2025-01-14 13:28:40Seated on his throne, Peter Donovan stared down at the kingdom he had built, reflecting on the long and painful road that had brought him here. The rise of a gambler who had once sworn never to take a risk.
This is the tale of how he became the Gambit King. The day started like any other. “RISK NOTHING, GAIN NOTHING.” Peter pulled his scooter to a halt in front of a massive gambling billboard, the slogan glowing brightly. He stared at it, trying to make sense of the words, but the more he thought about them, the more repulsive they seemed. “Risk nothing, gain nothing?” he muttered under his breath. “No… it should be risk nothing, lose nothing. Risk anything, and lose everything.” His name was Peter Donovan, a seventeen-year-old pizza delivery boy in Monte Carlo, Monaco. In a city where gambling was the beating heart of the economy, Peter was an anomaly—a teenager who refused to bet his luck. For him, life was simple: a steady job, a beautiful girlfriend, and a loving mother. What more could he possibly need? “Why risk anything, only to lose everything?” he often told himself. He sighed and continued his delivery, navigating the bustling streets until he reached his destination: The Chariot Hotel, Room 410. Peter stood at the foot of the towering hotel, staring up at the endless rows of windows. “Damn… I hope they have an elevator.” Unfortunately, the elevator was broken. He climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last. By the time he reached the fourth floor, his legs felt like lead. He stopped in front of the door, catching his breath and fixing his uniform. He had to look presentable if he wanted a tip. When he was ready, he rang the doorbell. “Pizza delivery,” he announced, forcing some enthusiasm into his voice. “Coming!” a female voice called from behind the door. Peter froze. That voice… it was strangely familiar. An uneasy chill ran down his spine. The door swung open. Naomi. His girlfriend stood in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a towel. Her dark hair was damp, clinging to her shoulders, and her lips curled into an amused smile. “Peter?” Her voice carried a mix of surprise and amusement. “Naomi?” His stomach clenched. “What... what are you doing here?” his mind racing to make sense of the situation. Naomi’s smile widened slightly. “Damn. I really didn’t want you to find out this way.” She stepped aside, revealing a shirtless man lounging on the bed. He was sipping a drink, his gaze locked onto Peter with a smug expression. Peter’s world tilted. “Naomi… what do you mean? What’s going on here?” His voice trembled with disbelief. The man set his drink down and stood, stretching lazily. “Ah, so you’re the boyfriend she’s been cheating on. How convenient.” He wrapped an arm around Naomi’s waist, pulling her close. Naomi didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into the man’s embrace, her eyes meeting Peter’s with an unapologetic smirk. “I’m sorry, Peter,” she said, voice dripping with insincerity. “But I’ve moved on. I’ve found someone who can give me what I want.” The man chuckled. “And what you want is clearly not a pizza delivery boy.” He sneered at Peter’s uniform. Something inside Peter snapped. “You’re just going to stand there and tell me you’re cheating on me? After everything we’ve been through?” His voice cracked as he fought back the burning sting of angry tears. Naomi shrugged, her face indifferent. “I never promised you anything, Peter. You were just… a convenient distraction until something better came along.” Her eyes glowed with cruel amusement and malice “And something better has come along.” The man grabbed the pizza box from Peter’s hands and tossed a wad of cash in his face. “Take this and leave. We don’t need your services anymore.” He smirked before turning to Naomi. “Unless you have something else to tell him, my love?” Naomi let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “I think I’ve made myself clear. It’s over, Peter.” Peter’s heart felt like it had been ripped apart. Without another word, Peter turned and walked away, his mind numb, his chest hollow. Behind him, he could hear the man’s laughter echoing down the hallway. He could feel Naomi’s gaze burning into his back, mocking him. But he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The air outside was heavy, the clouds gathering like a brewing storm. Peter sank onto the curb in front of the hotel, staring blankly at the pavement, the neon lights flickering above him. The rain started to fall, cool drops sliding down his face--- but he wasn’t sure if they were rain or unshed tears. His hands clenched the fabric of his jeans, knuckles white. His chest ached like it was caving in, crushed beneath the weight of Naomi’s betrayal. He loved her with every fiber of his being. Sure, she was always high-maintenance, but he made sure to worked extra shifts just to keep up with her lifestyle. She was his everything. And she had thrown him away like he meant nothing. Peter sat there for a long time, unmoving, as the rain began to fall—hiding his tears. Then, his phone vibrated. A message from the only other woman in his life. (Peter, where are you? It’s about to rain.) His mother. