The Impotent King Rises

The Underground Casino "The Red Velvet"

A stench of despair greeted David the moment he descended the concrete stairs behind a butcher shop in Queens. "The Red Velvet."

Dim red neon lights illuminated the cramped basement. Thick cigar smoke billowed, and the clinking of coins, shouted curses, and the whirring of slot machines formed a deafening background symphony.

Franky walked behind David, hugging himself as if he were cold.

"Dave, seriously," Franky whispered, his eyes darting nervously, scanning the giant guards stationed in every corner. "This place belongs to Sal 'The Knuckles.' He's Don Moretti's subordinate. If we get caught cheating, they'll turn us into sausage filling at the shop upstairs."

David ignored him. He walked straight, despite his ragged clothes, his blue eyes locked on a single point: the Roulette table in the center of the room.

"I don't need luck, Franky," David murmured softly. "I have math."

He stopped at the edge of the green table. The dealer, a thin man with a red vest and shifty eyes, stared at David’s tramp-like appearance.

"Fifty-dollar minimum bet! Bums like you dare to wager that much?" the dealer sneered, his fingers toying with the small ivory ball.

David reached into his pocket, pulled out Franky's last crumpled bills, and placed them on the green felt.

"All of it," David said flatly.

"Dave!" Franky hissed, tugging David's sleeve. "That's our last money! Just bet on 'Red' or 'Black,' the odds are 50:50!"

David brushed Franky's hand away. "Shut up, Franky!"

Inside David's mind, the system chimed.

[Skill Active: Probability Eye]

[Cost: 12 Hours of Life. Confirm?]

"Confirm," David thought.

Instantly, the world in David's eyes changed. Green neon lines appeared in the air, visualizing the ball's trajectory, the speed of the wheel's rotation, the friction of the cloth, and even the tremor in the dealer's hand. Thousands of numbers floated in the air, calculating probabilities in nanoseconds.

David pushed the stack of money onto a single number—the number with the lowest probability but the highest payout.

"Number 17. Black," David stated.

The dealer laughed mockingly. "A dead number? You want to throw your money away?"

The dealer spun the wooden wheel hard, then flicked the ivory ball in the opposite direction. *Trrrrrt.*

The ball spun, bouncing wildly between the numbered partitions. Franky closed his eyes, muttering prayers. The other gamblers stared cynically, waiting for the fool to lose his money.

In David's eyes, everything moved in slow motion. He watched the green line guide the ball. It slowed... bounced off 32... then 5... and finally dropped softly, locking perfectly into the black slot.

17!

"Holy cow!" the onlookers shouted.

The dealer's eyes widened. Franky's mouth dropped open, nearly drooling.

"Thirty-five times the amount," David said calmly. "Pay up."

With trembling hands, the dealer pushed a stack of chips worth $1,750 toward David.

"Again," David ordered. He didn't take the chips. He pushed everything onto another number. "Number 0. Green."

"You're insane!" the dealer whispered. "That's suicide!"

"Just spin the ball," David challenged.

The ball spun again. Once more, the neon lines in David's eyes didn't lie. The ball landed precisely on 0.

The crowd grew loud. "He won again! This crazy guy won again!"

The $1,750 had turned into $61,250 in seconds.

"Again," David said coldly.

Suddenly, a large, hairy hand gripped David's shoulder.

"That's enough, pal," a heavy voice boomed. "The boss wants a word with you. In the back."

Two gorilla-sized security guards, wearing cheap, tight black suits, were already flanking David.

"Dave..." Franky trembled, his face pale as a sheet. "I told you..."

"Relax, Franky. Take the money. Cash it out," David ordered casually. He turned to the guard. "Show me the way."

They dragged David through the filthy casino kitchen toward a back iron door that led to a narrow, dark alley smelling of garbage.

As soon as the iron door slammed shut, the guard with the burn scar shoved David hard against the brick wall.

"Who the hell do you think you are, huh?" the guard snapped, pulling a telescopic metal baton from inside his jacket. "Counting cards? Using magnets? Nobody gets that lucky in Sal's place."

"I didn't cheat," David replied, brushing dust off his shoulder. "I'm just smarter than you."

"Smarter?" The second guard laughed, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see how smart you are when we break your fingers one by one."

The first guard swung his metal baton toward David's head. The movement was fast and lethal. To an ordinary person, it was an unavoidable attack. But for David, whose adrenaline was boosted by the system, the movement was slow as a snail.

[Warning: Physical Threat Detected.]

[Skill Active: Combat Mastery (Self-Defense) Lv. 1. Cost: 24 Hours.]

David didn't dodge. He stepped inside the attack range. His left hand seized the guard's wrist just before the baton landed. *GRAB.*

"Wha—?!" The guard was stunned. David's grip felt like a hydraulic machine.

"Your technique is poor. Too much wind-up," David criticized coldly.

With a single jerk, David twisted the guard's arm in an unnatural direction.

*KRAAAAAK!*

The sound of the ulna and radius snapping simultaneously was horrifying.

"ARGGGHHH!" The guard screamed, his metal baton clattering onto the asphalt.

Before the second guard could react, David had retrieved the metal baton with his foot, kicked it into the air, caught it, and in one fluid motion, slammed it into the bald guard's knee.

*CRACK!*

The kneecap shattered. The bald guard instantly collapsed, roaring in pain while clutching his leg, which was now bent the wrong way.

David stood tall between the two giants, who were now writhing on the ground like worms on hot pavement. He hadn't killed them. He had merely destroyed their future as enforcers.

"My arm! My arm is shattered!" the guard roared.

[Warning: Approaching threat detected.....searching for solution to eliminate threat]

[Threat named Sal...Weakness: Elena Moretti......]

David smiled faintly upon hearing the information provided by the system.

The casino's back door opened again. This time, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit with a cigar in his mouth stepped out. He was escorted by four men armed with pistols. This was Sal "The Knuckles," the casino boss.

Sal looked at his two best men, who were crippled in seconds, and then looked at David. However, Sal didn't look angry. He looked... interested.

"Incredible!" Sal said, exhaling cigar smoke. "You walk in looking like a bum, rob my casino, and cripple two of my gorillas without breaking a sweat. Who are you, really? A cop? A secret agent?"

David walked toward Sal, ignoring the four pistols now aimed at his head.

"I'm not a cop, Sal. I'm the solution to your problem," David stated, causing Sal to frown slightly.

"Problem? I only have one problem, and that's you!" Sal signaled his men to prepare to shoot.

"Wrong!" David shook his head slowly. "Your problem is your boss's daughter. Elena Moretti."

Sal froze. The cigar in his mouth nearly dropped. This was high-level confidential information. No outsider knew about the hidden condition of Don Moretti's daughter.