Chapter 13
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Pay What You Owe (2)
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The rules of this poker-like game were simple.
Like standard poker, you start with three cards and decide whether to bet each time you receive a new card from the dealer, one by one. Once you have a total of seven cards, you reveal your hand.
Of those seven cards, a total of four are visible to your opponent, including the first one you show.
Based on those four cards, you infer your opponent's hand, compare it to your own, and decide whether to bet or fold.
Anyone who has played cards, regardless of the era, would naturally play the game by predicting not only their own final hand but also their opponent's.
Jack, his eyes darting about, was no exception.
No matter how much he’d profited from rigged games—or perhaps because of it—he was likely well-versed in basic strategy.
But such people were often the easiest to control, to make them do exactly as you wished.
If they decided whether to bet by comparing their own cards with the exposed ones, all you had to do was deal them cards that made them mistakenly believe they had a fighting chance.
I had distributed the cards to ensure just that, in both the first and second rounds.
And just as I’d expected, look at that face, crumpling like a piece of scrap paper after he’d confidently revealed his cards, certain of his victory.
I could easily imagine how Wellesley must be feeling watching this.
I can say with certainty.
The most satisfying revenge in the world is to turn the tables on the one who toyed with you, then rub it in their face for all to see.
It was invisible from Jack’s angle, but from where I sat, I could see it clearly.
Wellesley was so pleased that he was taking deep breaths to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, going beyond pinching his thigh to outright twisting the flesh.
Fearing he might actually burst out laughing if I let this continue, I wasted no time and dealt the cards for the final round.
“My, is it the last round already? Had I known my luck with the cards would be this good, I’d have suggested five rounds.”
“……”
While Wellesley bantered, Jack, feigning nonchalance, kept glancing at me as I shuffled the cards.
He probably thought he was being subtle, but unfortunately, it was painfully obvious.
After I finished shuffling, Jack split the deck in half, moving the bottom stack to the top and the top stack to the bottom.
This process is called a “cut.” By cutting the deck, even if a card sharp had stacked good cards at the bottom for a bottom deal, they would be moved to the middle, making the trick impossible.
After two suspicious losses, it was only natural for him to suspect cheating.
And since the only person who could manipulate the game here was the dealer, it was inevitable that he would watch me closely.
The fact that he insisted on cutting the deck himself confirmed his suspicion that I was dealing from the bottom.
He was likely reassured that I couldn't pull from the bottom now that he'd made a clean cut, but unfortunately for him...
I hadn't dealt from the bottom a single time during the past two rounds.
“...I’ll deal the cards.”
I mumbled in a timid voice befitting a boy who’d been reluctantly dragged into this, and began to distribute the cards.
Even then, Jack kept sneaking glances at my hand supporting the bottom of the deck, but of course, he would find nothing amiss.
That was because I wasn't pulling cards from the bottom, but from the middle.
The reason Jack couldn't notice, even when it was happening right before his eyes, wasn't that he was stupid or simple-minded.
It was because this technique, also known as “middle dealing,” was an incredibly difficult feat completely unheard of in the early 19th century.
Middle dealing only became known to the public in the early 20th century. While it might have existed before then, it was a skill akin to a circus act, practiced by extremely few people worldwide.
Its difficulty was absurdly high, and even seasoned card sharps required five to ten years of practice to perform it proficiently.
Even I, in this unfamiliar body, had to practice like a madman to pull it off without being noticed.
In fact, even in the modern era, the technique was considered to have such a poor return on effort for its difficulty that it was treated as little more than a circus trick.
The reason I was bothering with middle dealing here was simple.
It might be an inefficient skill in the modern world, but what about in the early 19th century, where its very existence was unknown?
No matter how cautious a person might be, it is impossible to guard against a concept that doesn't exist in their world.
Thus, it was his predetermined fate to be played like a puppet from beginning to end, completely oblivious.
“Hoo…”
The cards Jack received this time were two eights and an ace.
It was an excellent start, just like before, but having lost two consecutive rounds with such starts, his body was now rigid with tension.
Wellesley, on the other hand, calmly followed the sequence I had taught him beforehand, observing Jack’s reactions.
Having lost the first two rounds, Jack was cornered with no way out; folding was not an option.
The moment he folded, his loss would be confirmed, and defeat meant being dragged to the gallows. How could he possibly stop?
From the moment he lost the first two rounds, he was in a position where he had no choice but to follow every bet Wellesley made in the final round.
And in this round, I was dealing him an even better hand than in any of the previous ones, so he wouldn't be able to let go of hope until the very end.
