Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

William nodded.

"She wasn't made Head Maid by accident. Jordi put her there."

Hans's fists clenched. "That bastard."

William smirked.

"If I had punished her on the spot, she would've run—straight to Jordi."

"And?"

"And she would've spun the story into something entirely different. Do you really think she would've told him the truth?"

Hans hesitated.

William continued, voice cool.

"She wouldn't say a word about the budget fraud. Instead, she'd paint me as a violent, unreasonable brat who punishes his servants for no reason. And with all the witnesses present, Jordi wouldn't even have to work hard to make it stick."

Hans paled slightly. "But… but wouldn't your father—"

"That," William said, his smile turning sharp, "would be the worst possible choice."

Hans blinked in confusion.

"If I run to Father over something like this, what does it say about me?"

"That you… can't even handle your own servants?"

William nodded.

"And that's exactly what Jordi wants. He wants me to act rashly. He wants me to make a fool of myself. But…"

William's eyes gleamed.

"Unfortunately for him, I don't plan to play by his rules."

Hans hesitated. "Then… what do you plan to do?"

William's smirk widened.

"If I don't have subordinates inside the house…"

His steps slowed as they reached a dimly lit alley.

"…Then I'll just have to find them outside."

Hans followed his gaze—

And his face went pale.

"…D-Did we just walk into a gambling den?"

William grinned.

"Good. You recognize it."

Hans panicked.

"Wait, wait—Young Master, we just got the Grand Duke's support back! Are you seriously planning to—?!"

BANG!

William kicked the door open.

The heavy wooden frame slammed against the wall, nearly shaking off its hinges.

A dozen rough-looking men inside the gambling hall whipped their heads around, startled.

William stepped inside, his smirk never faltering.

"Alright, you useless degenerates—"

He spread his arms, surveying the thugs, gamblers, and criminals before him.

"—who here wants to make some real money?"

"The third son of the Hern family has entered our gambling den?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Hah! So that fawn prince has taken an interest in gambling now?"

Hugo burst into laughter at his subordinate's report. Noble patrons were not uncommon, but a duke's son—especially one without a knightly reputation—was a rare sight indeed.

"He must have brought a hefty sum with him."

"The first thing he did upon entering was place his coin pouch on the table. He seemed determined to play for real."

"Heh. That kid has probably never held a card properly in his life, but he's dreaming big."

Clicking his tongue, Hugo smirked. This was why he disliked noble brats. They grew up in their sheltered homes where everything bent to their will, so they assumed the rest of the world would do the same.

It would have been amusing to let the boy experience a harsh lesson in reality, but patience was key to making a profit.

"Don't bleed him dry all at once. You know the drill—let him win just enough to keep him coming back."

"Of course, Boss. We'll let him take home a few coins so he thinks he's got a chance."

"And don't forget to spice it up. He needs to feel like he's winning by his own skill."

"Naturally. We'll make it a spectacle."

To pull someone into the abyss of gambling, they first needed to taste victory. The plan was simple—let him win a few rounds, boost his confidence, and then start slowly drawing him in. Once he was hooked, the real game would begin.

Give it a month, and he wouldn't be able to walk away even if he wanted to.

"From a pampered fawn to a mangy stray dog… It won't take long. The duke must be worried sick—his sixteen-year-old son is already going down this path."

Hugo chuckled coldly, stroking his chin. An unexpected opportunity had fallen into his hands, and now, he had to decide how best to use it.

The duke had all but given up on his third son. If they saddled him with enough gambling debt, he'd be too scared to let his father find out. That meant he would be easy to control.

'If I play this right, I won't just make my money back—I'll make a fortune. And I do need an inside contact within the ducal family.'

But patience was crucial. If he moved too aggressively, the prey might get spooked and flee.

Three months. That was enough time to set the trap properly.

The only question was when to play his trump card.

"Boss… Boss!"

Hugo's thoughts were interrupted by the urgent voice of his subordinate. He frowned.

"Didn't you just finish your report? What now?"

"It's about that fawn prince…"

"What about him? Is there a problem?"

"A… A problem? It's a complete disaster! That kid—he's cleaning out the entire gambling den!"

"...What?"

Hugo tilted his head, wondering if he had misheard.

His subordinate, wearing a panicked expression, quickly clarified.

"That young lord isn't just lucky. He's destroying the house. No matter what we do, even when the dealers go all in, they can't beat him!"

"…!"

The dealer felt like he had been possessed by a demon.

How… How was this even happening?

Was this even possible?

Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to focus.

"Crimson Rose," he announced, revealing his hand.

"So do I."

William casually laid his cards down, his tone relaxed and his movements fluid—completely unfazed.

"It's my win. The hands are the same, but my numbers are slightly higher."

The dealer squeezed his eyes shut.

Five times.

William had matched his hand exactly five times now. And each time, he had won by just the smallest margin.

It wasn't about having a stronger hand—he was deliberately toying with him.

The dealer had been gambling for decades, but he had never seen anything like this.

"I… I lost."

"Already? But this is getting fun."

William smirked as he pulled the pile of chips toward him, adding them to the mountain that had already formed.

The other gamblers, witnessing the spectacle, swallowed nervously.

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