Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Devil's Gamble - Rules (5)
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The moment the mask twisted, the air in the hall grew heavy and sank.
Jingle— jingle—
The sound of chips gathering wrapped around the air before slowly coming to a stop.
In that instant, the noise in the hall quieted to an unnaturally rapid hush.
No more laughter, no shouts, no clinking glasses.
It was as if everyone had swallowed their breath at once.
All eyes locked on one spot.
“……”
The Dealer still wore the smiling mask, but the emotions seeping from beneath it came through loud and clear.
The once mechanical movements of his hands were no longer steady.
They trembled faintly, but unmistakably.
“…Are you betting everything?”
His voice rang out low and blunt.
I didn’t answer.
I simply met his gaze head-on.
In silence, I tapped my fingers on the table.
Understanding my intent, the Dealer spat out his words.
“Don’t regret it.”
With that signal, the game resumed.
The Dealer’s frozen hand began to move again.
The cards shuffled.
The rustling sliced through the air like a blade.
The Dealer’s fingertips moved swiftly, but every motion dripped with tension.
First card.
The one dealt to me— ♠A.
Second card.
♦9.
Total: 20.
An ideal number.
But relief was short-lived.
The Dealer’s open card was revealed.
♣K.
…10.
*The hall’s air snapped taut.
[GambleBlack]: …Worst case scenario.
The chat window flashed.
It was a short, concise sentence, but its meaning was clear enough.
One hidden card from the Dealer.
Just one could swallow the entire game.
“…Will you continue playing?”
The Dealer’s voice cracked oddly.
Almost as if urging a surrender.
*Surrender: Giving up midway, forfeiting half the bet.
I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t open my mouth.
I simply pressed down harder on the fingers resting on my cards.
Meaning: continue.
Stand.
In the silence.
The Dealer’s fingertips slid slowly over his hidden card.
Very slowly.
The card flipped.
♦A.
10 + 11
“…Blackjack.”
A low breath escaped from behind the mask.
The air in the entire hall froze in an instant.
My blood chilled, my body locked up.
Then, the bottom of my vision flashed.
[GambleBlack]: …No, wait. Something’s off.
[GambleBlack]: The Dealer’s fingertips shook for a second. Wasn’t smooth.
…Did the card switch?
My eyes shifted to the Dealer’s fingertips at GambleBlack’s words.
But even if the Dealer had cheated, there was no way to prove it.
More importantly.
My remaining chips: 0.
Settlement time was coming soon.
The Dealer’s mask curved into a grin.
“…Bad luck.”
As his mocking laugh leaked from behind the mask and my vision began to fade—
***
“Hold on.”
Someone pushed through the crowd, approaching us.
An unfamiliar hand grabbed the Dealer’s wrist.
The eyes beneath the Dealer’s mask flashed, and tension ripped through the air like a tear.
But the man didn’t blink.
“Dealer, you broke the rules.”
The hall buzzed at the man’s words.
“What nonsense is that... If it’s baseless, I’ll call Security.”
“Why not? Though I’m not sure who’d get dragged off after that—”
In a flash, the man twisted the gripped hand, wrenching the Dealer’s wrist.
A card slipped from his sleeve and fell to the floor.
♦8.
“…!”
The man chuckled lowly.
He clamped down on the Dealer’s shoulder.
The Dealer’s body stiffened slightly.
“Let’s not make this tiring for both of us. I won’t call Security. But in return, we finish the game.”
The man tilted his head toward the Dealer, lips twisting upward.
Matching eye level, he whispered threateningly.
“Now, I’ll ask. Hit or stand?”
Silence fell.
The Dealer’s hand froze, but eventually reached slowly for the deck.
Even standing meant defeat.
What the Dealer had to do was decided from the start.
—Thud.
The card flipped.
♠J (10).
No reversal.
Number 10.
Total: 28.
Bust.
The entire hall erupted in murmurs like an earthquake.
The Dealer’s mask trembled as long-suppressed rage seeped out.
But there was nothing he could do.