“...Hah!”
I saw Jack involuntarily take a sharp breath and sit up straight as he completed a three of a kind with his fifth card, and then four of a kind with his sixth.
With his life on the line, the man was truly terrible at managing his expression.
His eyes darted frantically, scanning his own hand and Wellesley’s four exposed cards.
Wellesley’s exposed cards showed a pair of aces, so he continued to raise the bet.
“Raise, one hundred pounds.”
“…Call.”
“Raise again, one hundred pounds.”
“…I call as well.”
Having moved past a three of a kind to a four of a kind, Jack had no reason not to call.
Moreover, since I had made sure Jack’s hand included an ace from the start, I could read his thoughts clearly.
*‘Since I have an ace, the most Wellesley can have is three of a kind. He can never complete a four of a kind. In that case, the best possible hand he can have is a full house. My four of a kind wins.’*
Of course, with a full house, it was perfectly natural to keep betting until the end, so Wellesley's continuous raises were not at all strange.
If anything, Jack was probably worried that Wellesley would suspect his continuous calls and fold midway through.
And then, the final moment.
As the money in the pot reached 500 pounds, the moment of judgment finally arrived.
Jack, having assembled four eights to complete his four of a kind, seemed convinced there was no way he could lose this time.
He let out a sigh of pure, unadulterated relief and pushed his cards forward.
“Hah, hahaha! Look at this. You see, a game isn’t over until it’s over! How about that! This means I’ve won…”
“Sorry to interrupt your celebration, but would you care to take a look at my cards?”
“I am looking. A three of a kind with aces! A promise is a promise, so you must keep your word not to have me arrested. We have so many witnesses here…”
“No, my friend, you need to look past the two aces and see the other five cards. Does this look like a three of a kind to you?”
“If not a three of a kind, then… the suits are all the same, so a flush? Still… No, wait. A, K, Q, J… 10? A straight… flush…?”
Perhaps because he had assumed it was an impossible hand and hadn't even considered it, he had failed to see it at all.
As reality slowly began to sink in, Jack blinked several times, rubbed his eyes, and even shook his head before looking at Wellesley’s hand again, but nothing changed.
It was the supreme, most revered combination in poker, one that many who played daily would never see in their entire lifetime.
The ultimate hand, completed only when one holds A, K, Q, J, and 10, all of the same suit.
Jack’s eyes shook uncontrollably as he stared at the Royal Straight Flush.
“Th-this is impossible. This… this… this can’t be. I have four of a kind, and you have a royal straight flush?”
“I know, right? Who would have thought such a thing could happen? I’ve never had a hand like this in my life. To think I’d finally see one today.”
“Impossible. This… this is, it’s what I think it is, isn’t it? This is a setup! It has to be cheating! Otherwise, it makes no sense!”
“Are you trying to make excuses after losing?”
“Excuses! Do you really think it’s possible to be dealt a royal straight flush and two aces out of seven cards!”
Yes, the probability is indeed impossible.
But what of it? It actually happened.
“You’re the one who was cheating. Are you now accusing me of cheating after being caught in the act?”
“If not, how can you explain these odds! A three of a kind in the first round, a straight in the second, and a royal straight flush in the third. And you claim it’s not cheating? Even a cheater couldn’t make a hand like that!”
“Then let me ask you this. You claim I cheated, but how exactly do you think I could have done it? In your establishment, with your cards, and with an ignorant child as the dealer. Tell me, how could I possibly have cheated?”
“Uh, uhh… well, that is…”
Jack frantically examined the deck of cards we had just used, but naturally, he could find no trace of tampering.
Since this was his own establishment, a trick involving the location was also impossible.
And Wellesley hadn't laid a single finger on the cards while I was shuffling.
Realistically, there was no way he could have manipulated the game.
“Surely you’re not going to say that little boy cheated? No, you were so concerned about that possibility that you cut the deck yourself after he shuffled, didn’t you? Not only that, you kept glancing over, worried he might be dealing from the bottom. So, did you find any evidence of cheating?”
“N-no… that’s not it, but…”
“Right. If you had actually seen me cheat, you would have just exposed me on the spot as I did to you, and that would have been the end of it. So, you must now admit that you are making a baseless accusation, correct?”
“B-baseless? Even if I can’t prove the method, the cards themselves are the most definitive proof…”
“No matter how astronomical the odds, as long as they aren’t zero, it can eventually happen. So you’re saying a good hand is proof… Shall we see if a judge in a court of law agrees with you?”
