2025-02-20 23:24:41Zack wasn’t relying on luck at all. His loud personality, his flashy shirt, and all the jokes—every bit of it was a carefully crafted distraction. Beneath the surface, Zack’s mind was a well-oiled machine, calculating every move, tracking every card, and silently stacking the odds in his favor.
Card counting. Peter’s jaw tightened as he realized what was happening. Card counting wasn’t illegal, but it was heavily frowned upon, and for good reason—it gave players a significant advantage over the house or their opponents. For those unfamiliar, card counting was the art of keeping track of the cards that had been played to predict the ones that remained in the deck. It wasn’t about memorizing every single card—that was impossible. Instead, players assigned values to the cards and used basic math to maintain a running count in their heads. For example: Cards 2 through 6 were “low cards” and assigned a value of +1. Cards 7 through 9 were “neutral” and given a value of 0. Cards 10, face cards (Jack, Queen, King), and Aces were “high cards” and assigned a value of -1. Why did this matter? Because blackjack heavily favored the player when there were more high cards left in the deck. High cards increased the chances of hitting a 21 or busting the dealer. Low cards, on the other hand, made it harder to win. As the deck was played, the counter would add and subtract these values to track whether the remaining cards were “rich” with high-value cards or “poor” with low ones. If the deck was “rich,” the counter would bet aggressively, knowing the odds were in their favor. If it was “poor,” they’d bet conservatively. And Zack was a master at it. Peter clenched his fists. He could see it now—Zack wasn’t just guessing. He was tracking every card that left the deck, using his mental count to predict what was coming next. The cheerful banter? The “lucky” shirt? All smoke and mirrors to distract from the fact that he was systematically dismantling the game. Zack leaned back with his trademark grin. “What’s the matter, buddy? Cat got your tongue?” Peter didn’t respond. His mind was already racing. If card counting is Zack’s weapon, I have to find a way to break it. The semi-transparent screen of Peter’s System Panel lit up. ….. [HINT: USE PATTERN DATA TO PREDICT OPPONENT’S BLUFF WINDOWS.] ….. A slow smile spread across Peter’s face. “Hey, Zack,” Peter said, his voice calm for the first time. “You said luck’s always watching, right?” Zack blinked, caught off guard by Peter’s sudden confidence. Then his grin widened. “Damn right, buddy! Lady Luck and I go way back.” Peter leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s see how much she loves you.” ….. [ACTIVATE: Probability Vision.] [ACTIVATE: Pattern Recognition Detector.] ….. The world around Peter shifted. The table became a glowing map of probabilities and data. Each card’s likelihood of appearing hovered in his vision like neon signs. Percentages flowed over the deck, the dealer, and Zack himself. But Peter didn’t stop there. He synchronized Probability Vision with Pattern Recognition Detector. ….. The detector analyzed Zack’s movements and decisions, creating predictive patterns based on his playing style. Peter could see it now—Zack wasn’t just counting cards; he was timing his bets to exploit the deck’s balance. Peter smirked. “You’re right, Zack. Lady Luck must really love you.” Zack chuckled, his grin faltering just slightly. The game shifted. Peter disrupted Zack’s rhythm with erratic moves—standing on risky hands, doubling down when the odds seemed unfavorable. He hit aggressively when the deck was low on high-value cards, confusing Zack’s count. He stood unexpectedly, forcing Zack to second-guess his calculations. Zack’s grin began to waver. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t play like that! That’s… reckless!” Zack exclaimed, his voice rising. Peter shrugged. “Just following Lady Luck’s lead.” The dealer revealed the next hand. “Bust,” Zack muttered under his breath, his chips sliding back to Peter. Zack fidgeted, his cocky demeanor cracking. What the hell was happening? Was this kid counting cards too? Even if he was, there was no way this kid was better than him. Zack had spent years perfecting his craft. His card-counting skills were sharp enough to make professional gamblers nervous, all so he could have an insurmountable edge when he finally decided to go pro. Now was the time he had decided to go pro and there was no way in hell or heaven he was going to let a puny grey sweater kid stand in his way. The sixth game began. Peter played