#ocjack

Even with reason still screaming in your mind, another part of you cannot stop thinking about the card you received a few days ago. You had discarded it, thinking it would help you forget, but the thought remains, guiding your fingers to look up more about the place. The reviews are excellent, everything seems legitimate, and…

The thought breaks when you feel a slight nudge from behind. Looking down, you see children running around excitedly in small groups, each rushing into the arms of their relatives. You scan the crowd for your son, but your hopes sink when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“You came, you came!!!” The vibrant voice echoes, and before you can turn around completely, you feel small arms wrap around your legs. “Why don't you always come pick me up? It’s so boring going home alone...”

Your body relaxes automatically. Crouching down to meet his eye level, you hug him tightly. “Of course I came, my sweetheart. When have I ever lied to you?” Your smile widens even more as he nuzzles his head against your shoulder before pulling back a little.

"Remember Mrs. Black?" he interrupts, his excitement overflowing. "Look!" He holds up something in each hand—a drawing in one and candies in the other. "I made a drawing today, and she gave me more candies than usual!!"

“Really?” you ask, taking the drawing. Three figures are depicted: you, your son in the center, and on the other side, the silhouette of a woman you don't know… at least not yet. Before you can examine it further, a new voice enters the scene.

“I thought I told you not to talk about that, Theo. The other kids will get upset if they find out.”

A woman approaches, her uniform giving away that she is a teacher. She gently ruffles your son’s hair, making him laugh gleefully, before straightening her posture and smiling politely at you. “You are his guardian, am I correct? Pleasure to finally meet you, your son talks about you quite a lot.”

Without a doubt, it is the same woman from the drawing. You shake her hand, returning the smile. "I hope Theo isn't causing you too much trouble."

She shakes her head. "Of course not, he is very polite and kind." Then, she turns back to your son, softening her tone. "How about you try sharing your sweets with your friends? We need to have a grown-up talk."

The bright excitement on the boy’s face fades gradually, but he still nods obediently before walking away, dragging his small frame toward a group of chatting students.

"Did something happen to him?"

"Not exactly." The teacher adjusts her glasses with an automatic gesture, as if organizing her own thoughts. "Can we talk in my office?"

"No, I don't like leaving my son out of my sight." Your voice is firm, trying to make it clear that your decision will not waive. To your surprise, she simply nods.

Your gaze follows your son's, drifting to where he is. He tries to interact with other children while offering a piece of candy. The other kids grab the sweet before walking away, but he tries to keep up with them. Even without being able to hear what they are saying, the scene brings a pang of heartache to your chest.

"I understand that your situation isn't the best, but you should think more about your son. Even with me trying to help, I can't work miracles." Her words are harsh, yet her voice remains soft. "Don't you think he is going through too much because of you? Why did you even adopt him if you don't have the means to raise him?"

You don't reply, but it is clear you heard every word. The difference between your son and the other children is impossible to ignore. His bag remains the same one from four years ago, patched up so many times that the original color seems entirely lost. His uniform, even after all your efforts to clean it, still carries ink stains that won't come out. Your fists clench, and the heavy weight of familiar guilt builds in your chest once more.

She seems to wait for an answer, pressing you to say something. "I really appreciate everything you have done for my son." The words come out shakier than expected, and you clear your throat. "Looking for a job hasn't been easy, I've tried everything..."

"I doubt that," she retorts, turning to face you directly. "I care deeply about all my students. If I see that he is truly not in good conditions, I will have to call Child Protective Services."

Your eyes snap up to her immediately, but there was no trace of jest in her expression. "This would be for your own good too, believe me." She organizes her things in her bag, as if already preparing to leave.

"A true parent does whatever it takes for their child."

Her tone was so cold it barely felt like it came from a real person. Even whispered, the words echoed loudly in your mind, and you could swear you noticed a slight smirk before she walked away. Your body wanted to defend itself, but your conscience knew she was right. Perhaps due to the severity of her words, you couldn't put them aside as you walked home, Theo walking by your side.

Her words had never hit you this hard when you read them in the notes Theo handed over. At first, her appearance conveyed softness—a gentle face that did not match the rigidity of her messages. But now, meeting her face-to-face, it became clear she was just as rigid and harsh as what she wrote.

"[Name], what did you think of her?" Theo asked, lightly squeezing your hand to get your attention. "She wasn't complaining about me, was she? You two are always exchanging notes..."

You caress his hand, trying to convey calmness. “No, sweetie. We were just chatting, that's all. After all, if she is your friend, she is my friend too.”

He hums contentedly and falls silent again, which is rare. Though your mind is elsewhere, you force yourself to pay attention to your son. "You are so quiet today… did something happen at school?"

"No, nothing happened…" he says, adjusting the bag on his back. "I was just thinking about the field trip… my classmates won't stop talking about it."

Ah, of course… the field trip. Theo had mentioned it months ago, and you had been saving up little by little so he could go. Until all that money ended up being used to keep you from being evicted.

Your pause in replying seems to say it all, as if he could read your mind.

"...You couldn't get the money?"

The words pierce your heart. The disappointment he tries to hide is easily read on his face.

"No… it's not that, sweetie. I just…" Your voice falters, and you fall silent, not knowing how to explain. Theo was so excited… you tried so hard to scrape together every penny, but…

"S-Sorry, [Name]!!" He suddenly lets go of your hand and throws himself into a tight hug, his muffled crying blending into the fabric of your clothes. "It's okay… it's okay!!"

You stand frozen for a moment, confused, not immediately grasping the intensity of your son's reaction. Then, you notice a single tear sliding down your own face, dropping softly onto his hair.

What kind of guardian are you, allowing your own child to worry like this?

With a tight chest, you raise your hand to wipe your face and pull back just enough to look at him, without breaking contact. "I got it… of course I got it." Your voice comes out rushed, nearly tripped up by your thoughts, as you gently run your fingers across his cheeks. “It’s next week, right? Tomorrow I promise I’ll pay for it.”

The crying stops instantly. He stares at you with wide eyes, as if he can't believe it. A massive smile breaks across his face, and you feel every bit of his joy pulsing against you.

"Is it true?! You're not lying?!" His fingers grip yours, pulling tightly as he tries to start running. "Let's go! We have to pack my bag! Get everything ready!"

Theo continues celebrating all the way home, and you let yourself be carried away, unable to extinguish that spark of hope on his face.

The feeling of guilt tightens even more in your chest. You shouldn't have said that.

The night is peaceful tonight.

The wind rustles through the leaves of the tree above you, making your hair move slightly. There is no other sound besides that. The street is empty, completely deserted, and you can't tell how long you've been standing there, but it must be late by now.

You have been staring at the sky for a while, as if waiting for some answer. But nothing happens. The stars remain exactly where they were, giving no sign whatsoever.

What should you do now?

You close your eyes, forcing your mind to conjure up a solution—any solution.

"[Name]?"

Theo’s voice cuts through your thoughts. When you turn around, he is standing by the doorway, his hair messy and his expression torn between confusion and sleepiness.

“Aren't we going to sleep together tonight?” he asks, his voice heavy with sleep as he approaches. “So I wouldn't get in your way, I packed my bag all by myself.” With visible effort, he lifts the bag, wanting to prove he managed without help.

“It’s past your bedtime, you’ll wake up tired tomorrow,” you chide him, even knowing your authority was never quite enough to completely hold him back. “Don't worry, sweetie. I'll join you in a little bit, okay?” Your voice comes out as barely a whisper, trying not to wake him fully as you turn your body around.

Theo just murmurs an almost inaudible “okay” and shuffles back inside, his slow footsteps echoing down the hallway.

You close the door and lean against it, feeling the cold wood press into your back. Your thoughts begin to race again. There is absolutely no way to get fast cash.

…

Your gaze locks onto the pile of trash on the sidewalk. Something glints under the moonlight. Without a doubt, it is the same card from before.

…

Just once wouldn't hurt, right?

You walk over and pick up the card. Despite being in the trash, it is immaculate—clean and without a single tear. Even when you squeeze it between your fingers, it seems to resist any bending.

Your eyes flit between the card and the front door.

It doesn't hurt to try, you'll just go see how it works and see if it's as good as they promise.

You pull your key from your pocket and lock the door. No need to disturb Theo, it will be a quick visit.

With the card between your fingers, you take the first step. And in the blink of an eye, you find yourself standing before the establishment. The ache in your legs betrays the long journey, yet curiously it only manifests now, as if your body had been in a trance until this moment.

Black Roses…

If the facade already exudes sophistication, the interior promises even more. It is a casino, after all; luxury is the bare minimum to expect. You barely approach the entrance when two guards move simultaneously to block your path. The first crosses his arms, his jaw rigid. The second steps half a pace forward, taking the lead.

“Entrance is forbidden to non-invited guests.”

Before you can answer, a firm hand touches your shoulder and pushes you lightly back. It isn't violent, but it is enough to make it clear that you don't belong there. You pull out the card you had received and hold it out before them. "I-I received this… would this be the invitation?" Your voice wavers more than you would like.

