2025-02-20 23:24:41Zack 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, face cards (Jack, Queen, King), and Aces were “high cards” and assigned a value of -1. Why did this matter? Because blackjack heavily favored the player when there were more high cards left in the deck. High cards increased the chances of hitting a 21 or busting the dealer. Low cards, on the other hand, made it harder to win. As the deck was played, the counter would add and subtract these values to track whether the remaining cards were “rich” with high-value cards or “poor” with low ones. If the deck was “rich,” the counter would bet aggressively, knowing the odds were in their favor. If it was “poor,” they’d bet conservatively. And Zack was a master at it. Peter clenched his fists. He could see it now—Zack wasn’t just guessing. He was tracking every card that left the deck, using his mental count to predict what was coming next. The cheerful banter? The “lucky” shirt? All smoke and mirrors to distract from the fact that he was systematically dismantling the game. Zack leaned back with his trademark grin. “What’s the matter, buddy? Cat got your tongue?” Peter didn’t respond. His mind was already racing. If card counting is Zack’s weapon, I have to find a way to break it. The semi-transparent screen of Peter’s System Panel lit up. ….. [HINT: USE PATTERN DATA TO PREDICT OPPONENT’S BLUFF WINDOWS.] ….. A slow smile spread across Peter’s face. “Hey, Zack,” Peter said, his voice calm for the first time. “You said luck’s always watching, right?” Zack blinked, caught off guard by Peter’s sudden confidence. Then his grin widened. “Damn right, buddy! Lady Luck and I go way back.” Peter leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s see how much she loves you.” ….. [ACTIVATE: Probability Vision.] [ACTIVATE: Pattern Recognition Detector.] ….. The world around Peter shifted. The table became a glowing map of probabilities and data. Each card’s likelihood of appearing hovered in his vision like neon signs. Percentages flowed over the deck, the dealer, and Zack himself. But Peter didn’t stop there. He synchronized Probability Vision with Pattern Recognition Detector. ….. The detector analyzed Zack’s movements and decisions, creating predictive patterns based on his playing style. Peter could see it now—Zack wasn’t just counting cards; he was timing his bets to exploit the deck’s balance. Peter smirked. “You’re right, Zack. Lady Luck must really love you.” Zack chuckled, his grin faltering just slightly. The game shifted. Peter disrupted Zack’s rhythm with erratic moves—standing on risky hands, doubling down when the odds seemed unfavorable. He hit aggressively when the deck was low on high-value cards, confusing Zack’s count. He stood unexpectedly, forcing Zack to second-guess his calculations. Zack’s grin began to waver. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t play like that! That’s… reckless!” Zack exclaimed, his voice rising. Peter shrugged. “Just following Lady Luck’s lead.” The dealer revealed the next hand. “Bust,” Zack muttered under his breath, his chips sliding back to Peter. Zack fidgeted, his cocky demeanor cracking. What the hell was happening? Was this kid counting cards too? Even if he was, there was no way this kid was better than him. Zack had spent years perfecting his craft. His card-counting skills were sharp enough to make professional gamblers nervous, all so he could have an insurmountable edge when he finally decided to go pro. Now was the time he had decided to go pro and there was no way in hell or heaven he was going to let a puny grey sweater kid stand in his way. The sixth game began. Peter played unpredictably, making bold bets when the odds seemed against him and cautious ones when the deck was favorable. Zack’s eyes flickered with frustration as Peter’s erratic moves made it harder for him to maintain his mental count. In one hand, Peter stood on a risky 16, baiting Zack into overplaying his hand. Zack hit twice, going over 21. “Bust,” the dealer announced, pushing the chips toward Peter. …. The final hand arrived. Both players were down to their last chips. The air in the room felt heavy with tension as the dealer shuffled for the final hand. Peter’s cards landed—a seven and a six. Thirteen. Zack’s eyes flicked to his cards. He had a ten and a five. Fifteen. The dealer revealed her face-up card—a queen. Peter’s System Panel lit up: [DRAW LIKELIHOOD: 73% FOR AN EIGHT.] Peter took a deep breath. “Hit me,” he said. The dealer dealt the card. It flipped through the air and landed softly on the felt. An eight. Twenty-one. Peter exhaled, keeping his face neutral. Zack hesitated, his fingers twitching against the table. The card counter in him was screaming to stop. “I’ll stand,” Zack said at last. The dealer revealed her hand—a nine beneath the queen. Nineteen. “Twenty-one,” the dealer announced, sliding the pile of chips toward Peter. Peter leaned back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He’d done it. Zack’s chair screeched as he shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. “You cheated!” he shouted, his jovial mask completely shattered. Peter raised an eyebrow. “Cheated? Or did Lady Luck finally leave you?” Zack growled, his fists tightening. He lunged across the table, aiming for Peter’s throat. Before he could make contact, two guards appeared like shadows, grabbing Zack by the arms and hauling him back. “Let me go! He cheated! I’ll—” The guards dragged him out, his shouts echoing down the hallway. Peter exhaled slowly, his hands shaking slightly as he collected himself. The dealer gave him a respectful nod. “Well played.” Peter didn’t reply. His thoughts were already on his next challenge. Peter’s watch beeped. He glanced at the screen, and his breath caught. ROOM: E2. GAME: CHESS. OPPONENT: GRANDMASTER JONATHAN MYERS. Peter froze, his stomach twisted. The name wasn’t just familiar—it was a shadow from his past. He’d faced Jonathan once before, and it had cost him more than he cared to admit. Now he had no choice but to confront him once again, he was his next opponent... the next obstacle to saving his mother.
