Chapter 7

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 7

Chapter Title: Addiction

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After the incident with Seong-gwang,

Jin-seong returned to his quiet daily routine.

Working at his parents' restaurant every single day

and heading straight home—a simple,

repetitive life that dragged on.

He still couldn't quit gambling, but he no longer suffered

the big swings or crashes like before.

Now, he was restraining himself with astonishing composure.

For months, Jin-seong had steadily posted picks in the Family Room for six hours a day,

and before he knew it, he had become a celebrity there.

The moment he entered the chat room in the morning,

members greeted him all at once.

Dozens of members had profited directly from Jin-seong's picks,

and over a hundred now indirectly acknowledged his skill.

The Family Room had about 600 members total.

There were plenty of lurkers, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but quite a few also exchanged daily chit-chat with Jin-seong,

building camaraderie.

Unlike typical gamblers, they were polite and kind to each other.

Gamblers' lives are inherently lonely by nature.

Once you start gambling, friends and family drift away one by one,

until you're left utterly alone in the end.

That's why they say only gamblers end up around other gamblers.

Jin-seong had already learned that truth down to his bones.

Before long, his goal was just 30 million won away.

Once he hit that, he could recover every loss from gambling so far

and fully repay the debt he owed his parents.

The goal was right in front of him now. Jin-seong was stepping forward

toward that final target—cautiously, but with certainty.

As his bank balance grew, Jin-seong brimmed with confidence.

He was starting to delusionally think of himself as a flawless pro bettor.

He no longer gambled for fun or emotional thrills.

He thoroughly analyzed data, read ladder patterns,

and only placed bets where his odds of profit were highest.

He was convinced that if he just maintained this for a few more months,

he could pay off all his debts and graduate from gambling for good.

But as if to mock his confidence,

a massive shift hit the ladder boards.

As countless people began mimicking and tailing Jin-seong's picks,

the Toto site headquarters went into full alert.

If Jin-seong won big and quit in this state, members would panic and flee the site for sure.

In the end, the site boss decided to naturally boot Jin-seong from the gambling scene.

The method? 'Ladder Balance Site Linkage.'

Ladder Balance worked like this: say 20 million won bet on Odd and 40 million on Even at a specific site—

it would forcibly rig the result to the side with fewer bets, Odd in this case.

This was a realm completely unknown to regular members.

The community relaying these ladders, Naland, had created its own Toto site

and launched the Balance system, proudly calling it their 'Top-Tier Balance API.'

Existing Toto site HQs linked their sites to Naland's,

monitoring overall betting ratios and rigging outcomes to favor the low-bet side.

The HQs even secretly used this API to infiltrate sites without the system

and rake in cash.

It was a covert operation known only to those in the know.

Jin-seong's site had now been linked to the Balance API too.

Oblivious, he continued his cool-headed bets as usual,

but dark clouds were already gathering over his future.

Now, Jin-seong was no longer playing the odds—

he was just dancing in the palm of the HQ's hand.

Utterly clueless about the Balance linkage,

Jin-seong fired up his bets like any other day.

With 25 million won already recovered,

he now casually started by charging a base of 1 million won.

Jin-seong immediately posted his first pick.

The result came in—first bet hit.

Jin-seong excitedly posted an update.

Jin-seong dropped the second pick.

Members sensed his signature betting style kicking in and jumped aboard fast.

The second hit Odd too.

The Family Room was heating up.

Third pick went up.

Latecomers who saw Jin-seong's pick scrambled to bet Even.

Suddenly flooded with Even bets,

the Balance system activated—and out came Odd.

Jin-seong was baffled.

This pattern was a first.

The room's vibe dipped a bit.

Forcing nonchalance, Jin-seong typed:

He upped the stake a bit for the next one.

Hoping it'd hit this time, members followed again—but Even came out.

Jin-seong was flustered.

Unfamiliar patterns he'd never seen during his bets kept coming.