The effect is immediate. Both of their eyes widen in perfect synchronization. The one who had spoken steps back, alternating his gaze between the card and you as if standing before something impossible.

“Our sincerest apologies.” The authority evaporates from his tone as he bows his head in respect.

The other hastily uncrosses his arms and steps aside, clearing the way. “Please, step inside. It was a grave mistake on our part.”

What kind of reaction is this? Their demeanor completely flipped…

A sense of pride swells within you, even without fully understanding the reason behind that sudden shift.

You step through the casino doors and feel the cool air mixed with a faint, sweet fragrance; the interior is even more astonishing. Colorful lights flash over every machine, casting bright reflections across the polished floor. The sounds of clinking chips and lively laughter fill the air, and there is a subtle scent of liquor and luxury. Gaming tables stretch out ahead, each filled with focused players and dealers moving cards and chips. You find yourself looking around at everything with wide eyes.

The chilly wind blows against you, reminding you that you are still standing at the entrance, with the guards discreetly watching your every move. This prompts you to step forward.

The world of the wealthy seems like another universe... You feel out of place.

In the lounge, only one table is vacant—the center one. Ironically, it is also the most elegant. Having no other choice, you approach and sit down, your eyes scanning every corner around you. Some tables were plunged into absolute silence, focused on their own games; others laughed and chatted, moving chips around in an apparently random manner without any strategy.

Before you could analyze further, a loud slam on the wood of the table made you jolt. Looking up, you find a waiter glaring at you with pure fury.

"What do you think you're doing here?!" he exclaims, his voice cutting across the lounge and drawing curious glances. "This table is reserved for Mr. Jack! Don't you see? Only high rollers can sit here! Don't you think—"

He continues, and you find yourself paralyzed. Why are you being so quiet?! You can't let him intimidate you!

Gathering all the strength you have, you stand up, but the words stubbornly remain trapped in your throat. There is no time to worry about that as someone else steps in and intervenes.

"Hey, hey," a smooth voice says, approaching from behind the waiter. "Let's not scare a new guest, especially one so beautiful." The man places a hand on the employee's shoulder, who flinches under the touch. "Didn't Ace already talk to you about your behavior?"

The waiter opens his mouth, perhaps to justify himself, but closes it the very next second. The man’s smile widens, satisfied.

“How about bringing us a drink?” He tilts his head slightly. “One of the most expensive. Consider it a way to redeem yourself.”

The young man nods too quickly and practically rushes out of there, vanishing among the tables. The man's gaze follows him until he disappears from sight. "I apologize for his behavior. I'll make sure he doesn't speak to you like that again." Only then does he return his attention to you, his features softening into a more cordial expression. "You can call me Jack, it is a great pleasure to meet you..." He extends his hand to you.

There is a short pause. From his tone, he clearly expects you to state your name. Your hand reaches out to his, but freezes halfway. You only came to see how this place works; it isn't good to get involved with this type of person.

“Fortune,” the name slips out before you can think better of it. “That is my name.” You shake his hand, but when you try to pull it back, you realize his fingers remain wrapped around yours.

“Fortune, is it?” He lifts your hand and presses a light kiss to the back of it. “A beautiful name for someone beautiful.”

You look away, not knowing how to react, and in doing so, you notice that every eye in the room is fixed on the two of you. It is impossible to tell if he noticed your discomfort or simply chose to ignore it. Either way, he finally releases your hand and steps back.

“I’ve never seen your face around here.” He walks around the table and heads to the only empty chair, right in front of you. You hadn't even realized that other people had joined your table. “What are you looking for?”

The question is strange, but not unexpected.

“I just got curious about how this place works, so I came to check it out.” You keep your chin up, despite the uncomfortable feeling of being surrounded by strangers. “I didn't mean to intrude on your table, I apologize.”

Jack waves his hand dismissively, brushing off any formality before settling comfortably into his chair. “Relax, I’m sure my previous companion wouldn't have had the chance to come here anyway.” A waiter appears by his side and offers a drink, which he accepts with a satisfied nod. “I’m honored to be your first opponent then.”

Your heart races. You're going to play already?!

The shift in your expression amuses him, drawing a low chuckle. “That is what we are all here for, isn't it?” He brings the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. “Don't worry, I don't want to scare you off right on the first game.” From within the table, almost like a magic trick, he pulls out two dice and places them between you. “Let's make some simple bets, what do you think?”

The waiter extends the other drink to you, and you accept it. The aroma hits your nose before the liquid even touches your lips—it is too sweet, almost sickening. Yeah, you are definitely not taking a single sip. “I didn't know we would start playing right away,” you confess, swirling the liquid slowly and watching the reflection of the lights on the amber surface. “I didn't bring anything.”

And even if you had brought something, you wouldn't bet it in a place you barely know.

“No problem, here.” He pushes a 100-dollar bill to your side of the table. “You can keep this one, and I'll keep this one, that way we are at the same value.” He holds up another identical bill, pinched between his fingers. “Shall we bet?”

You run your thumb over the bill, feeling the texture of the paper and tilting it against the light to check every detail. Yes, it is real.

If you can walk out of here with this money, you won't have lost anything and will only come out ahead!

“I appreciate the kindness.” You force a casual tone, trying to hide the excitement pulsing in your chest. “You make it impossible to refuse. What game do you suggest?”

He clears his throat, gathering the dice into the palm of his hand. The clattering sound of the pieces echoes between you. “Do you know heads or tails? It's something along those lines.” The dice dance between his fingers, displayed like a simple trick. “They are two six-sided dice. Each face has a different color, in addition to the number. You can bet on the color that lands, on the sum of the numbers… or even whether the result will be even or odd.”

Jack falls silent, and you understand he is waiting for your choice.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of the decision. “I think… maybe I'd prefer…” The sentence dies before it leaves your lips, while your gaze locks onto the dice.

Wait…

“Hey, can I see the dice first?”

The request causes the room to fall silent. Jack raises an eyebrow, and his smile opens up a bit more. “Sure.” He tosses the dice in your direction; they slide across the table and stop right in front of you.

You pick them up, bringing them close to your eyes. The difference is clear; it isn't just a matter of taste. The odds change depending on your choice.

If you bet on the color, the probability of both dice landing on the same color is minimal. Jack didn't specify if matching just one side was enough, but the lack of details must be intentional—he wants you to believe it is a simple choice. You won't fall into that trap.

On the sum of the numbers, the odds drop even lower and vary according to the chosen total. The more choices, the lower the probability of winning. The safest option is to risk it on even or odd, with exactly a 50% chance of getting it right. Regardless of what is decided, you and Jack will face the same odds.

You don't know if the dice are standard or loaded; it's better to simplify the game for both and not take risks.

Raising your eyes, you meet Jack's challenging smirk. Did he really think a seemingly harmless choice could fool you?

“I'll prefer to bet on whether the number will be even or odd.”

“As you wish.” He nods, and two compartments open with a click under the table, one to his right and one to your left. “I imagine you don't want the game to end too quickly, so let's use these chips to define the amount we want to wager.”

Makes sense. Without them, you both would have to bet the full amount all at once.

You run your fingers through the inside of the compartment and pick up two chips. Their weight surprises you—they aren't plastic as you imagined, but feel molded from solid ore. The lower-value ones have an aged bronze hue, while the higher ones gleam in silver under the table light.

“Let's begin,” Jack says as he organizes his own chips, lining them up in front of him. “What would be the amount of your bet?”

Your gaze falls on a bronze chip. It is best to start with a low amount.

Your fingers press the piece against the table; the symbol 5 gleams under the golden light. “Five dollars.”

Your opponent tilts his head slightly, as if approving of the caution. “I see, it would be good to warm up first.” Then, he deposits his own chip. It is of the same value, but it seems to look slightly different from yours. “I'll give you the honor of starting. What is your move?”

You look at the dice in his hand. Will he be the one throwing them?

There is no time to think about it. As your mother once said, never let your opponent know what you are thinking!

“Even.” But as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel your heart thumping. You aren't used to choosing without thinking first. But what is there to think about? The odds are equal.

“If that is your choice, I have no alternative but to choose odd.” Jack shakes the dice and rolls them onto the table. The dice seem to roll for an eternity, and you cannot tear your eyes away from them. One die slows down and stops right in front of you.

“Five.”

One part of you relaxes instantly, the other… does not. But your eyes go straight to the other die when you realize the sound hasn't stopped yet.

The die stops in front of a woman, who seems startled by it.

“Six, do you mind telling us the number?”

“Six” nods quickly. A low murmur comes from her, but it is audible enough.

“Three.”

The air returns to your lungs.

Five… and three.

“Eight is an even number,” Jack states, looking first at the dice… and only then at you. “Congratulations, you won the round.” He begins to applaud.

The people at the table applaud as well. Your chest swells with pride, even though it was just the first round. Your relief is cut short when a chip enters your field of vision. It is one of his chips. You identify a hat symbol on it, which is the same hat Jack is wearing. It must be his trademark.