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The Gambling System Chapter 13: Jonathan Meyers
[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
The Gambling System Chapter 14: The First Round
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
The Gambling System Chapter 15: Round 2
[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
The Gambling System Chapter 16: Round 3
Peter sprang to his feet the moment the second round ended, his body drenched in sweat, his breath ragged. His fingers trembled as he reached for the glass of water offered to him, gulping it down in desperate, greedy swallows. His forehead was slick, his temples pulsing with a dull ache, and for the first time in his life, he realized that chess—at this level—wasn’t just a game. It was a battle. A war waged not just on the board but in the mind, in the body, in the very core of his being. Every move was a strike, every countermove a dodge, every blunder a wound. He had played his soul out.[SYSTEM REPORT: QUEST COMPLETED]REWARD: 5 EXP acquired. New skill unlocked.SKILL UNLOCKED: SECOND CHANCEExplanation: Gives you a second chance.Note: It costs 3 EXP.Peter frowned as he read the notification. He didn’t have time to process it. His hands were still shaking from the last game, his heart pounding against his ribs. He turned his gaze back to the board, back to Jonathan, an
The Gambling System Chapter 17: A Second Chance?
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
The Gambling System Chapter 18: Six Years Ago
The world exploded around him.Peter gasped, his breath tearing from his chest. His hands trembled. His muscles screamed in protest. His brain felt like it had been pulled through a meat grinder. The weight of exhaustion crashed over him, but none of it mattered.The arbiter’s voice sliced through the haze."Victory to Peter Donovan."The words hit like a sledgehammer. He had won.His mother—He could save her.A dizzying rush surged through his veins, a cocktail of dopamine-fueled euphoria and pure relief. His body wanted to collapse, but the sheer magnitude of his victory held him upright.Across the table, Jonathan sat frozen. His fingers hovered above the board, as if unwilling to accept the reality before him. Then—he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual composed expression cracking for the first time. A short, breathless laugh escaped him.Peter barely registered it. His vision swam, black spots dancing across his sight. The adrenaline dump was hitting. Hard.[SYSTE
The Gambling System Chapter 19: Guilt and Pain
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
The Gambling System Chapter 20: Silence
Silence.The room fell into a pin-drop silenceA deafening, choking silence.The kind of silence often found in a graveyard.The words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable.Peter felt his pulse slam against his ribs.His mind screamed at him to move, to react, to do something—But his body refused to obey."What the actual hell—"The air thickened, pressing in on him like a vice. For a moment, Peter almost thought he had misheard. But the boy’s expression hadn’t changed.He meant every word.Because this guy wasn’t joking.There wasn’t a trace of bluff in his face.No arrogance. No bravado.Just cold, lethal certainty.It was an expression Peter had never seen before, not even in his most intense gambling matches. It wasn’t the look of someone who wanted to win. It was the look of someone who had to.Like a knight who had sworn an oath.Peter’s mouth was dry.He forced himself to breathe, keeping his voice as steady as he could."Sorry," he said carefully, "but I think you have the w
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Chapter 70: Overtime
The moment the final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of regulation, Peter felt his body collapse inward.Not physically—though every muscle in his body was locked in unbearable agony—but mentally, emotionally, in a way that left him utterly drained, breathless, and gasping for relief.Overtime.His mind screamed in protest. He had prepared himself to endure four quarters, to suffer through every second, to etch every play into his memory until the final whistle set him free.But the game had denied him that release.The ball had rimmed out.The score remained locked.And now, he had five more minutes to endure.Five more minutes of blinding, skull-crushing pain.Five more minutes before he could activate the Second Chance System and rewind time, before he could use everything he had memorized to place the perfect bet, the ultimate parlay.Peter’s vision swam. His fingertips tingled. His ears rang.He barely heard the thunderous explosion of the crowd, the rising hysteria as thousand
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,
Chapter 69: Third Quarter: The Breaking Point
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
Chapter 68: The Roar of the Coliseum
The Pacific Coliseum pulsed like a living entity, a vast and untamed force barely contained by the steel and concrete of its structure. The air inside was thick with tension, humming with the anticipation of thousands of spectators, their voices merging into a singular, deafening roar. Banners rippled above the crowd, team colors clashing in a sea of loyalty and rivalry. The spotlights overhead swirled in rhythmic patterns, casting brief halos of light over the freshly polished court, illuminating every scuff, every line—a battlefield awaiting its warriors.The bass from the pre-game music thumped like a heartbeat, reverberating through the floor, through the walls, through Peter’s skull. A sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes, an unrelenting pulse that grew heavier with every drumbeat. His temples felt caught in a vise, his breath coming slow and deliberate as he tried to dull the ache, to push it into the background.He had to focus.Not on the outcome. Not on the competition.Only o
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