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his face, rose to his feet, and rode home. …. When Peter arrived, the trailer park was eerily quiet. Their small, rundown home was dimly lit, the flickering bulb casting shadows along the peeling wallpaper. “Hey, Mom. I’m home,” he called. His mother rushed toward him, wrapping her frail arms around him. “Peter, you’re back. I was starting to get worried.” She coughed into her handkerchief. Peter’s stomach clenched. Her illness was getting worse. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was just…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. But she noticed. She always noticed. “Peter, what’s wrong?” she asked gently. “Naomi broke up with me.” His mother fell silent for a moment, then pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I know how much you loved her.” “Yeah, Mom. I really did.” “Come, sit down. Let me make you some hot cocoa. That ought to cheer you up.” She turned, coughing harder this time, blood speckling the handkerchief. Peter’s heart pounded. “No, Mom, you need to rest. Please, just take your medicine.” “Nonsense.” She waved him off, heading to the kitchen. “And after this, I’m calling that little miss to let her know no one breaks my Peter’s heart and gets away with it.” Peter chuckled weakly. “Oh no, you will do no such thing.” “Why not?” she called from the kitchen. “Because that would be mean… and embarrassing.” “For who?” “Both of you.” His mother laughed. “You’re just like your father. Always thinking about everyone else. He’d be proud of the man you’re becoming.” Peter’s smile faded. He turned to look at the family portrait on the wall—him, his mother, and his father. The more he looked into it, the more memories of a time it was three of them, and they were happy. And one of his favorite memory played back in his head. It was of six years ago. Peter sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a deck of cards spread before him. Across from him, his father chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, I guess you win this time, Pete.” Rather than be esctatic about the win, Peter frowned in confusion. “Mom,” Peter called as she walked into the room carrying a tray of food. “Dad’s one of the best gamblers ever, right?” “Yes, Peter,” his mother replied. “One of the best in the entire world,” his father added proudly. Peter tilted his head. “Then why do I sometimes beat him?” His mother hesitated. She looked to his father, who simply smiled and leaned forward. “Never always win, or they will stop you from playing.” Peter blinked. “What? What does that mean?” His father’s gaze turned serious. “In gambling—and in life—it’s not just about winning. Sometimes, you need to know when to win and when to lose. That way, you control your losses.” Peter frowned. “I don’t get it.” His father chuckled. “You will… in time.” Six months later, his father was dead. And every night for a long time Peter kept asking himself: Did they take him because he never stopped winning? or was it because he lost too much that they took him. But none of that mattered now, his father was gone and that was all there is to it. Now it was him and his mother. Then, suddenly, Peter noticed that the only thing he could hear was the kettle, screaming at boiling point. “Mom?” he called out No response. His stomach dropped. “Mom?” Louder this time. Still nothing. He rushed into the kitchen—and froze. His mother lay on the floor. Unconscious. “MOM!” Peter shouted, his voice cracking as he dropped to his knees. Thunder roared. Peter fumbled for his phone, his fingers trembled as he dialled emergency services. “911, what’s your emergency?” “My mom! You have to save my mom!”
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Peter sat in the waiting room of St. Lucille Hospital, his legs bouncing uncontrollably. He couldn’t sit still. Every part of him wanted to burst through the doors and see his mother, to make sure she was okay. The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, each second stretching longer than the last. Finally, a doctor pushed through the double doors, scanning the room. “Peter Donovan?” He shot to his feet so fast he nearly stumbled. “Yes!” The doctor approached, his face calm but exhausted. “I have bad news.” Peter’s stomach tightened. “What… what’s wrong?” The doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead before meeting Peter’s eyes. “Peter… I’m so sorry. Your mother has been diagnosed with stage-one primordial spinal cancer. It’s aggressive, and she needs immediate surgery.” The words slammed into Peter like a sledgehammer. His vision blurred, his pulse hammering in his ears. His chest tightened, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Cancer?” The word felt foreign in
The Gambling System Chapter 3: The riskiest risk of all