“Thank you, shall we move on to the next one?”

And so, the matches continue.

Even with your heart distracting you with strong emotions of pride, you do your best to study the place and the people while concentrating on the game. Some rounds you win, while others you lose. Different from what you expected, your defeats only drive you to bet more. It is hard to suppress this feeling.

Truly, it seems to be an ordinary casino; you dare to say it even seems fair. This thought perturbs you a little, as you have always been wary of casinos.

They were the ones that made your parents disappear, after all.

Even with those thoughts haunting you, your emotions did not disrupt your concentration. It was as if someone else was controlling your body while you simply watched.

“Fifty dollars.” You pushed the chip of the same value forward. “What do you think? Or do you believe it is too much for you?”

Jack scoffed, but his hand did not hesitate as it reached toward the compartment. “Such confidence. Don't you think–” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixing on the open space. Sensing your weight upon him, he turned around.

You, innocently, pushed the remainder of his chips forward, totaling exactly one hundred dollars.

The table went silent. He stared, a stillness dominating everyone, even you. His expression remained unreadable. Was he genuinely surprised or just faking it?

Jack’s face softened. He took off his hat, bowing his head in your direction. “You are a formidable opponent, I admit.” He placed the hat back on his head and clapped his hands twice. “The show is over, folks. Thanks for participating!”

The people exchanged glances and then looked between you and the man. They dispersed through the crowd in the lounge with surprising speed.

“They seem tense.”

“Who wouldn't be?” His voice now came from behind you. You didn't hear him stand up. “I’m sure the presence of a new player here left everyone anxious.” He extended his hand to you, which you accepted.

“And how do you know I’ll be back?”

“I don't know, but it is what I hope for,” he added as he guided you away from the table toward the exit. On the way, you felt more eyes on you; it's as if they were talking about you behind your back.

“A pleasure, truly.” He pulled an elegant, obsidian card from the inner pocket of his coat, its surface catching the dim light. “If you ever reconsider coming back, or simply want a different kind of game, I am at your disposal.” He offered it—a silent invitation.

You hesitated, your fingers touching the cold plastic. “Thank you. But I already have one.” You pulled out the card you had received before. It wasn't obsidian like his; yours was a deep, iridescent violet, definitely fancier.

Jack’s eyes widened, a genuine shock finally breaking through his facade. He stared at the violet card, then looked back up at you. His lips parted slightly, a silent question hanging between you.

“Where did you get that?” he finally managed to say, his voice a low murmur. “That isn't—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Well, never mind. I wish you a good night.”

Before you could reply, Jack had already slipped his own card into his pocket and turned around, quickening his pace inside and leaving no time to say goodbye.

You stood there, watching him disappear. By the way everyone treated him, it was clear he held a high position in that place… So why did he react that way upon seeing your card?

A gust of cold wind cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. You shiver slightly and look at your watch.

There are more important things now, like your son, waiting for you at home.

“I wish you could come with me…” Theo’s voice comes out low, muffled against your coat, as he clings to you as if he could delay the farewell. “Won't you feel lonely?”

“I admit I'll miss the mess you make around the house.” You adjust his collar, lingering a bit longer than necessary. “Enjoy the trip, okay? And no ignoring the teachers.”

Theo nods, half serious and half excited. Then he leans in, plants a quick kiss on your cheek, and runs off.

It is the first time you are going to be away from your son for so long, and worry refuses to leave you in peace. Still, with Theo distracted and happy, you will finally have some time to think of new ways to make money.

You watch him cross the courtyard toward the bus. He hands his backpack to one of the staff members and steps onto the first step, or at least tries to. His foot pauses in mid-air.

And then he walks back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Did you forget something?”

“Here!” He pulls the small pendant attached to his clothes and places it in your hands. “If you stay with Grandma, you won't be alone!”

Before you can answer, he is already running back, boarding the bus and waving excitedly before disappearing inside. Normally, you would call him back, insist that he take the pendant with him. But this time, you can't. You just stand there watching, and wave back when he appears at the bus window.

When the vehicle finally disappears from sight, your gaze drops to the object in your hands. The metal is worn, slightly rusted—a clear sign of the time that has passed over it.

“Theo is very attached to that, I’ve always wondered why.”

Mrs. Black’s voice appears beside you. She stares in the same direction the bus went. You thought she would have gone along with the students, so her presence here catches you by surprise.

“Well… it’s a family heirloom. I always ask him to be careful,” you reply, trying to sound casual before changing the subject. “I thought you were going to accompany them on the field trip.”

She shakes her head. “I love my kids, but I also need to rest… and look after my own interests.” Her hands toy with a deck of cards you hadn't even noticed before. “Are you busy? I’d like to chat.”

Your heart grows heavy. You hope she doesn't bring up that matter again.

As if sensing your apprehension, she softens her expression and rests her hand on your shoulder. “Relax… it’s nothing like that.” A calm smile appears on her lips as she already begins to guide you toward one of the courtyard tables. “How about a card game?”

At first, your feet don't move. The pendant is still held firmly between your fingers, as if anchoring you to the spot. Even so, you end up nodding. Perhaps… you really do need a distraction.

You sit down opposite each other. The table still carries chalk marks and small scratches made by distracted students. Mrs. Black shuffles the cards skillfully, the movements almost hypnotic.

For a second, it reminds you of Jack.

“You seem tense,” she comments as she deals the cards.

You pick them up slowly, organizing them without much rush. The silence hangs heavily for a bit before you answer. “It’s the first time I’ve been away from him for this long.”

“I figured that was the case,” she agrees, resting her chin on her hand. “But it doesn't seem to be just that.”

Silence.

You could ignore it. You could deflect the subject, as you always do. But there is something in the way she speaks… it doesn't sound invasive, nor insistent. It is almost as if she were simply… there, waiting for you.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she reassures you, drawing a card from the deck. “But sometimes, keeping it all to yourself is more exhausting than sharing.”

You throw a card onto the table, avoiding her gaze. “If you’re trying to sell me one of your therapy sessions, I’m warning you right now, I can’t afford it.”

A faint smile touches the corner of her lips. “What a good memory… I didn’t think you’d remember the old cards.” She covers your play with another. “And don’t worry. Even though my duty is to care for the children, the parents always end up being my patients too. In the end, they are the ones who influence their children’s lives the most.”

Your delay in responding does not go unnoticed.

“Don’t you remember what I said? I care about all my students—”

“And what do you want me to do?”

The sentence comes out colder than you intended. She falls silent, observing you over her cards.

“You people always say the same thing…” Without even fully realizing what you are doing, you draw and discard cards on autopilot, as if your hands know how to play on their own. “As if I wasn't trying every single day… Why do you want to take my son away from me so badly?!”

The words pour out quickly, difficult to contain.

“While everyone else ignored him, practically leaving him to die in the street, I was the one who stopped! I was the one who paid attention!” Your hand trembles as you draw another card. “Even with problems worse than yours, I tried… I went there… I did something! Alone… with no one… I took care of him, fed him, and—”

Your breath catches.

Each word seems to tear away a piece of your oxygen until it simply runs out. You fall silent, forced to take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. Black says nothing. When your breathing finally stabilizes, she plays two cards on the table.

“You won.”

…Won?

You look at your own hand in confusion. There are no cards left. They are all piled in the center. You have no memory of playing them. In fact, you barely remember paying attention to the game at all.

“Someone once told me that simple or strategic games activate the brain in a way that can help organize what a person feels.” Black pauses, as if structuring her own train of thought. “Many people can express themselves better when they aren't fully focused on the conversation, and it makes everything more comfortable, too.” She continues, adjusting her posture slightly before concluding. “I’m glad it worked for you.”

You don’t think that was the case, but it’s unusual for you to talk this much. You’ve always had a habit of keeping many parts of your life vague, avoiding drawing attention to yourself.

“Maybe I’m just being too emotional.” Embarrassment becomes evident, and you lower your head. “I’m sorry for losing control like that with you.”

A card is placed under your chin, and with a gentle nudge, your head is lifted back to its previous position. “You are just tired, and it’s my job to take care of people like you.” The card pulls away, and Black takes a watch from her pocket. “When you say ‘problems worse than yours,’ what exactly do you mean? Do you mind explaining?”

You’ve already gone too far. So… what’s the harm in continuing?

“There’s not much to say,” you murmur. “I was 14 when I found Theo. It was the same day I lost my parents… and I’ve been taking care of him ever since.”

She frowns slightly. “So young… And you didn't contact the authorities?”

“No, I was alone. Feeling betrayed.” The sentence comes out in fragments, as if each word dragged another memory along with it. “I just wanted someone’s company. That’s why I didn't hesitate when I saw that baby… abandoned by his own parents, just like me.”

“Did you not have a good relationship?”

Your fingers drum on the table, searching for some semblance of order in the chaos of your memories. “It’s complicated…” you say, softer. “They weren't bad. Just… impulsive. Especially my mother.”

One day, your mother and father went out to “work” together, as she used to put it.

“Take care of yourself. And don't open the door for anyone,” your father noted while filling a briefcase with cash.