Growing anxious, he went all-in on the final four lines for a last shot.

But against his hopes, it ended in three lines.

Jin-seong lost everything.

In a daze, he left one final message in the Family Room.

Members grumbled plenty,

but since Jin-seong had lost 1 million won too, they couldn't say much.

Jin-seong posted picks several times in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Family Room,

trying to adjust amounts,

but bizarrely, failures piled up for days.

Feeling guilty toward the members,

he decided to stop posting picks altogether

and bet quietly on his own.

Oddly enough, when betting solo,

things went smoothly as usual.

Patterns normalized, and his balance climbed back to 20 million won

from a dip at 16 million.

Jin-seong sighed in relief, questioning himself.

'Why does it always blow up whenever I post a pick?'

As a regular member, Jin-seong had no clue the Balance system even existed—

just confusion.

He repeated wins and losses like that,

eventually recovering back to his original 25 million won.

One day, spotting a long ladder line snaking down,

Jin-seong thought, 'Today's the day I can really cash in!'

His excitement surged as he instantly charged 3 million won.

To max out his bet limits, he'd asked his Master Agent in advance

to bump his site level from 2 to the max of 5.

Now, his max per bet had jumped from 2 million to 10 million won.

As Jin-seong suddenly loaded big money and started betting,

the site HQ tensed up.

Jin-seong was infamous for ladder mastery,

so the boss personally used the top-tier Balance site to counter him.

The site boss smirked to himself.

"Today, I'm gonna properly fleece this punk."

The boss charged 2 million won into the top Balance site himself

and prepped the rigging.

Top-tier Balance let you manipulate results even with tiny bets.

Jin-seong bet 1.5 million on Odd; boss bet 200k on Odd—result flipped to Even instantly.

Cheers erupted in the HQ office.

Judging it a pongdang shift, Jin-seong bet Odd again,

but boss dropped another 200k on Odd—even came out.

Jin-seong's temper flared.

Thinking '1212 pattern?', he hurriedly charged 5 million more

and bet 2 million on Odd.

Boss tailed Odd again—flipped to Even.

The pattern strung out as Odd-Odd-Odd-Even-Even-Even.

Jin-seong piled on 3 million more Odd—but Even again.

Panicking, he charged another 10 million.

Watching the screen, the boss muttered slyly,

"Time to let him nibble a bit, then skin him clean."

Jin-seong bet 4 million on Even.

This time, boss held off messing with him and bet Odd himself—

result: Even.

First hit at last.

Jin-seong's account swelled back to 14 million won.

'Good—Even's gotta keep coming a few more.'

Figuring he needed a big early win for steady bets later,

he maxed out at 10 million on Even.

Boss bet Even too, murmuring,

"And here's where he loses his lid."

Result: Odd.

Jin-seong's mind went blank.

"Why the hell does it always come opposite my bets?!"

In a frenzy, he threw his remaining 4 million—but lost that too,

Leaving just 7 million won sitting alone in his account.

Jin-seong ended the session in despair.

All without a dream of the site's Balance op crushing him.

Jin-seong started berating himself all over again.

'Again... another excitement bet.

Why do I swear never to do it, then repeat the same damn mistake every time?'

Accepting that two months of steady gains

vanished in just one hour was brutal.

The firm advice he'd given Seong-gwang echoed mockingly in his ears.

Yet he couldn't even follow his own words.

Jin-seong tore at his hair in agony.

'I gotta stop. Really quit for good...'

But ladder patterns kept flashing relentlessly in his mind.

Staring blankly at the ceiling or closing his eyes,

the ladder's upbeat BGM looped cheerfully in his head.

His brain was utterly marinated in dopamine—

no escape possible.

Jin-seong let out a deep sigh, mumbling,

'Rest for sure today. Tomorrow, just one last showdown.'

He coaxed himself and forced sleep,

but deep-seated anxiety and restlessness kept it at bay.

Like that, Jin-seong tossed and turned until he finally drifted off.