peter’s jaw tightened as he realized what was happening. Card counting wasn’t illegal, but it was heavily frowned upon, and for good reason—it gave players a significant advantage over the house or their opponents.For those unfamiliar, card counting was the art of keeping track of the cards that had been played to predict the ones that remained in the deck. It wasn’t about memorizing every single card—that was impossible. Instead, players assigned values to the cards and used basic math to maintain a running count in their heads.For example:Cards 2 through 6 were “low cards” and assigned a value of +1.Cards 7 through 9 were “neutral” and given a value of 0.Cards 10, f
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[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
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Peter hesitated outside Room E52, his hand lingering on the doorknob. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, an insistent drumbeat of doubt.This is it.He exhaled.No turning back now.He had to try.With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.The air inside was thick with sterile silence, the kind that suffocated sound. A single, dim overhead light illuminated the sleek black-and-white chessboard at the center of the room. A mahogany table stood in sharp contrast to the gleaming, polished pieces set neatly on either side.The arbiter, a stiff-looking man in a pressed suit, stood at attention near the board, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes flicked toward Peter but revealed no emotion.And then—Jonathan.Even after all these years, he hadn’t changed much.He sat with his back straight, arms folded, exuding an aura of quiet superiority. His thick-rimmed glasses still perched on his nose, reflecting the overhead light in a way that hid his eyes. A
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The Gambling System Chapter 17: A Second Chance?
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The Gambling System Chapter 18: Six Years Ago
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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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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