“We won't be long, my sweetheart.” Your mother caresses your cheeks and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Remember that we love you very much.”

You nodded in silence, hugging your parents before saying goodbye. When the door closed, you ran to the window, wanting to watch them leave. Through the closed glass, their voices arrived distorted, almost impossible to understand. Still, one phrase escaped clearly enough to stick in your mind.

“If this is the last step I need to take for you and my child, then this will be my final bet.”

…

The silence in the house grew far too long.

When you finally heard knocking, it wasn't theirs.

The door swung open before you could even reach the handle. Men walked in without permission, occupying the space as if they already knew every corner of the house. One of them went straight to the living room and began tossing everything upside down; another opened cabinets in a rush, as if racing against time, completely uncaring of anything breaking in his path.

“What are you doing?! Where are my parents?!” Your question came out loud, echoing through the room.

No one answered.

You tried to cross the room to block one of them, but your body was easily shoved aside. You fell onto the cold floor, the impact hard enough to make you whimper.

The movement inside the house continued as if you weren't even there.

A luxury moving truck was parked outside. Boxes, furniture, and memories were loaded inside.

“Stop! This is our house!” You tried again, already on your feet, failing to understand what was happening.

One of the men turned just enough to speak to you before leaving.

“Your mother left you, kid. This place doesn't belong to you. Not anymore.”

“The last thing I saw was the truck door closing before they drove away.” The words flow out while you fiddle with the pendant between your fingers. “I couldn't take anything with me. The only piece left was this.”

“So your parents simply… never returned? There isn't a single clue as to what happened?”

You choose not to bring up the part about the bets, nor the fact that they were constantly involved in that lifestyle.

“No, none. That same day, while looking for a place to sleep, I heard a child crying coming from the dumpster. And the rest you know.”

Black watches you for a few seconds before commenting, with a sort of restrained astonishment. “It’s the first time I’ve seen someone manage to keep their voice steady while crying.”

With those words, you realize the sheer scale of your own emotions. Your chest still aches with the pain of being abandoned, and the table below you is covered in wet drops. “I didn't want to lose my composure, it’s just a sensitive subject for me. So much time has passed, and this pain has never faded.”

“Don't hold it in; it needs to come out of you.” Black places a tissue in front of you, and you wipe your face.

The next few minutes drag on. The tears stop not out of relief, but out of pure exhaustion, as if your body had given up on producing them anymore.

“Still not feeling better?” she asks, interrupting the flow of your thoughts. “I have a technique that might help with that.”

“...And what would that be?”

She raises the small watch between you, moving it slowly from side to side. “Hypnosis.”

Your arms cross, an eyebrow arching. “Isn't that just a manipulation technique?”

She shows no irritation at your suspicion. “It’s an ancient method, so I can’t blame you for thinking that way. Still, it is effective and works on several areas of the mind. Since you seem troubled by memories of the past, I can apply a hypnosis focused on mental peace.”

You let out a long sigh. There is no conviction in this for you, but you also lack the energy to refuse something new. Besides, she has been taking care of your son for a long time… There aren't many reasons to doubt her.

“If a psychologist thinks it can help…” You give in, adjusting your posture in the chair.

“Excellent.” Black snaps her fingers before positioning herself correctly. “Please, close your eyes.”

You obey.

“What do you hear?”

With your vision consumed by darkness, your other senses grow sharper. “The wind… birds… trees…”

She makes a faint, almost imperceptible sound of approval. Then, soft clicks begin to echo in front of you. You deduce it’s from the watch.

“Can you follow that sound?”

You try to locate the source solely by what reaches your ears. A higher point stands out on one side, then on the other, and you begin to follow them. At first, it’s hard to keep the rhythm, but gradually everything falls into harmony—or at least, that’s the sensation you get.

“Very well… You may open your eyes now.”

Won't this ruin my concentration?

The thought remains strictly internal. When your vision returns, everything appears blurry, slowly reorganizing itself until it takes shape. Your eyes remain perfectly locked onto the movement of the watch, as if the difference between seeing and not seeing held no relevance.

“Focus on the watch. Nothing exists besides my presence, this movement, and your memories.”

Your heart, which had already been slowing down without you noticing, seems to retreat even further. Gradually, the sound of the watch fades, replaced by a low, continuous melody that grows slowly, filling the space around you.

The watch vanishes from her hand, and Black stands up.

Was that it? Is it over?

The words won't come out again. The singing continues, but Black’s lips remain still, as if the origin of the melody didn't belong to her. She rests one knee on the table and then both hands, crawling toward you.

You try to react, to force your own body to stand up or at least move any part of it, but you can’t. The rigidity only intensifies when you feel hands settling onto your shoulders from behind.

“Let’s not ruin the process, shall we?”

The whisper is accompanied by a kiss below your ear, causing your entire body to go numb right along with the rhythm of your heartbeat. The presence behind you vanishes, but the touch remains, merely changing its source. It now belongs to the figure standing in front of you.

Your face remains turned toward her chest, unable to lift itself. Still, there is enough consciousness left to perceive her hands moving slowly up your shoulders, tracing a path until they lock around your neck. More precisely, your throat.

“There is no escaping the pain…” The melody weakens, and Black’s voice echoes around you. “What you can do is… replace it.”

Right after her words, her hands close around your neck. But the pain feels strangely distant, insufficient to trigger panic. Still, you need to breathe. Your body gives way, your eyes closing against your will, and your head falls against her.

Black’s body vibrates with a low laugh, but the grip does not loosen or diminish. Arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you even closer to her.

After an unmeasurable amount of time, new hands emerge, as if born from the same place, sliding up to your face. They hold your cheeks tenderly, forcing your gaze upward.

For a moment, you almost think you see confusion in her expression. But it disappears almost immediately, replaced by a calm smile.

From the edge of your field of vision, you see other figures around you. All identical to her. All bearing the same expression.

Your view is blocked as Black leans in and presses her forehead against yours. When her lips finally move, they brush yours lightly as she speaks.

“Wake up.”

The kiss happens as a continuation of the command. Before your eyes close completely, you notice that hers remain open. Fixed on you.

Until everything goes dark.

…

“I apologize, my lord, but there is nothing that can be done regarding your money.”

The man slams his fist onto the table. The wood cracks under the impact, but he doesn't seem to notice.

“Your games are rigged! That’s why I lost! I demand a new game, with my rules!”

Silence.

“As you wish.”

…

What was that?

…

“I have never seen anyone play like that before… My congratulations, miss.”

You realize you are smiling. The cards glide between your fingers naturally.

“Everyone has their own techniques, don't they?”

…

This voice is definitely Black’s, but you can’t see where it’s coming from.

…

“Filthy pieces of shit… what’s the point of betting if you don't even have real money?”

You count bills, organizing everything inside a briefcase while murmuring to yourself. Your movements are far too calm for someone hearing screams behind them.

“You stole it! Give it back, you miserable whore—”

…

Is it coming… from you?

…

Your consciousness returns to your body. Black is still in the same position as before, but the watch is now motionless in front of you. Noticing your state, she pulls the object away from your face and slips it into her pocket.

“You went quite a while without giving any sign… can I consider this a success?”

The words take time to form, as if they were still stuck in your throat. “Ah… yes, yes. I think it worked.”

Black arches an eyebrow, observing you closely and with a degree of concern. “I’m sorry. You probably relived bad memories and intense emotions during the process, so it’s normal to feel this way… But what about now? When you think about it, do you still feel the same?”

You search within yourself. The memories of those days return. The abandonment, the hunger, the mistreatment, the constant feeling of having nowhere to go… But instead of the usual pain tightening your chest, something else emerges.

Strength. As if revisiting those memories brought you confidence and determination… How is that possible?

“No, I feel more capable now. You’re right, I saw bad memories, but I’m fine now.”

Black’s expression softens, and she gives your hand a few light pats in a comforting gesture. “That’s good. Take it easy for the rest of the day. Your mind still needs to adjust to this.” She stands up and gathers the cards on the table. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

You barely register the rest of her words. Your fingers trace your lips, as if you could still feel a warmth lingering there.

“God, am I really that lonely…?”

You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thoughts before they grow. Then, you stand up and head back home.

“Would you mind leaving me alone for a bit longer? I need to think.”

The man hesitates, his eyebrows knitting together once more that night, but he finally nods in silence before leaving, closing the door with a sharp click.

Silence.

Why so many questions? Should you lie or tell the truth?

Are you a virgin? Are you financially stable? Do you have debts? Do you believe in luck or bad luck? Are you easily influenced? Do you tolerate pain well?

The employee had tried to reassure you, saying it only served to “adjust the environment” to your preferences. But that didn't convince you in the slightest.

You’ve read the contract several times. Your eyes have scanned every single line of the questionnaire until you’ve memorized the order of the questions.

There is nothing.

No hidden clauses. No absurd conditions. No visible traps.

You knew that at some point something like this would arrive, but you thought they would let you stay here longer without requesting something in return.