Just swallow the fury and endure.
“Total 28… You lose, Dealer. Any objections?”
“...None.”
Double the chips returned.
Then, a small glass vial was placed before me.
“Antigen. Drink it.”
I gripped the vial but didn’t bring it to my lips.
The man glanced at me, then let out a short, ragged breath like a sigh.
“Ah—I get it.”
“Seeing you only on streams and now face-to-face… I’m used to it, but it’s your first time, right? Feels awkward suddenly.”
The man gave a short laugh.
That was when it happened.
Black-uniformed Security agents approached in unison from afar.
“Guests who’ve reached the required amount on the first floor, please proceed to the second floor.”
A stiff voice.
Their gaze pointed at me—and the man beside me.
The man smirked and shrugged.
“Perfect timing. I hit the amount too. …Introductions on the way up.”
Surrounded by Security agents, we crossed the hallway as the man spoke briefly.
“Veteran, Information Junkie.”
I checked the chat window immediately.
Verifying like this with fellow Anomalous Tale Gallery users who knew the ID was standard.
[GambleBlack]: …Yeah. Real Information Junkie.
With various testimonies confirming, I tilted the glass vial in my hand.
No need to hesitate.
The bitter liquid slid down my throat.
The inexplicable throbbing that had burrowed into my chest vanished.
The incomprehensible ‘certainty’ that I’d keep winning without reason—gone without a trace.
As my mind cleared, my head cooled.
The Information Junkie, watching me, turned forward and spoke.
“Newb. Don’t turn your head. Just listen.”
The red line on the stairs cleared, and we entered.
“Normal gamblers can’t come up here. Only those who meet the conditions—and among them, the big rollers.”
He paused, then added with a smile.
“Or guys like you and me, who’ve cost the casino big. They invite us mostly.”
“So this is a favorite spot for crime syndicates.”
The Information Junkie’s tone was calm, but thorns laced the end.
“You’re probably thinking, ‘Then just smash it.’ Nailed it. But even if you want to, you can’t. No point.”
“This isn’t your average gambling den.”
He nudged a scattered flyer on the floor with his toe.
“The moment you feel you need money and pick up that paper, you’re summoned here. Simple is best for the structure.”
“…Then with some budget, you could block it—”
“Might work temporarily. But they keep making more, keep spreading.”
His gaze darkened.
“In the end, it’s fleeting. Can’t cut the root.”
We reached the second floor.
Security fell back, and we stepped inside.
He turned to look at me.
The Information Junkie now held a yellow flyer.
“Newb. Managing anomalies isn’t exclusive to the Anomaly Management Bureau.”
The ceiling light flickered, the flyer’s text shifted, revealing a symbol.
The Anomaly Management Bureau’s emblem. And beside it, an unfamiliar mark.
The same mark from the first-floor flyers.
“Any nation with intel has its own Foundation. They manage, control, even utilize them. For example… ah.”
“Like that overlap maze you neutralized.”
“To them, feeding on what’s negative to humans is pretty valuable.”
He smirked.
“Not every country tries to eradicate anomalies. Not everyone’s good.”
He said quietly, but firmly.
“Some use them to solidify power, others to fill their pockets.”
“…And groups supply anomalies to meet that demand.”
His voice sank low.
“So blocking flyers completely? Impossible. Nations have different tendencies, and anomalies exploit that—printing and distributing endlessly, shoving in sacrifices. Keeps drawing people in.”
He paused, then said lowly.
“To destroy this place, people’s desires must vanish. Or every nation unites to stop flyer distribution. Practically impossible.”
Silence lingered.
“So, Newb. Just give up.”
The Information Junkie cut off sharply.
“I brought this up suddenly because of this. This place is different from what you’ve seen before. To reach the anomaly’s core, you need the top floor. And that’s not just skill or luck.”
“My mission here is just to dial it back to acceptable levels.”
His gaze lifted to the ceiling.
A massive transparent orb hung there, gleaming like glass.
Inside, it brimmed with golden chips.