A promise made in front of numerous people, especially with a lawyer present, is generally legally binding.
This is particularly true when it involves a financial agreement with a nobleman. There is no escaping it.
Realizing the reaper’s scythe was now hanging over his neck, Jack burst into tears, grabbed Wellesley’s legs, and desperately bowed his head.
“No! I-I was out of my mind, I was spouting nonsense! Please, I beg you, just spare my life…”
“We did agree that if you lost, you would receive the punishment we settled upon, but I am a merciful man, so I shall spare you from the ultimate penalty.”
“Thank you! Thank you!”
“However, that is that, and this is this. You lost the gamble, so pay the stakes you promised before you go to prison.”
“The stakes… you mean? Surely… n-no?”
Only then realizing what hand he had lost to, Jack broke out in a cold sweat, his body trembling.
Of course it was what he was thinking. Did he really think we’d let him off with just a trip to jail?
If the plan had been simply to send this bastard to prison, I would have just flipped the table the moment he dealt from the bottom, and that would have been that.
There was only one reason I didn't.
Simply exposing his cheating would only allow Wellesley to recover a few times what he had lost, wouldn't it?
Even if we took him to court, the most we could do is send him to the gallows or prison; it would be difficult to extract any significant amount of money beyond a certain point.
So, wasn't it only right to make him cough up his entire fortune with his own consent, using the very methods he himself had employed?
“My winnings up to the second round were 380 pounds. The pot in the final round was 500 pounds, and a royal straight flush pays 256 times the pot, so… how much is that?”
“128,000 pounds.”
“Right, so a total of 128,380 pounds. It’s an outrageous sum, but at least you get to keep your life, right? Have it delivered to me by tomorrow. Then, as promised, I’ll spare you a fate of vanishing like dew on the gallows.”
“N-n-n… no, no, no. Lord Wellesley! How on earth am I supposed to come up with over 120,000 pounds by tomorrow?”
Of course you can’t. The whole game was designed so you wouldn't be able to.
In the 1830s, the reality was that not even many of the great nobles earned more than 100,000 pounds a year.
A sum of nearly 130,000 pounds would be equivalent to over 20 billion won in modern value.
Considering the era, only an extremely small fraction of the wealthy could procure such an amount.
So, no matter what Jack did, he could never come up with that much money.
“If you cannot pay the stakes, you must know that you are required to compensate with assets of equivalent value. If you liquidate all your assets, can you make 120,000 pounds?”
“Even so, 120,000 pounds is simply…”
“Then there’s no other choice. I will be especially generous and forgive the remainder of your debt on the condition that I take everything you own. Let’s start by transferring the rights to this gambling den and the building, shall we? Since we have a lawyer present, there’s no need to take the long way around.”
“Are you telling me to hand over the entire gambling den and the building? Even so, that’s…”
“Just in case you’re mistaken, I should make it clear that this isn’t a situation where you have a choice. You owe me 128,380 pounds, and since you are in no position to pay that amount, I am personally collecting your assets. This must be a familiar situation for someone who runs a gambling den. Why are you acting like an amateur?”
Wellesley, who had been desperately suppressing his laughter just moments ago, now let his scorn show without restraint.
He must have been ecstatic, having gained the legal right to take over not just the gambling den but all of Jack’s assets.
Conversely, our poor Jack was now destined for prison after having everything he owned stripped away.
Thinking rationally, he must have realized by now that he had been played, but he could expect no sympathy from anyone.
What could he do? He got caught cheating and was ruined by a counter-scheme.
*‘All you can do is hand over all your money and beg for your life, you damn cheat.’*
The cold gazes from Wellesley and everyone else surrounding him seemed to say just that.
However, there was one crucial secret that no one in this room knew, except for Wellesley.
In truth, half of the income from the gambling den and building that Wellesley had just confiscated was set to go to none other than me.
Wellesley had also agreed to handle any potential taxes or disputes, so there was virtually no chance of my involvement ever coming to light.
Placing my now lukewarm glass of milk down, I feigned ignorance and smiled along with the others.
“Wow! So that cheating man just had to give all his money to Lord Wellesley, right? Lord Wellesley, you’re amazing.”
“Hahaha, you think so too, Young Master? Lord Wellesley is truly incredible, isn't he? I don't know how he did it, but he completely played that man like a fiddle.”
“I know! Justice really is alive. When I grow up, I want to be a cool nobleman like Lord Wellesley!”
At my innocent remark, everyone around me, except for Jack, laughed and agreed.
Ah, how sweet it is.
This is why I can’t get enough of this feeling.