…

Why are you even here again? Why are you betting? Don't you remember what happened to your parents?

You throw yourself back against the chair, your fingers nervously playing with the pendant in your pocket. A sense of calm washes over you after a while, and when you open your eyes, certain choices seem more appealing than others.

Maybe you don't have to choose between truth and lie.

Maybe you can use both.

They have no way of knowing which is which.

Your hand begins to move almost on its own, marking answers rapidly, guided by a silent instinct you don't even attempt to question.

Until the last question.

Unlike the others, your mind doesn't whisper a thing. It doesn't pull you in either direction. As if, this time, the choice were entirely yours.

Are you a virgin?

The tip of the pen hovers over the paper, wavering between “yes” and “no.” Do they know? Do they know about your son? And, more importantly… do they know he isn't biological?

Probably not. There is no way for them to know everything.

You press the pen down and mark “no.”

It’s simpler that way. More consistent with the story anyone would construct upon looking at you. After all, you have a child; that’s enough to stop them from questioning it.

You set the pen aside and ring the bell.

The employee returns almost immediately. His eyes sweep over you quickly, and there is something akin to satisfaction in his expression as he collects the papers, though he doesn't even bother to check them.

“I will forward this to the responsible department,” he says, with the same practiced formality as before. “I believe we will return with an answer in less than ten minutes.”

You take the pendant from your pocket, open it carefully, and look at the photo of your family. For a long time, you avoided doing this because it always hurt too much. But now it’s different. Instead of pain, you feel only a mixture of longing and a certain courage.

Black really worked a miracle, huh…

“I’m back.”

You close the pendant carefully and pocket it again, standing up right after.

“You made quite an impression in your first game here,” he comments, already turning his body to lead the way. “There are a lot of people interested in playing against you. But someone was faster and secured exclusivity. Shall we?”

For a moment, you thought you’d have some time to get to know the place better before betting, but it was predictable that they would already have everything set up for a potential new regular.

You cross the hall together. Your eyes scan the room, but you don't spot a single free table. After a few steps, the employee stops in front of a closed door.

“It won't be out here in the hall?”

“The hall is only for potential new clients. For regulars, the space is private.”

You furrow your brow but say nothing as you enter. The environment is noisier than the previous hall, and the scent is much stronger.

Alcohol, sweat… and iron.

That last one makes you freeze. The employee notices and looks back.

“Any problem?”

You try to look around, but you can’t. It’s as if your head were locked in a single direction. “What is this place?”

“You should already know, if you signed the contract.”

The coldness in his voice gives you the final push needed to turn your head. The smile doesn't match the tone you just heard.

Jack’s arm hooks around your shoulders before you can react. It isn't an aggressive gesture, but it’s firm enough to prevent any attempt to pull back.

“I didn't expect to see you here so soon, ‘Fortune’...”

Is it just your imagination… or does he look completely unhappy to see you?

“...Jack, right?” you reply, refusing to be intimidated. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if analyzing you.

“Likewise.” His eyes roam your face for a second longer than necessary, narrowing with interest. “I’m looking forward to our new game.”

So he was the one who booked the match. If you didn't know better, you’d say he made a point of having you as an opponent. Jack lets you go and settles into the armchair naturally, dominating the space. You sit in yours, keeping your posture firm.

“What game are we playing today?”

“Impatient, aren't we?”

He scanned the room. Other people began to approach and, in silence, occupied the chairs around the table. No one said a word; they just watched, as if waiting for a show to begin.

“That depends on what our dear guests choose.”

You look at them, and your body instantly weakens. It’s as if you were a dessert surrounded by wild animals.

An impeccably dressed employee appears beside the table. Without a word, he places a deck of cards between you.

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Liar’s Dice…?” he murmurs as he picks up the deck. The cards spin through his fingers before returning to his palm. “Interesting. Seems our guests are eager today.” He raises his eyes to you. “It’s going to be a quick game.”

There is something about his calm demeanor that bothers you.

“I assume you know how to play cards?” he asks.

“Of course.” Your answer comes out too quickly as you lean forward slightly. “I’m no beginner.”

“Excellent.” His smile widens a fraction. “Then I don't need to go easy on you.”

“The rules are simple.” Jack rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. The low lighting of the lounge left half his face in shadow. “You draw a card, look at it… and tell me what it is. You can lie or tell the truth, and I decide whether to believe you or not.” He paused briefly, letting silence claim the space. “The loser receives a penalty. And the penalty will be chosen between Sweet and Poison.”

“Sweet and… poison?” The names of the options left you uncomfortable. “What does that even mean?”

“If I explained everything now, it would ruin the fun.” He tilted his head slightly with a half-smile. “Some things are more interesting when discovered at the right moment.” With a smooth movement, he pushed the deck of cards toward you. “I’ll let you start.”

You nod and draw the first card. Without breaking eye contact, you lie.

“King of Hearts.”

Jack watches your face for a few seconds.

“Truth.”

You flip the card onto the table. The 3 of Clubs appeared under the dim light. For a second, surprise flashed across Jack’s face, but his smug smile quickly returned, far too proud for someone who had just guessed wrong.

“Looks like I started off poorly,” he comments, leaning back in his chair. “Sweet or Poison?”

“...Sweet?” you answered, unsure. It made no sense to overthink something when you didn't even know what it was.

He clicks his tongue, gathering the cards. “A safe choice.” The cards glided between his long fingers with impressive ease. “Since you chose, I’ll start this round.”

He draws a card, takes a quick look, and places it face down on the table.

“King of Diamonds.”

You narrow your eyes, searching for any sign in his expression.

“Lie.”

The card flips over, and your stomach drops.

“Losing your composure already?” He laughs softly. “We’re just getting started.”

You cross your arms, trying to hide your irritation. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Sure.” Jack’s gaze traveled slowly down your clothes before returning to your face. “Take off your jacket.”

Your body freezes before you can even respond.

“What’s the matter?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “I just think you’re wearing too many clothes.”

The silence in the room felt heavier now. The people around the table watched without saying a single word. Jack’s gaze weighed on you almost physically.

Well, rules were rules.

“Just that?” You tried to sound indifferent. With slightly trembling fingers, you unzipped it. The sound of metal ran loud in the silence. The jacket slid slowly down your arms and was left on the back of the chair.

His eyes followed every inch of the movement, without a trace of shame.

“Very well.”

Jack snaps his fingers, and one of the employees takes the jacket and hands it to him. Jack drapes it over his own shoulders, completely ignoring the glare you send his way.

You pull the next card abruptly, nearly messing up the deck, angry at yourself for letting it get to you like that.

Emotions are powerful; you can’t afford to be careless.

Taking a deep breath, you relax your facial muscles before looking at the card.

“Queen of Diamonds.”

Jack seems to think for a few seconds.

“Truth.”

His expression falls when you flip the card toward him. You don't understand why he seemed so certain he would win.

“We’re even, I suppose,” he comments distractedly while spinning one of the rings on his fingers. “What do you want?”

You open your mouth… and realize you haven't thought about it.

Damn it.

You look away for a second, frustrated. Since the start of the game, your emotions feel stronger than they should.

…But you aren't the only one. Jack also seems more transparent than usual, and it doesn't look intentional. His expressions escape too quickly. Maybe it’s the environment, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s playing against someone he still can’t completely predict.

Either way, you’re going to use it to your advantage.

“How about a drink?”

His body relaxes. You wonder what kind of penalty he was expecting.

“Why not?” He taps the table twice. “I was getting thirsty anyway.”

As if summoned by your words, a silver tray appeared by his side. A low crystal glass slid onto the table, filled with a thick, amber liquid. Jack raised the glass toward you in a silent toast. When you decline, he simply shrugs before downing it all at once.

“Smooth.” He slammed the empty glass onto the wood. “My turn.”

The game continues.

Round after round, a strange sensation begins to grow in the back of your mind.

Another glass appears. He drinks again. This time, it takes him a little longer to rest the empty glass back on the table.

The wins and losses begin to blur. You win and then lose, he wins and then loses. It never changes.

At first, you think it’s a coincidence. But later, it feels like a pattern.

Every time you think you’ve figured out the logic of the game, the result repeats itself in the exact same way. As if someone were controlling it before the cards were even drawn.

But whenever you try to find a flaw… you find nothing.

Meanwhile, the penalties stack up.

A bad round takes your shirt away. Another makes another piece disappear. The chill of the room begins to touch your skin more and more.

On the other side of the table, the empty glasses pile up.

Even while maintaining his relaxed posture, Jack no longer looks as immaculate as before. His shirt sleeves are crooked, a few strands of hair have fallen over his forehead, and his face has taken on a reddish tint from the alcohol.

Now you are sitting there in just your underwear, arms crossed without realizing it, trying to ignore the cold and the stares around the table.

Meanwhile, he holds another glass between his fingers. His smile comes easier now, and his movements have gotten slightly slower, but not enough to look truly out of control.

And that is exactly what’s bothersome.

Because even drunk, Jack still seems to know exactly what he’s doing. His eyes remain sharp, observing every inch of your goosebump-covered skin.