unpredictably, making bold bets when the odds seemed against him and cautious ones when the deck was favorable. Zack’s eyes flickered with frustration as Peter’s erratic moves made it harder for him to maintain his mental count. In one hand, Peter stood on a risky 16, baiting Zack into overplaying his hand. Zack hit twice, going over 21. “Bust,” the dealer announced, pushing the chips toward Peter. …. The final hand arrived. Both players were down to their last chips. The air in the room felt heavy with tension as the dealer shuffled for the final hand. Peter’s cards landed—a seven and a six. Thirteen. Zack’s eyes flicked to his cards. He had a ten and a five. Fifteen. The dealer revealed her face-up card—a queen. Peter’s System Panel lit up: [DRAW LIKELIHOOD: 73% FOR AN EIGHT.] Peter took a deep breath. “Hit me,” he said. The dealer dealt the card. It flipped through the air and landed softly on the felt. An eight. Twenty-one. Peter exhaled, keeping his face neutral. Zack hesitated, his fingers twitching against the table. The card counter in him was screaming to stop. “I’ll stand,” Zack said at last. The dealer revealed her hand—a nine beneath the queen. Nineteen. “Twenty-one,” the dealer announced, sliding the pile of chips toward Peter. Peter leaned back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He’d done it. Zack’s chair screeched as he shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. “You cheated!” he shouted, his jovial mask completely shattered. Peter raised an eyebrow. “Cheated? Or did Lady Luck finally leave you?” Zack growled, his fists tightening. He lunged across the table, aiming for Peter’s throat. Before he could make contact, two guards appeared like shadows, grabbing Zack by the arms and hauling him back. “Let me go! He cheated! I’ll—” The guards dragged him out, his shouts echoing down the hallway. Peter exhaled slowly, his hands shaking slightly as he collected himself. The dealer gave him a respectful nod. “Well played.” Peter didn’t reply. His thoughts were already on his next challenge. Peter’s watch beeped. He glanced at the screen, and his breath caught. ROOM: E2. GAME: CHESS. OPPONENT: GRANDMASTER JONATHAN MYERS. Peter froze, his stomach twisted. The name wasn’t just familiar—it was a shadow from his past. He’d faced Jonathan once before, and it had cost him more than he cared to admit. Now he had no choice but to confront him once again, he was his next opponent... the next obstacle to saving his mother.
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Chapter 141: His hand
Chapter 141For a second, Johnny did not breathe.The sniper’s body dropped.It happened fast, but not fast enough.He saw it.The man falling backwards, arms loose, boots scraping uselessly against the wall. The broken glass around the window frame caught the sunlight as the body passed through it. And there—still clenched tight in the tactical vest—Johnny’s hand.His hand.They fell together.Fourteen floors.Johnny leaned over the window before he could stop himself.The wind hit his face hard. It smelled like dust, smoke, and something burnt from the fight. Far below, the street looked unreal. Small cars. Tiny people.Then—A distant sound.A heavy, sickening impact.Even from that height, he heard it.A dull crack against concrete.Johnny’s stomach twisted.For a moment, everything went quiet.Then the pain arrived.It did not build slowly.It exploded.“Aaaahhh!”He fell backward into the room, clutching his arm. Or what was left of it.Blood poured from the open stump in violen
Chapter 146: The Fight
The room felt smaller the moment the sniper stepped forward. Wind pushed through the shattered windows behind him, carrying dust and the distant echo of traffic far below. The building creaked from all the damage Johnny had caused getting here. They were alone. No civilians. No witnesses. Just broken walls and unfinished business. The sniper raised the pistol. Johnny moved first. Bang. The muzzle flashed bright orange. Johnny twisted sideways. The first bullet sliced past his ribs. Bang. The second round slammed into his upper arm. Pain burst through him like fire under the skin. He didn’t slow down. He charged. The sniper fired again. Bang. This one hit his shoulder. The impact spun him slightly—but he kept pushing forward, teeth gritted, ignoring the burn as flesh already began stitching itself back together. [Instant Health Restoration Activated] Johnny grabbed a metal stool from beside the wall and hurled it. The sniper shot it mid-air.
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
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