2025-01-14 19:21:37Peter 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 his mouth. “But… but she was doing fine. The medicine was helping—” His voice cracked. The doctor shook his head. “I know. But her condition has worsened faster than we expected.” The doctor hesitated. “Peter, the truth is… if she doesn’t get surgery within the next six hours, she might not survive the night. Her condition is deteriorating fast.” Peter clenched his fists. “Then do it! What are you waiting for?” The doctor sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Unfortunately, we can’t proceed.” “Why not?!” Peter’s voice cracked, panic creeping in. The doctor hesitated. “Peter… the surgery is very expensive. Your mother doesn’t have health insurance, and based on her financial history, the hospital won’t be able to move forward without payment upfront.” Peter’s breath hitched. “How much? I’ll pay for it. Just tell me how much it costs!” The doctor slowly pulled out a notepad, scribbled something down, and handed it to him. “I’m truly sorry.” Peter stared at the note, His heart stopped. His breath catching in his throat. His hands trembled as he read the figure: £100,000. The number might as well have been a death sentence. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into a chair, the note shaking in his trembling hands. One hundred thousand euros. Six hours. What the hell was he supposed to do? He had nothing. No savings. No credit. No way to get that kind of money. His vision blurred, panic consuming him. Peter’s mind spun, searching for options. Loans? No, their credit score was garbage. Friends? He had none rich enough. He was running out of time. Think, Peter, think! Then it hit him—his job. His boss. Suddenly his phone vibrated. A text from his boss: “Meet me in the office now.” It was like fate was giving him a sign. Their credit was too low for a loan. They had no rich friends. No family to help. But maybe… maybe his boss could. This was it. This was his only chance. Peter surged to his feet, shoving the note into his pocket, and stormed out of the hospital. His mother’s life was hanging by a thread. And he was running out of time. A hundred thousand euros. He had no idea how else to get that kind of money. He had just one shot. If this failed… His feet carried him forward, almost on instinct. When he stopped, he found himself staring at the same billboard he had passed that morning. “RISK NOTHING, GAIN NOTHING.” The glowing words seemed to mock him. Peter clenched his fists. This wasn’t about risk. This was about saving his mother. He shook off the thought and hurried toward Pizza Prizm, his workplace. …. Peter stormed into Pizza Prizm, dripping wet. He didn’t care. He pushed past the kitchen, heading straight for the manager’s office. He knocked—hard. “Come in,” came the deep, uninterested voice from inside. Peter pushed the door open. His boss, Mr. Caldwell, sat behind a cluttered desk, lazily sipping his coffee. He was a heavyset man in his late forties, his gut straining against the buttons of his shirt. His thinning hair was slicked back with too much gel, and his thick fingers tapped against the desk like he had all the time in the world. “Have a seat,” Caldwell said, not bothering to look up. Peter sat, barely holding himself together. “Sir, I was so glad to see your message because I actually—” Caldwell cut him off with a sigh and slid a folded paper across the desk. “Just shut up and take this.” Peter hesitated, then grabbed the paper and unfolded it. His eyes skimmed the words. Then his stomach dropped. "Notice of Pay Deduction: 70% due to improper customer relations." His hands started shaking. “What… what is this?!” Caldwell finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “It’s exactly what it says,” he replied flatly. “Starting this month, 70% of your paycheck will be deducted due to a complaint made against you.” Peter’s mouth went dry. “No. No, this has to be a mistake.” Caldwell raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I made a mistake?” Peter’s breath hitched. Calm down. Think. He swallowed. “Sir, this says I’m being punished for ‘improper customer relations’ during a delivery. That never happened!” Caldwell shrugged. “A man called earlier today, threatening to sue the company. Said you harassed him and his girlfriend during a delivery.” Peter’s stomach turned. Naomi. Her new boyfriend. “This is a lie,” Peter said, voice shaking with rage. Caldwell smirked. “Well, I don’t know what happened, but I do know one thing—the company isn’t interested in lawsuits. So, consider yourself lucky I didn’t fire you on the spot.” Peter gritted his teeth. Not now. Not when his mother’s life depended on this job. “I can’t accept this,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. “Sir, I was actually coming here to ask for a raise. Or even a loan.” Caldwell laughed. Loud. Cruel. The boss sighed and leaned back in his chair, adjusting his expensive-looking watch. “Peter, I don’t know what fantasy world you’re living in, but this is a business. You think I’m just handing out money?” He chuckled dryly. “Grow up.” Peter clenched his fists. “Sir, please. I wasn’t asking for charity—I was asking for a loan.” His boss scoffed. “A loan? For what? A sick relative? A debt to pay? I hear these sob stories every week. It’s not my problem.” “MY MOTHER is DYING!!!” Peter rose and yelled. The room went silent. Caldwell let out a slow sigh, like this conversation was a waste of his time. “I’m sorry about that, kid,” he said finally. “But your mother’s condition is not the company’s concern, neither is it mine” Peter’s jaw clenched. “You can’t be serious. You can't be that heartless.” Caldwell’s smirk returned. “I suggest you leave now.” “I’m not moving an inch until I get what I came here for.” Caldwell tilted his head. “Very well, then.” He picked up his office phone. “Security.” Peter’s heart pounded. His hands clenched into fists. “Sir, please. You can’t do this.” “Security, I need this man removed immediately.” The boss continued, completely unfazed. Seconds later, three men stormed in. “No!” Peter’s voice cracked. He lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the desk, desperation burning in his veins. “Just listen to me—” Two grabbed Peter by the arms. He struggled, but their grip was iron-tight. The boss adjusted his tie and smirked. “Your termination letter will be sent to your email. Oh, and Peter?” Peter’s chest heaved, his teeth clenched. “I do hope your mother gets better.” Red-hot fury exploded inside him. He didn’t even think before shouting— “YOU BASTARD! I WILL RUIN YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!”