“Cold? Unlucky.” His lips curl into a teasing smile. “Though I suppose that’s the price you pay for being so reckless.”

“Rereckless?” you retort, rubbing your bare arms in a futile attempt to regain some warmth. “You can’t expect someone to be good at a game they just learned… especially when it all depends on luck.”

Your attention wanders across the room, noting how the other players seemed increasingly entertained as the rounds progressed. Some laughed, others placed discreet bets on what would happen next, tracking your discomfort as if it were just another part of the entertainment.

And, by the way they watched you both, it is exactly that.

Jack shifts his position in the chair, drumming his fingers against the table before speaking. “I have to admit, you’re surprising me. You handle much more than you look.” The glass spins slowly between his fingers until he leaves it on the wood with a small clink. Then, he slides the deck toward you again. “Another round?”

You stare at the cards for a few seconds before answering. “We can’t stop now, can we?”

“Seems you’ve already figured out how things work. Indeed, we can’t.”

Your hand reaches for the deck but stops mid-motion. Three people approach the table at the same time.

The murmuring around the room drops just enough to make the scene strangely uncomfortable. One of the people places a box next to Jack, and another places a second box in front of you. The third is the same man who had brought the cards earlier.

Jack furrows his brow, his expression tightening in a clear sign of irritation.

“Already?” His voice comes out loaded with disbelief as he leans back in his chair. “We haven't even started the fun part.”

“Our guests have already made their choices regarding the penalties.”

“And you couldn't wait until the teams were chosen?”

“The teams have also been finalized, Mr. Jack,” the employee replies without altering his impeccably controlled tone. “Since the process concluded ahead of schedule, we opted to bring forward the placement.”

An irritated sound escapes him, like that of a child when thwarted. Jack crosses his arms, flashing his displeasure without the slightest effort to hide it.

“If you have any objections, sir, we can halt and—”

“No,” Jack cuts him off before he can even finish. “It would be a waste to stop now.”

“...As you wish.”

The employee gives a slight nod before stepping away in silence. Jack watches his every step, muttering something too low for you to understand. After a few seconds, he finally turns his attention back to you.

“Looks like our little game is going to get even more… lively,” he says while playing with one of his chips. “It’s time for our guests to join our bets.”

You cross your legs, trying to understand where this is heading. “I thought they were just here to watch. How exactly is this going to work with so many people?”

“They won't be playing directly, darling.” Jack points to the boxes on the table as if it were obvious. “Now, whenever someone loses, besides fulfilling the winner’s wish, they will also need to draw a penalty from here.”

The questions still pile up in your head, but the feeling that no answers would come makes you simply accept what was said.

You nod and pick up one of the cards. This time, no one intervenes. “Is there any chance I can get some clothes out of this?”

“If they’re in a good mood, who knows?” He shrugs. “But I doubt the style will be to your taste.”

The comment passes right by you. Focus shifts to the paper between your fingers before it is lowered against the wood.

"Queen of Hearts."

"Liar."

Your jaw tightens. Beneath the table, your nails dig into your palm in a clenched fist, an attempt to anchor the frustration before spinning the card toward him.

Jack leans forward, his victorious gaze fixed on the paper confirming the bluff. He was right again.

"You're trembling." His attention drops to your tense shoulders. The urge to cross your arms and hide is almost irresistible. "Let's settle this. Come here."

"You can't be serious."

He settles into his seat, parting his knees in an inviting gesture. "I'm waiting."

"Are you trying to humiliate me?" Your question comes out low, laced with contained irritation, while the cold seems to seep deeper under your skin.

The idea of simply saying no crosses your mind, but the way he looks at you makes it clear he has no intention of accepting a refusal.

"...Fine." The words escape in a reluctant tone as you push your chair back and stand up slowly, keeping your posture firm despite the biting cold cutting through your body. Showing weakness in front of these people is the last thing you intend to do.

Every step toward him sends a shiver down your exposed legs. As the distance closes, the strong scent of whiskey mixed with his cologne fills the air. Jack lightly taps his thigh, waiting.

The gesture makes your stomach churn in a mix of nervousness and discomfort, but after a brief hesitation, you finally settle onto his lap. The moment you arrange yourself there, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close to his warm chest. The heat of his body contrasts with the freezing room, coaxing an involuntary shiver from you.

"And how exactly do you expect us to play like this without ending up seeing each other's cards?"

"Like this."

Unhurriedly, he grips your waist and shifts you slightly to the side, adjusting your position against him as if that solved the problem. You shoot a skeptical look his way, unable to believe such a minimal adjustment would make a difference, but decide not to argue. It isn’t worth fueling the amusement of the people around you.

Silence reclaims the table, heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by the dry sound of cards being shuffled between someone's fingers.

"Don't you think you're forgetting something?"

The question arrives with that irritating expectation that immediately makes your stomach tighten. Before you can even comprehend, the same box from before is slowly pushed across the table until it stops in front of you.

"This is your punishment," Jack murmurs far too close to your ear, resting his chin near your shoulder. "You made the people who bet on you lose money. So the least you can do is compensate everyone with a little entertainment."

For a few seconds, you simply stare at the box sitting before you, resisting the childish urge to shove it away. But continuing to argue would only prolong this. Worse, it would give them exactly the reaction they want to see.

Reluctantly, you lift the lid. Inside, resting on the dark fabric lining the bottom, are several folded slips of paper. You pinch one between your fingers, trying to ignore the suffocating attention around the table, and unfold it.

The very first line makes your stomach sink.

Give five hickeys. Wherever your opponent chooses.

Shame rushes instantly to your face, impossible to control. You curse your own body for betraying any reaction, especially when you notice the satisfied gleam surfacing in Jack's eyes.

"Hmm?" He leans a bit closer, clearly noting your change in expression. "What is it?"

Before even thinking, you fold the paper back up haphazardly, squeezing the note between your fingers until the edges crumple.

Bad choice. The simple gesture immediately sparks curiosity around the table.

"Oh, now you'll have to read it," someone comments from across the room, amused.

"Or I could read it for you," Jack remarks smoothly.

The suggestion makes your body freeze instantly, because from his tone, you both know that doesn't sound like a generous offer.

"Whatever." You shove the note into his hand with more force than necessary. "Just choose so we can move on."

Jack takes the paper without reacting to your irritation. With his fingers, he slowly undoes the crumpled marks, smoothing the note out before lowering his eyes to the sentence written there. "What sick people..." he comments quietly, more entertained than actually bothered. "Five hickeys," he announces for the whole room to hear, holding up the paper. "Just that?"

The whispering intensifies around the table, mixed with muffled laughter and comments you prefer not to try and understand. Several gazes return to the two of you with renewed interest.

Jack seems completely immune to the atmosphere.

"Well, that seems simple enough." He lets the note drop onto the table, unconcerned, before turning his full attention back to you. "Relax, Fortune."

Before you can answer, his hand already finds your waist, attempting to pull you a few centimeters closer. Your reflex is immediate; you grab his wrist and push his hand away from your body.

"I can move by myself."

"But I can make it easier," he replies, entirely unbothered by the rejection. "You get so hostile over so little." His eyes travel slowly over you, lingering long enough to make your skin prickle with discomfort. "Let's see..." Jack seems to ponder, weighing his options. "Maybe it's best to start with the most obvious place."

Jack takes your wrist, pulling your hand up and placing it against the side of his neck. His skin is hot beneath your touch, and you can feel the steady thrum of his pulse right against your fingertips.

"Here." He tilts his head slightly, exposing the area just below his ear. "Seems like a good spot, don't you think?"

You try to pull your arm back to cross it against your body, but his fingers remain locked around your wrist. Irritated, you look up at him.

"Do you really want to do this in such a visible place?"

"Of course." The answer is immediate. "It's exactly the kind of thing they want to watch." His gaze sweeps briefly over the surrounding table before returning to you. "Easy to reach, impossible to hide... It will keep everyone entertained."

You roll your eyes but lean in anyway. Jack loosens his grip and moves his hand away, giving you enough space to decide what to do.

At first, you hesitate, not quite knowing how much force to use.

Part of you thinks it would only be fair to vent some of the irritation he has caused since the night began. Another part knows that provoking Jack too much would likely only worsen the situation.

So you choose the safer path. You apply minimal pressure, barely grazing him with your teeth. There is something uncomfortably intimate about the situation; your heart is beating so hard... not that it is necessarily a bad feeling.

A low sound escapes him.

"No need to hold back so much..." The sentence comes out strained, and he clears his throat right after, as if trying to regain his composure. "I can take it."

Your body reacts before you can think straight, obeying his command. Behind you, the gazes remain heavy, watchful, hungry for the slightest reaction. You close your eyes for a second, trying to ignore the suffocating feeling of being watched by everyone around.

"Being the target of your punishment..." He lets the phrase hang. "If they were all with me, I don't think I'd complain."

His usual provocative edge softens in his words, replaced by something unexpectedly gentle. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps Jack was simply easier to rattle than he liked to admit?