The guards dragged him out, his heart shattering with every step. His mother was dying. He was broke. And now… he had jobless. ….. Peter arrived home, drenched from the rain, his entire body numb—not from the cold, but from the crushing weight of despair. He had less than four hours to save his mother, and he had nothing. He dropped onto the worn-out couch in their cramped living room, his hands gripping his hair. His mother’s face filled his mind—her warm smile, her gentle touch, the way she made their tiny trailer feel like home. Without her, this place would be nothing more than four walls trapping him in his own misery. His breath hitched. She was his only light. And if she was gone… Peter’s hands clenched into fists. Anger rose inside him, but he had no one to direct it at—no one to blame. Until his gaze landed on the picture frame hanging on the wall. More specifically, on his father. His jaw tightened. His fists trembled.“He promised he’d be here,” Peter
The Gambling System Chapter 4: Black
Her smirk widened into a grin. “All of it? Big move, kid.”She frowned slightly as she appraised and checked through each chip to make sure they were valid and legit, before stacking the 25 chips, each worth a thousand euros. For a moment, she hesitated, then said quietly, “Good luck. You’ll need it.”She slid the chips across the counter. Peter stared at them like they were grenades waiting to go off. His hands shook as he picked them up.As he turned to face the tables, the weight of what he was about to do hit him. This wasn’t just about money. It was about his mother’s life.And now, there was no turning back.Peter stepped onto the gambling floor, gripping his chips like they might vanish if he let go. The noise hit him like a wave—laughter, shouting, the clinking of glasses and chips, the mechanical whir of slot machines. It felt overwhelming.And the stares—he could feel them. They weren’t just glancing this time. People were whispering, pointing.“Is that what I think i
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The Gambling System Chapter 6: QUEST ACTIVATED: ROULETTE REVENGE
Peter had passed out. Hours later, his eyes flickered open. He wasn’t healed. He wasn’t saved. But he was alive. And for the first time in his short, miserable life, he felt the faintest glimmer of something foreign.Hope.The rain poured steadily, washing blood and grime from his face. His body screamed in protest as he raised himself to a seated position, his limbs heavy as lead. The pain was unbearable, but the fact that he’d survived—that he could move at all—left him more stunned than anything.It had to be a dream, Peter thought. But as he clutched his chest, gasping for breath, the semi-transparent screen appeared in front of him again, its glow cutting through the rain.……..[PLAYER PROFILE]LEVEL: 1EXP: 0/100Skill: NoneInventory: See more...…….Peter blinked, his eyes widening. “Oh, it definitely wasn’t a dream,” he muttered.……[SYSTEM REPORT]Default system skill attained: Bank Roll Level 1 – 1 million euros per day.Explanation: The player is granted 1 m
The Gambling System CHAPTER 7: Black Wins
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Chapter 98: The Cornered King
The moment Viktor declared his 200 billion euro investment, the auditorium detonated in sheer chaos. Screams. Gasps. Phones snapping pictures. Some students stood in shock, others cheered like they were watching a high-stakes sports final. "Two hundred billion?!" "Is this real life?" "Who the hell has that kind of money just sitting around?" "That’s not gambling. That’s a declaration of war!" "Bro… this isn’t a game anymore. This is a massacre." Even some of the professors seated in the higher rows murmured uneasily, their whispers blotted by the crowd’s explosion of disbelief. A girl near the aisle dropped her soda and didn't even notice. A guy in a leather jacket muttered under his breath, "That’s more than the GDP of a small country." Katherina leaned forward in her seat, eyes wide with twisted delight. "Ooooh, it’s happening. The stakes are no longer just life or death — they’re legacy. This is beautiful." Grant, meanwhile, sat frozen in place — mouth parted, mind racin
Chapter 97: A Battle Beyond Money
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Chapter 96: The Battle Escalates
For a single breathless moment, the entire arena froze.Then, dramatically — like an emperor descending into the gladiator pit — Viktor stood from his luxurious VIP seat and began making his way toward the stage.His every step echoed in the vast silence.A slow, deliberate, predatory gait — like a wolf circling wounded prey.The crowd instinctively parted for him, the sea making way for the storm.The overhead lights caught his sharp suit — dark as night — and made it gleam like polished obsidian.Every movement he made was smooth, precise, dripping with arrogance.He didn’t strut.He didn’t posture.He simply existed with an undeniable dominance.As he ascended the steps onto the stage, his smirk widened — the kind of grin you’d see on a man who already knew the ending of the story... and knew it ended in your ruin.---Peter’s fists clenched by his side.His mind scrambled to process what the hell was happening."What the hell is going on?!" he blurted, voice cracking with confusio
Chapter 95: Choosing Fire Over Safety