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Chapter 145
The final rotation slowed...Click.The tile locked.A pause — stretched too long.Peter leaned in.And then — the number flared into view.NEGATIVE FOUR MULTIPLIER.–4XThe red pulsed across the board like a warning siren, deep and final.Peter stared.Froze.Time stopped.“What the fuck...” he whispered, the words falling out of him like broken glass.The crowd gasped — not just surprised, but horrified. A ripple of stunned silence spread through the arena. Even the anchor didn’t speak — for a moment.Then:“...OH NO.”The Anchor's voice cracked with disbelief. “Peter Donovan has landed a –4X! That’s the highest penalty on the board!”Gasps turned to roars. Shouts. Chaos.It was like someone had thrown a match into dry brush — disbelief ignited into pandemonium. The arena screens zoomed in on Peter’s face, pale and stunned. His chest rose and fell, sharp and uneven.Across from him, Chloe didn’t blink. She didn’t smirk.She simply tilted her head. One degree.As if saying: Now we’re
Chapter 144: What the fuck
Chloe didn’t hesitate.Her eyes flicked briefly to the board—just once, just long enough to assess the remaining tiles. 5x unflipped, Six unknowns.But unlike Peter, she didn’t pause to consult a system. She didn’t flinch.She moved.A single, fluid motion: her hand rose, fingers curved like a conductor mid-symphony, then drifted downward and tapped tile 4.The crowd barely had time to react before the hum returned.Click—click—click.The flipping began.Peter leaned in.He watched—not the tile, but her.There was no tremble in her hand. No shift in her gaze. But her breath — there it was. A single, almost imperceptible hitch in her inhale. Not fear. Not panic.Just... calculation failing to resolve.Click—click—click.The rotations slowed.Light glinted off the edges of the spinning tile like silver teeth waiting to bite.Click.It locked.A cold pulse spread through the board.NEGATIVE ONE MULTIPLIER.–1XThe number glowed red. A soft, almost mocking tone accompanied the display. An
Chapter 143: 4x
"System, give me the probability odds of the remaining tiles landing a 4X."---[PROBABILITY VISION ACTIVATED]Calculating...Using Probability Vision for 8 tiles will cost 24 minutes.Would you like to proceed?{YES/NO}---“Yes.”---[TIME BANK: 121 minutes → 97 minutes][Skill Activated: Probability Vision (Level 3)]Calculating...---Tile 1: 30%Tile 3: 17%Tile 4: 11%Tile 5: 18%Tile 7: 12%Tile 8: 25%Tile 9: 9%Tile 10: 22%---Peter’s eyes flicked across the shimmering data overlay on his display, absorbing it all in a heartbeat. Sweat prickled beneath his collar, but he kept his breathing steady.His first flip had landed. But Chloe’s cold 5X had already shifted the entire flow of the match.No more room for safe moves.Still… he couldn’t risk a reckless one.Tile 1. Best odds. Highest probability. No hesitation.Peter extended a single finger toward the board. The surface of Tile 1 pulsed faintly beneath the glass-like sheen, as though sensing the weight of the moment.He
Chapter 142: First flip
The crowd was still vibrating with energy as the Anchor gave a sweeping bow and stepped back from center stage.A quiet hum pulsed through the vast hall, as though the room itself was holding its breath.On the holo-display, the game board flickered into readiness — the sleek digital grid shimmering faintly in the dim light.10 tiles loaded. Coin flip pending.At their seats, Peter and Chloe faced each other across the elevated table — a sleek black surface bordered with thin neon-blue lines. Their personal displays hovered in front of them, responsive to their slightest touch, transparent but pulsing faintly in rhythm with their heartbeats.Peter tightened his grip on the tablet, knuckles white for a moment before he forced himself to breathe. His pulse thrummed painfully in his neck.Across from him, Chloe sat like stone. One leg crossed over the other, tablet resting lightly on her lap. Not a flicker of tension showed in her face — only cold, clinical focus. A chessmaster waiting f
Chapter 141: The next day
The next day finally arrived. Autumn had fully set in across Monte Carlo Gambling University — the crisp air biting with an edge of chill, fallen leaves skittering across the cobblestone pathways.And there they were.Peter and Chloe marching through the winding campus grounds toward their destination — the grand Designated Gambling Hall. Their paths aligned, yet their thoughts worlds apart.“I’m going to win this gamble and prove myself.”For Peter, the need was primal. Unquenchable. It radiated from every step, a hunger that no one had to explain — you could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw.Chloe’s resolve, though just as fierce, was buried beneath layers of carefully constructed artifice. She wore her usual corporate-inspired attire: a crisp white blouse tucked into a fitted black pencil skirt, tailored charcoal blazer hugging her slender frame. On her feet — sharp black heels that clicked a steady rhythm across the polished floors. Her look was elegant, cold, commanding
Chapter 140: Later that Night
Later that night.Somewhere across a quieter side of the Monte Carlo Gambling University Campus.Chloe sat alone in her dorm room, a small island of light amid the creeping darkness. A vintage brass desk lamp cast a warm, narrow glow across her cluttered workspace. The rest of the room was draped in shadows — the only other light came from her laptop, its screen flickering softly, washing her face in cold blue.A notebook lay open beside her, its pages crowded with scrawled diagrams and hurried annotations. Pen in hand, she hovered just above the paper, deep in thought.She was studying. But not textbooks. Not theoretical models. No — in front of her was something far more specific, more obsessive.A recorded gamble.On screen: Peter Donovan facing off against Noami. The match had long since ended, yet Chloe — known to most by her gambling alias, Noir — had watched this tape at least six times already. Probably more. She clicked the timeline backward again, freezing the frame on Peter
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