"Just reveal your hand already!"

Looking at the result and hearing all the murmurs, Vlad smirked again and revealed his hand, the cards flipping with a soft slap, the crowd leaning in with bated breath.

A dead silence descended inside the room. Vlad's seemingly absurd hand—a 2 of spades and a 5 of clubs—had defied all expectations. The silence weighed heavy on everyone—the dealer, the players, and the onlookers. Their gaping mouths and wide-eyed astonishment mirrored the absurdity of the situation, the air thick with disbelief, the chandelier's light casting long shadows of shock.

This stupidly weak and random hand was a bolt out of the blue for everyone present, the cards lying innocently on the green felt, mocking the table's tension.

Except for Mr. Gold who was giggling at this seemingly crazy gameplay with his mouth covered by his wrinkled hand that did little to conceal his laughter, adding fuel to the absurd situation, his shoulders shaking with mirth, the cane leaning precariously.

Vlad, undeterred, leaned back in his chair, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "You can have half of it as a tip," he said to the dealer, who had finally snapped out of his stupor after Vlad's call-out, the chips stacked like a small fortune, gleaming under the lights.

"H-huh? Ah—t-thank you, sir," stammered the dealer, still reeling from the shock. He hurriedly rearranged the table, preparing for the next round, his hands trembling slightly on the deck.

"Pfft~ hahaha—oh boy! This man got some really nasty guts!" It was Mr. Wild who finally revealed his amusement and laughed heartily, his voice booming, slapping the table with a ringed hand.

Others followed his suit and crisp sound of claps echoed, the applause building like thunder, laughter rippling through the room like waves.

"What the hell just happened?" someone gasped, fanning themselves.

"That was a good game," another chuckled, raising a glass.

"Well, that was another level of scam," a woman quipped, her laughter tinkling.

"Oh Dear God! If only I were the one playing there! All that money would have been mine!" a man lamented dramatically, clutching his chest.

"But you are broke," his friend shot back, elbowing him with a grin.

"So are you!" the man retorted, their banter echoing amid the claps.

"Nah, I just won a big game," the friend boasted, puffing out his chest comically.

As the room regained its composure, the man in the black suit couldn't contain his frustration any longer and finally lost it.

He stood abruptly, slamming his hand on the table, the impact rattling the chips like an earthquake. "Bullshit! This is all a scam! You tricked us!" he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Vlad, his face red as a beet, veins bulging.

"But isn't that how poker works?" Vlad's cool reply only fueled the man's rage, his voice smooth as ice, the room falling silent again.

"YOU!!" The man clenched his fist, and the tension escalated, the air crackling like static, bouncers shifting slightly.

"Now, now. Why cause a scene?" It was Mr. Gold who tried to mediate between the two parties, "Remember that you are also representing someone very important Mr. Blane. Accept your loss like a grown-up. Why throw tantrums like a kid? Be a good loser," his voice steady, the cane tapping for emphasis.

"You!!" Mr. Blane seethed, his fists trembling, the crowd murmuring in disapproval.

"Tch, what does he think he is doing, acting like a sore loser," someone whispered, sipping a drink.

"Sore loser indeed," another agreed, stifling a laugh.

"Wait a minute! Did they called him Blane? Isn't he one of the State's biggest property tycoons?"

"Hey, just come here if you don't want to continue and let me win all that money in your stead!" a bystander joked, waving dramatically.

"But you don't have any money to bet. You are broke," his companion shot back, elbowing him playfully.

"Tch!" Mr. Blane slumped back into his seat, defeated. 'Just wait, you bastards! I'll teach you a lesson in the next game,' his eyes narrowing like daggers.

Meanwhile, the other player sat in stunned silence, his palm pressed against his face. The ridiculousness of his loss still reverberating within him, his shoulders slumped in comedic defeat.

"My father always says, 'The moment you break your opponent's mind and will to fight, you win,'" Vlad mused aloud. "So, shall we go on for another round?" his voice casual, the table's tension easing into laughter.

"Mind if I join as well?" A mysterious voice asked from the crowd. Following the voice, a tall and handsome figure emerged from the crowd. His sharp features, chocolate-brown eyes, and slicked-back black hair hinted at a refined demeanor. Dressed in an all-black suit, a luxurious analog watch ticking on his left hand's wrist in which, he held a black suitcase, the cold metal smooth and gleaming under the lights.

"Huh?"

"Now who is this gentleman?" the crowd murmured, heads turning.

"Oh my lord in heavens…" a woman gasped, fanning herself.

"Kyaaa~ so hot! I might die from all this heat," another swooned, clutching her pearls.

"Hey! Over here!! Some girls just fainted!!" someone shouted, the room erupting in chaos, bouncers rushing with water, the air filled with giggles and gasps.

"?" Vlad raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the newcomer. His smirk deepened as he turned his attention toward the source of the voice. Amidst the commotion, a new player had stepped into the high-stakes arena, the crowd parting like a sea, the scent of excitement thick in the air.

"Sure." Vlad replied, his tone laced with intrigue and anticipation.

The man in question was none other than Karan, his footsteps silent on the carpet, the suitcase heavy in his hand, the room's energy shifting with his presence.