After a few minutes, you finally pull back. Jack barely leaves any space between you before reaching for your hand again, guiding it slowly to the opposite side of his neck. This time, much closer to the throat.

You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to distract yourself from the unwanted sensations. The metallic taste fills your mouth, helping to keep you minimally grounded.

Slowly and hesitantly, you lean forward. This time, you apply a little more force, leaving a visible mark on his pale skin. The redness stands out against his flesh, a physical reminder of your actions.

"G-Good." The praise sends an unpleasant shiver running down your spine. "Only three left."

And like a patient instructor, he continues to guide you through the game. But something shifts as the minutes pass.

With each hickey, Jack seems more... docile.

His usual sarcasm gradually fades, replaced by a strange passivity. If you didn't know him, you might say he was almost hypnotized. Or worse, completely at your mercy.

When he notices your lingering gaze, he turns his face away with an irritated scoff but says nothing, simply drawing another card.

"Why are you rushing things?" you ask. "Don't want to keep the show going for your audience?"

"They've had enough entertainment."

The answer comes clipped. As if wanting to end the subject immediately, he pulls another card.

And loses.

His expression darkens before he lets out a resigned sigh. "Fine. Who would you like to see dead?"

You smile.

"Take off all your clothes." The request draws immediate exclamations from the people around. "It's not fair that I'm the only one almost naked here, don't you think?"

"...What?" Jack snaps his head up so fast it looks like he took a slap. His gaze desperately searches for the staff member watching the match from a distance, as if expecting some saving intervention.

The staff member merely shrugs.

"Damned amateurs..." Jack growls before turning his attention back to you. "As you wish. Though this is far from fair."

He gestures to the few pieces still covering your body.

"My intention isn't to make things fair." You cross your arms. "It's to make things worse for you."

The spectators' laughter grows louder, and Jack rolls his eyes with evident irritation. Still, he begins to undo his shirt buttons one by one. Then, mid-motion, something seems to occur to him.

"Actually..." The corner of his lips curves slowly. The mischievous glint appearing in his eyes is a warning that he just had an idea. "Why don't you do it for me, Fortune?"

Your blood runs cold.

"I'm sure our guests would love to watch."

For a moment, you stare at him in silence. Is he trying to entertain the clients so they go easier on the punishment awaiting him?

Whatever the answer, you don't like the satisfied expression on his face one bit. Well, you have no choice.

"I can do you that favor; after all, I'd have to get up anyway..." you say, trying to gather courage.

With trembling hands, you turn toward him. Slowly, you begin to unbutton his shirt, revealing more and more of his chest. The fabric slides away, leaving his torso completely exposed. His skin is marked with scars that look old and by the soft pink lines left by the hickeys from earlier.

Around you, the crowd murmurs in approval, their eyes avidly scanning Jack's now-exposed body. You try to ignore them, focusing solely on the task in front of you. Next, you slide to the floor in front of him and reach for his belt, your fingers fumbling a bit as you handle the buckle. Finally, you pull his trousers down, leaving them bunched at his ankles. Jack steps out of them easily, left wearing only his underwear.

You can see the outline of his length pressing against the fabric.

Jack's breathing remains steady despite the situation, but you notice a slight twitch in his jaw muscle—the only sign that any of this affects him. His eyes remain locked onto yours, defiant and provocative even in that moment of vulnerability.

"Is that all you can do, Fortune?" His voice comes at a volume intended only for your ears. "I thought you wanted to make things worse for me."

One of his hands extends, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm in a false caress, almost a dare. "Come on... Don't get timid now."

You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to slap his hand away. The challenging tone in his voice ignites a spark of irritation inside you. How dare he act with such indifference, as if he weren't completely at your mercy?

In a swift motion, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and yank it down. Jack’s penis springs free, already semi-erect and flushed a deep pink. A collective gasp rises from the audience, followed by murmurs and whistles of excitement.

"There. Better?" Your voice drips with a clearly manufactured sweetness as you stand up.

Jack remains before you, now completely exposed and vulnerable. Yet somehow, that irritatingly smug smile remains plastered on his face.

"Of course. I wasn't expecting you to choose such a bold punishment in your final round."

Final... round?

"Don't tell me you didn't know?" Jack points to the pile of cards. Once high and imposing, there was now only a single card left on the table. "I should have guessed. After all, you seem to have a talent for keeping the audience entertained."

The mockery overflows from every word. He leans slightly forward, resting his elbows on the table as if perfectly at ease. "But you better start praying to win the next round." The next words ring loud in your ears, and you hope no one else caught them. "Because if you don't, I'm going to fuck you raw in front of everyone."

You force yourself to maintain a neutral expression and simply push the punishment box toward him.

"Ah, right... That." The disgust in his voice is evident. "There's always something to ruin the fun." He reaches into the box and pulls out a folded paper.

For a few seconds, he remains silent, reading the contents. Then, before he can say anything, the same staff member from before snatches the paper from his hand. Jack tries to retrieve it but freezes upon meeting the man's rigid gaze.

The staff member holds up the paper. "Have your opponent sign their own name across your chest."

"Huh? That's easy," you comment, looking around. "Can someone give me a pen?"

"Haven't you realized yet?" Jack says, running a hand through his hair impatiently. "I thought you were sharper than that."

"What?"

He tilts his head slightly, indicating the environment. When you actually look, you understand.

The tables that initially held focused gamblers were now a pure reflection of chaos. At one, people abandoned themselves to sloppy, violent sex; at another, bodies contorted under explicit torture with all kinds of blades and weapons. The stench of sweat, smoke, and blood hit your nose. Again. You suppressed a strong urge to vomit.

An elegant, sharp knife was extended toward you. Your trembling hands took it.

Sweet and Poison.

The epiphany hit you like a punch. Was it, then, pleasure and pain? Was that why Jack wasn't happy when you chose the "sweet" option... because the poison demanded blood.

"Come on, hurry up!"

"Mark him already!"

The crowd around was growing impatient, roaring for a show. You cast a hesitant glance at Jack, but he avoided looking at you. Instead, he pulled you firmly by the wrist, settling you onto his lap as if he were tired of waiting.

Alright, I just need to do this carefully...

You think while trying to steady your own wrist. You aimed the blade at his bare chest. The moment the tip touched his skin, exerting minimal pressure, something bizarre happened. As if sucked in by a magnetic force, the knife sank deeper than intended into Jack's flesh.

A strange phenomenon occurred in your mind. Instead of panicking, a wave of lightness and calm washed over your senses. The ambient noise vanished.

His groans of pain filled the room as you dragged the blade, tracing the letters of your name. Every red line made Jack's breathing quicken, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands. There was a twisted beauty to it.

Until the final line was traced. You stepped back slightly, analyzing your artwork carved into his skin.

And that's when your consciousness snaps back. What are you doing?! But looking at Jack's expression, his is... filled with lust? He even looks embarrassed, but he isn't trying to pull away.

Before you could process it, the staff member nudged you aside with a subtle touch, displaying the fresh, bloody art on the man's chest to the audience.

The reaction from the crowd was immediate. Murmurs swelled into a wave of twisted excitement. You could have sworn you heard some of them romanticizing the scene, as if the blood were a declaration of love in a place like this.

"Jack, are you okay?"

"Don't pretend you care," he shot back. His voice came out cold as he pressed his hand against the wound to staunch the blood. "I'll survive. And if you want to increase my chances of getting out of here alive, we better speed this game up."

Swallowing hard, you nodded. Your fingers reached for the deck and drew the final card. Without hesitating, you bluffed.

"Queen of Clubs."

Jack shook his head slowly, a gesture of almost disappointed disapproval.

"You know, Fortune... or rather... [Name]..." The last part came out in a whisper meant only for you, a snap that made your spine freeze. "Games like this don't just rely on luck. You need to know which cards have already been played and which ones are still in the deck."

It was true. But you hadn't anticipated his memory being so flawless. You had made sure to get him drunk precisely to have a safety margin in case you lost track of the count yourself...!

"It's a lie," Jack continued, holding your gaze. "That card was played earlier. Don't you remember?"

The worst part was that you genuinely didn't remember. Did that card even actually exist in the deck? The pack being used was hardly a complete set of 52.

Left with no choice, you flip the card over onto the table, exposing the bluff. He had won. "I just lost focus."

"It happens... Now, remember what I said?"

His warning about the punishment echoed in your mind. No.

You made a move to retreat, to stand up from your seat, but Jack’s reaction was faster. His fingers locked like handcuffs around your arm, pulling you back without the slightest effort and settling you with your back to him, pinning your body against his.

"Now this is the show everyone has been waiting for..." he announced to the room, his voice heavy with a wicked promise as his nimble fingers reached for your undergarment, merely shifting the fabric to the side.

"J-Jack, wait..." you pleaded, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He ignored the plea, bringing his length close to your exposed intimacy. His heat burned against your skin.

"Jack, stop!"

In your mind, the cry was desperate, but from your lips came only a hissed whisper. Still, it was enough. Jack froze instantly, stopping like clockwork that had suddenly jammed.

