The Years I Was The Gambling God

As I lifted my gaze, I spotted a young man approaching the card table, flanked by two menacing companions. This man had slanted eyes and a shaved head, a long, glaring scar running across his forehead like a centipede, sending a chill down my spine. His piercing gaze was fixed directly on me.

Upon his arrival, the players at the table greeted him hastily. "Centipede Brother has arrived! Have a seat…"

It was evident that they held a certain fear of this so-called Centipede. He sniffed dismissively, ignoring their pleasantries, and focused solely on me, saying, "Don't push anymore; let me take over. Tonight, I'll be the banker, and I'll reward you with a cut of my winnings…"

The Centipede was a thug, accustomed to exerting his dominance here, and he sought to usurp my position as the banker. After spending several hours to earn my spot, I was not about to relinquish it so easily. Looking him in the eye, I replied coolly, "No, thank you. I'd like to play a bit longer. If you're not in a hurry, please wait until I finish my round. I'll share my winnings with you…"

The Centipede paused, taken aback. He did not expect someone here to dare speak to him that way. His eyes hardened with a menacing glint, while one of his subordinates launched into a tirade.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to? Centipede Brother is letting you off easy. You should clear the space immediately, or don't blame us for being ungracious!"

It appeared that this place truly was a mix of rogues, just as Dark had warned me. I surmised they felt emboldened by my unfamiliarity; had I been a regular, the boss would likely have intervened.

Before I could respond, Dark suddenly shot up from his seat. He glared at the lackey and challenged, "Who do you think you're threatening? Go on, show me what you've got!"

The lackey, recognizing Dark, fell silent immediately. Dark then turned his attention to the Centipede, stating, "Centipede, this is my friend. If you want to play, then sit down and play. If you think you can intimidate my friend, don't say I didn't give you a chance…"

The Centipede's expression darkened. It seemed he had never been confronted so brazenly in this establishment, though he appeared to harbour some caution towards Dark. After a brief hesitation, he yanked a player from his seat, taking the spot for himself.

He extended a hand, and one of his goons quickly handed him a thick envelope. With a flourish, the Centipede slapped several stacks of cash onto the table. "Let's play then! I'll wager fifty thousand! Show me what you've got…"

In this game, the banker needed to have ten times the maximum bet in cash to assume the role. For instance, if the maximum bet was one thousand, the banker must have at least ten thousand. This rule was in place to ensure that if someone wagered a thousand and ended up with three matching threes, the banker could cover the payout.

By wagering fifty thousand, the Centipede was demanding I produce five hundred thousand. Frankly, I had barely twenty thousand on me, including my recent winnings. It was clear he was seeking revenge after Dark had put him in his place, intentionally trying to provoke me.

Maintaining my calm demeanour, I replied coolly, "I'm sorry, but our limit is one thousand. I only have a little over twenty thousand dollars. If you want to bet two thousand, I can accommodate that!"

"Damn it, just a pathetic poor guy with a few measly coins, daring to act like a banker…" The Centipede scoffed, his disdain palpable. He then turned to Dark, taunting, "Dark, is this your friend? Why not lend him some cash?"

The Centipede seemed to know that Dark was broken, making this jab a deliberate attempt to provoke him. Dark's face hardened; he shot a glare at the Centipede and retorted, "I'm out of cash! We're playing at this level, and if you don't like it, go find a bigger game elsewhere; don't disturb us!"

With a cold laugh, the Centipede's gaze lingered on the cash before me as he slowly suggested, "How about this: I'll take all your money and we'll play it straight. No doubling; winner takes all…"

This proposition, known as "all-in," meant that whatever I had, he would match in the bet. Regardless of what we drew, even if we both hit three threes, the outcome would hold no extra stakes; we would simply settle on who won.

I remained silent for a moment, my eyes shifting to Dark. This wasn't a matter of fear or reluctance to gamble; rather, I needed to gauge Dark's stance. I wanted clarity on whether, if I were to win, I could walk away with the money. The Centipede likely had a stronghold in this area, so if winning meant I couldn't take the money with me, I had no reason to agree.

Dark, possibly misinterpreting my hesitation as fear of high stakes, jumped up with enthusiasm. He tossed the money from the table onto my pile with a crash, proclaiming, "Let's go, Lupan! We're taking him on. Count me in for my share!"

Seeing Dark's confidence reassured me. After checking Dark's funds, I found he had a total of four thousand five, which, combined with my twenty-three thousand, brought us to twenty-seven thousand five. With the stakes set between just the two of us, I swiftly shuffled and dealt the cards.

Once the cards were distributed, the Centipede, without glancing at his hand, pointed at me, saying, "Alright, no more delay; show your cards first!"

In this format, it didn't particularly matter who revealed their cards first; there was no precedence in comparison. Casually, I flipped over my three cards.

As they were revealed, gasps of sympathy arose from the onlookers. Dark couldn't help but pound the table in disbelief. "Damn, this luck is just too terrible…"

I frowned, adopting an expression of feigned lamentation. The cards before me were a Q, 10, and K—all zeros. They represented the lowest possible hand in Pulling 9. The Centipede and his henchmen erupted into laughter, convinced victory was theirs.

With arrogance, the Centipede beckoned me, "Come on, hand over the cash. Is there even a need to look at my cards?"

Before I could respond, Dark interjected, his voice raised, "Why wouldn't we look at your cards? What if you're also a zero?"

"Dream on!" As he said this, the Centipede slammed his three cards face-up onto the table.

Gasps of astonishment reverberated around us. Dark's eyes widened in surprise, and the Centipede and his lackeys stared in disbelief. To their astonishment, the Centipede's hand was comprised of two tens and a Q—also yielding a zero.

According to the rules of Pulling 9, when the banker and the player have the same point total, the banker wins. This round's "deadlock" was a result of my deliberate dealing.

There were two reasons for this setup. First, I wanted to annoy the Centipede, who I loathed—such characters who brashly flaunt their status while bullying the weak irritate me to no end. Second, I aimed to provoke him. A person who loses with such hands, especially after placing a hefty wager, rarely remains composed. I intended to make him lose his cool, leading him to wager even larger sums.