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Chapter 94: Naomi
The earliest memory Naomi could ever call happy wasn’t a birthday party or a family trip. It was standing on the edge of a rooftop. She was five years old. The air was crisp and wild against her cheeks, whipping her hair into her eyes. Her tiny sneakers teetered dangerously close to the ledge. Below her, the city stretched out in a chaotic mess of lights, honking horns, and life. She didn’t feel afraid. She felt free. For the first time in her short, confusing life — she felt truly, completely alive. --- Naomi was born in a city where gambling wasn’t just a pastime — it was a heartbeat. Lottery houses on every corner. Illegal poker games tucked into alleyways. Sports betting rings hidden behind barbershops. Risk and reward were the background noise of her childhood. Her father, Daniel, was a professional poker player. The kind of man who lived with cards always hidden up his sleeve and a crooked smile on his face. He played by instinct. By gut. He’d
CHAPTER 93– THE SECOND ROUND: PETER'S GAMBIT
Peter remained composed, outwardly calm, but inside his mind was a roaring storm of calculations and possibilities.He ran through the most plausible reasons Naomi might have for discarding two Tens—a strong starting hand in almost any version of poker.First possibility:She could simply be aiming for a deliberately weak hand. Something like:> 10-Heart, 10-Diamond, 7-Clover, 4-Diamond, 3-Spade.If she were betting on weaker hands winning, that would make sense. But not entirely.Showing your weakness openly is suicidal, Peter thought. Especially when victory depends on betting more aggressively than your opponent.Second possibility:A more dangerous one.> A-Clover, 2-Diamond, 2-Heart, 10-Heart, 10-Diamond.Maybe she originally had two pairs—Tens and Twos—and was throwing away the Tens to trick him. Or worse:> 7-Heart, 7-Spade, 7-Diamond, 10-Heart, 10-Diamond.Maybe she had a full house and was bluffing to bait him into choosing "Stronger."In that case, if Peter misread the situa
CHAPTER 92 – THE SECOND ROUND BEGINS
The dealer methodically shuffled the cards, the clean snap of the deck cutting through the thick, charged air of the auditorium. With careful precision, she dealt five cards to each player, her movements smooth, mechanical, and utterly without emotion.Another round.Another battle.Peter kept his gaze trained on Naomi, not missing even the slightest twitch of her face, the faintest flicker of her fingertips.“Playing with unfamiliar rules is quite the challenge,” Naomi said lightly, her tone almost playful.Peter narrowed his eyes.Don’t let her fool you, he thought grimly. She’s not nervous. She’s enjoying this.And now… now Peter understood her.Unlike standard poker, Choice Poker wasn't about bluffing your way to a fold.In this game, the real power came from winning the right to choose: stronger or weaker.Because of that, a rational player should only raise by the minimum—just enough to steal the choice without risking too many chips.Anything more was reckless. Stupid, even.Bi
CHAPTER 91 — The First Hand of Choice Poker
The silence in the theatre-like hall was pierced by the sound of ceramic clinking against polished wood.The dealer—a poised woman with a professional grace and a face carved from calm—raised a single custom poker chip into the air. The chip gleamed under the lights, etched with the gold-trimmed insignia of Monte Carlo Gambling University. Its edges shimmered in hues of midnight blue and crimson velvet.“One chip will be worth ten million euros,” she declared, her voice smooth and clear, amplified just enough to be heard throughout the auditorium. “Now then…, how many would you like to start with?”Naomi didn’t hesitate. She smiled sweetly, folding her hands atop the table like a noble lady in court.“I currently have 310 million euros,” she said in a polite, almost too-innocent voice. “So, I’ll take 31 chips, please.”The dealer nodded, motioning to her assistants. A sleek black tray was brought forward, stacked neatly with thirty-one chips, each one glinting like treasure.Then the
Chapter 90 – The Odds
“The odds are against Peter? How so?” Grant asked, narrowing his eyes at Logan, trying to hide the worry creeping up his spine.Logan leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, his voice calm but serious. “In ordinary poker, the player with more money has the upper hand. That's just a fact. Whoever controls the chips controls the pace of the game. If you have the larger stack, you can keep raising—over and over—until your opponent either folds or bleeds out.”Grant frowned. “Right, but that’s just normal poker. Isn’t this game a little different? You don’t lose automatically just because you have less money, right? You still get to play. You just don’t get to choose between stronger or weaker. That’s it.”“That’s it?” Logan repeated, chuckling darkly. “That one thing—that’s the whole game, Grant.”Grant blinked.Logan leaned forward now, speaking low but sharp, like he was trying to cut through the tension with every word. “The right to choose between stronger or weaker? That’s every