Peter was walking home with his head bowed, shoulders tense, every step dragging like dead weight. His thoughts spun in circles—tight, suffocating loops. What the hell am I going to do?His mind was spiraling.Chloe.The next opponent. The next mountain. The next storm.He didn’t have a plan yet—and time was running out.He should’ve been planning his next move, preparing for the third gamble — against Chloe, of all people. But instead, his brain kept looping one question:What the hell am I going to do?Suddenly—BAM.A sharp shoulder clipped his arm. Peter staggered a step back, instinctively glancing up. The person who hit him was already gone, sprinting past with barely a glance.Peter blinked, dazed.Before he could even process what happened—THUMP.Another body collided with him. This one stopped.“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” the person said, breathless and wide-eyed.“It’s fine,” Peter muttered, brushing himself off and glancing around.And that’s when he noticed—people.Every

The dealer’s voice rang out over the silence.“First round — cards drawn. King’s Draw has begun.”The crowd leaned in. Cameras zoomed. Chips clicked beneath tense fingers.Viktor gave a lazy smile as he picked up his cards. He didn’t even look at them right away. Instead, he sipped from his champagne flute, lounging in his seat like the game was already his.Logan, on the other hand, lifted his cards with the precision of a surgeon, reading each face without a flicker of emotion.Peter leaned forward.“They both have three cards,” Chloe whispered. “And now they can either raise, call, or fold. But folding in the first round?” She smirked. “Neither of these men would let pride allow it.”“Right,” Peter said, eyes scanning the table. “So what’s the play here?”Chloe glanced at him, amused. “Depends on what they drew… and more importantly, what they want the other to think they drew.”Viktor chuckled, finally glancing at his hand. He slid his cards apart just enough to see them, then tap

The fourth hand began like the lighting before a storm—quiet, charged, thick with anticipation.The dealer resumed their mechanical poise, shuffling with elegant precision.Peter shifted forward in his seat. “Now that Logan has his tools back…”Chloe nodded. “Viktor drew first blood, but Logan’s playing the long war.”She leaned closer, eyes sharpening as the screen above displayed a shift.Floating around Logan’s figure now were light-blue statistical overlays. Transparent data projections hovered around his temple, pulling from every available source—weather patterns, betting behavior of the audience, Viktor’s micro-expressions, the current velocity of card shuffles.It was like watching a machine come back online.No.Something smarter than a machine.Something human refined by data.King’s Draw — Round Four.Three cards. Each player.Logan received his cards first.He didn’t even blink.Queen of Hearts. Six of Diamonds. Eight of Clubs.Peter squinted. “Not great. Not awful.”Chloe

HALFTIME STATS:Rounds Played — 20Logan Wins — 11Viktor Wins — 9Momentum: Shifting.But not as Viktor expected.The audience buzzed with a low murmur, like static building into storm. Even the ones who favored Viktor were starting to feel it — the sense that something else was going on beneath the surface. A deeper play.Peter leaned forward, whispering to Chloe, “He’s letting Viktor think he’s winning. Feeding his confidence. Making him commit.”Chloe didn’t reply. She was watching Cecilia now, not Viktor. Watching her scribble tiny notes on her thigh with a pen cap, whispering equations like prayers.“She’s brilliant,” Chloe murmured. “But she’s working blind.”“What do you mean?” Peter asked.“She sees Viktor’s cards, not Logan’s mind. She thinks Logan is just a numbers player, working patterns and odds. But Logan doesn’t just crunch numbers — he simulates personalities.”Peter blinked. “What?”“Watch the next round.”---Round Twenty-One. Begin.Cards dealt.Viktor:Nine of Spa

Peter left the event with heavy boots and a heavier mind. His feet moved automatically, but his thoughts spun like a loaded roulette wheel.Every turn, every bluff, every chip moved in that game between Logan and Viktor replayed behind his eyes in obsessive detail. It was the kind of game that twisted the laws of probability and psychology together — elegant and brutal. But what had he really learned?How do you beat someone who already knows what you're going to do?That was Chloe’s style — clean, clinical, terrifying in its precision. Watching Logan had shown him how data could become a dagger… but Chloe didn’t just use data. She breathed it. She lived in probabilities and slept in equations. There were no wild cards in her deck. No chaos.Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of frantic footsteps behind him.“Peter! Wait up!”He turned around. Grant was jogging toward him, panting like he’d just sprinted across campus. His wild brown hair was even messier than usual, cheek