He said bitterly.
“I just bleed money to keep that from filling up.”
***
I parted ways with the Information Junkie there.
Whether from the Antigen.
Or the conversation with him.
Somehow.
My interest in gambling plummeted.
The second floor was different from the first.
Stakes were doubled.
I played a few rounds, but the luck from before didn’t come easily.
After wins and losses, half my original chips remained.
I’d had enough to leave long ago.
Spotting the Pawn Shop sign in the distance, my feet turned that way automatically.
On the way back from the Pawn Shop.
My eyes caught a man kneeling on the floor beside a card table.
The man’s chips were gone.
I knew hitting zero and settling didn’t mean instant death.
The man, staring blankly into space, lifted his head at the sound of footsteps.
I offered a chip.
It was surplus for me anyway.
His last key to escape.
I’d considered buying entry tickets in bulk to hand out.
But gave up immediately.
The response was clear.
[Our casino respects free will.]
[Thus, per policy, entry tickets are sold one per person to the individual only.]
[Proxy purchases or sales are not permitted.]
“…Use this to get out. Don’t stick around anymore.”
His fingertips trembled as he clutched the coin.
“Th-thank you!”
Just declare settlement for the entry fee.
And he could leave.
The casino lights flickered, an exit door opening before him.
Golden light poured out.
I imagined him walking through.
As a living being.
But—
Clank.
He didn’t head for the exit.
His turned feet pointed back to the casino tables.
“One more… just one more… Then I can pay back the money I borrowed from my daughter. This time I’ll really win.”
His eyes gleamed. Voice soaked in madness.
Clutching the chip, he picked up the cards again.
A bitter smile spread on his lips.
I’d given him freedom, but he chose the chains himself.
I’d been wrong.
They weren’t bound here.
They chose to stay of their own free will.
The other enslaved ones around were the same.
The showgirl took the coin, climbed the stage, and faked her smile again.
She stacked the chips made from shaving her lifespan back on the pile.
Dealers impassively checked the offered chips and shuffled again.
Escape didn’t exist for them.
Only gambling remained.
Now I understood.
This wasn’t a gambling den.
It was a prison.
A voluntary hell where they could open the door but didn’t.
I bit my lip.
Handing over chips meant nothing.
Maybe repeating it enough, one might leave.
But if another takes their place, treading the same fate—
‘What’s the point.’
As long as this space persists, the endless cycle repeats.
My fingertips gripped a chip.
[GambleBlack]: Giving up?
That’s when I saw GambleBlack’s message.
[GambleBlack]: Not bad. Buy an entry ticket.
[GambleBlack]: Gamblers don’t listen to reason anyway.
‘Don’t listen to reason.’
The words echoed in my ears, my hand clenched reflexively harder.
The chip rustled in my palm. Fingertips dug into skin. Sharp pain climbed to my head.
It hurt. The tighter I gripped, the worse.
But oddly, the pain sharpened my mind.
Muddled thoughts cleared.
Twisted possibilities unraveled.
I didn’t get one chance.
Smash full-force, and if it fails, regret then. Not too late.
Giving up without trying?
Easy to leave? Says who.
For me, that’s the hardest path.
If words don’t work?
No need to overthink.
I won’t use words either.
Respects players’ free will?
Then.
Grab them by the hair and force-feed them freedom.
As GambleBlack said, gamblers’ words aren’t meant to be heard.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.
What I’d do from now was simple.
If the invitation’s the issue—
Drawing people worldwide to this gambling den—
“…Alright. Then I’ll smash this gamble.”
The answer was simple.
Make it so no one can return.
[GambleBlack]: Kkkkkkkkkkkk hahahahaha
[GambleBlack]: Ah— so that’s why?
[GambleBlack]: The other Veterans praising you. Yeah. I get it now!
The chat window flashed.
Unlike his earlier advice to leave, he laughed more gleefully than anyone.
Soon, another message appeared.
[GambleBlack]: I’ll help. As of today, the gambling den’s indefinitely closed.