"I-I lied..." you confessed, tears flooding your eyes before you could stop them, your voice filled with genuine dread. "I’m actually a virgin. Please, don't do this..."

Jack’s eyes widened. For a brief second, his mask of mockery dropped entirely, giving way to genuine shock.

"Fuck... To be in a place like this, you really must have nothing left to lose," Jack muttered, his tone mixing a genuine scolding with a strangely protective irritation.

He settled his length against your backside, maintaining appearances for the watchful, hungry eyes of the crowd. "Well, we’ll just have to fool our audience, then. Do your best to fake it."

Without any warning, his hand slid down and touched your center directly. The shock of the intimate contact wrenched a genuine moan from your lips; your hands flew instinctively over his, gripping Jack’s fingers in a mix of surprise and pure desperation. The sound echoed across the table, drowned out by the noise of the crowd, which seemed to roar in approval at the sight of your bodies pressed together.

"That's it," Jack whispered right against your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Keep going like that. They need to believe it."

His hand moved gently, an almost absurd contrast to the brutality of the surrounding environment. His long, firm fingers knew exactly the right pressure to apply, coaxing reactions from you that your own body hadn't known existed. Your nails dug into the back of his hand, trying to find an anchor point while the world seemed to spin.

At the same time, Jack dictated the visual rhythm of the charade. He gripped your waist with his other hand, delivering firm, rhythmic tugs, forcing his body to press against yours. The constant impact and friction created the perfect illusion of actual penetration for anyone watching from afar.

"Grab your punishment quickly so we can end this..." he commanded through gritted teeth, his eyes fixed on your blurred reflections on the polished surface of the table. "They want to hear your defeat, Fortune."

You closed your eyes, biting your lower lip. The tears from before still wet your cheeks, but now they mingled with the heat rushing up your spine. Forcing one of your trembling arms to stretch out, you fumbled inside the box and pulled out a folded paper. Barely able to focus your vision, you read the word written inside.

"C-Handcuffs...?"

The crowd went wild. Shouts, glasses slamming on tables, and raw laughter echoed through the degrading hall. Taking advantage of the fact that Jack kept you firmly pinned against him, the staff member from before approached quickly. Before you could even process it, the cold metal locked around your wrists, binding your hands in front of your body, and the man retreated into the shadows with the same agility.

Despite the flawless performance, you could feel the violent tension in Jack's body. He was as rigid as a violin string about to snap. His length, still pressed against your backside, throbbed. It was obvious that maintaining control while touching you like that, all while pretending to possess you, was taking a massive toll.

"You... are a terrible liar," Jack murmured, his voice suddenly rougher, almost cracking as his fingers found a sharper reaction from your body. He guided your handcuffed hands downward. "Use the cuffs to cover yourself better. Hide what they aren't allowed to see."

He nipped lightly at your earlobe—an act that looked like pure cruelty to the spectators, but served only to muffle the heavy sigh he released against your skin.

"Hah... I'm going to cum..." he whispered so convincingly that even you hesitated for a second.

Before the situation could spiral completely out of their control, the staff member stepped forward. He struck his metal cane against the floor, bursting the trance-like bubble you both were trapped in.

"And with that, the show concludes!" the man announced, leaning toward you with a proud bow.

The guests applauded enthusiastically.

Jack froze. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from your body, leaving a sudden sense of emptiness and a chill that made you shiver. He pulled your undergarment back into place with a quick, almost rough tug, giving you a slight nudge to stand up.

Your legs wobbled, and you had to rest your handcuffed hands on the table to keep from collapsing. When you turned around, Jack was already adjusting his clothes and buttoning his shirt, though the fabric was now stained with blood from his own chest, where your name shone in thin, red cuts. Without so much as a backward glance or a goodbye, he turned around and began to walk away, crossing the hall.

Before you could form any reaction to follow him, a female figure emerged at the large doorway. She was an elegant woman, radiating an expensive perfume that contrasted sharply with the ambient smell of sweat and blood. Her eyes gleamed with uncontainable satisfaction, and a wide, almost theatrical smile shaped her face.

"Mrs... Black?" The name escaped your lips in a whisper of immediate recognition. Without a doubt, that was your son's teacher—the one who had hypnotized you, the one who had helped you with your problems for months.

Without asking permission, Mrs. Black reached out and clasped your handcuffed hands. Her touch was firm but charged with a genuine euphoria. She squeezed your fingers with pride, looking at you as if she were staring at a gold mine.

"My dear, what a magnificent show!" she exclaimed, her velvety voice overflowing with ecstasy as she gestured slightly toward the audience still applaidering in the background. "Look at them! You gave them exactly what they wanted! Tonight's profits will break records, and all thanks to your... audacity. I am so proud, [Name]."

You forced the best smile you could muster to mask your shock, feeling the weight of her gaze. Knowing that every second counted if you wanted to catch up to Jack, you used the moment of intimacy to your advantage. With a complicit nod, you tilted your head slightly in the direction the man had vanished and winked at her, maintaining the facade that the "show" wasn't over between the two of you yet.

"Mrs. Black... I-I still have things to settle with Jack..."

Mrs. Black let out a low laugh, interpreting the gesture in the way that suited her best. "Please, call me Ace." She let go of your hands and made a discreet signal to the staff member and the guards, ordering them with a simple glance to let you pass. "I look forward to seeing you again."

You didn't answer, still perplexed to see such a familiar figure in a place like this. She stood out so much among the employees and clients... Like Jack, even more than him.

As you crossed the room and entered the same space Jack had, the heavy door shut behind you, instantly cutting off all the deafening noise from outside.

Silence collapsed over you. The room was considerably smaller than you expected. Far from looking like the office of someone of great importance or a luxurious room reserved for a prominent figure, the environment revealed itself to be just a simple break area. And right there in front of you was Jack.

You watched in silence as he stumbled across the room. Now that there was no loud crowd watching his every move, it was impossible to ignore his deplorable state.

Dark blood continued to ooze through the ragged tears in his clothes, forming dense little droplets that marked the wooden floor right behind his faltering steps. Even so, his pride seemed intact, as he acted as if the wounds were merely a minor, irrelevant nuisance.

Without even looking back or acknowledging your presence, he threw himself heavily onto one of the sofas and closed his eyes, exhausted.

"And what are you doing here?" Jack scoffed, his raspy voice breaking the silence. "Didn't feel satisfied enough using your filthy powers to humiliate me?"

"I just came to collect my prize."

A dry sound, like a laugh of pure derision, escaped his chest. "Did they let you choose your prize in your own privacy? Did they like you that much?"

You remained silent, holding his tired gaze with a serenity that seemed to irritate him even more.

"I can't believe they are so desperate to get rid of me that they’d look for someone of your kind to replace me," Jack said as he shifted positions on the couch, every word dripping with contempt.

"Someone of... my kind?"

The question echoed in your mind like a snap; it was exactly as you had suspected from the start. The people who run and frequent this place are definitely not ordinary humans.

"I should have guessed..." You crossed your arms, adopting a defensive posture as you processed the revelation. "My mother always warned me about demons, but you guys are more careful than I thought."

"You demons?" he repeated with disdain, as if tasting the irony of the words. "Spare me the act. There shouldn't be a single person here who hasn't realized by now."

You tilted your head slightly, completely lost. "Realized what?"

"What is it they call you people again..." He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly exhausted from the blood loss and the stress of the night. "Succubus...? Incubus...? Ace warned me about you. She probably only did it to justify firing me."

"First of all, if the reason you're treating me like this is because you think I want to steal your spot, you're wrong," you stated firmly, wanting to cut through that paranoia immediately.

"Then why are you here?"

"That's none of your business."

Jack rolled his eyes with boredom, resting his head against the back of the sofa.

"My prize is—" You paused briefly, straightening your spine and assuming an unshakeable posture to show you were in control. "I want to know what is going on in this place."

Now he actually opened his eyes, staring at you with a renewed intensity and a hint of surprise. "And what makes you think I'm going to tell you?"

"Because that is my prize." You took a bold step forward, closing the distance between you. "I imagine your superiors wouldn't like to see you disobeying the winner."

Jack held your gaze for a few long seconds, measuring your resolve, until he yielded to the pressure and let out a defeated sigh. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Just confirm one thing for me. Are you all demons?"

"Yes."

The answer came immediately, raw and without any hesitation, making the room feel even colder.

"Well... more or less. Now, what do you mean by 'you'?" Jack questioned, narrowing his eyes.

You reached out and pointed directly at his chest, where the torn fabric revealed the gravity of the damage. "You... even bleeding this much, you didn't die."

Jack followed the direction of your finger, looked at his own wound, and let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "That's exactly what I thought you were."

"What?"

"A human with a demon's blessing," he explained, his voice dropping to an almost confidential tone.

"A demon's blessing?"

He sank deeper into the couch, as if his bones weighed a ton. "The casino is a place of leisure for demons. They come here to get money in a fun way in the human world."

Your heart skipped a beat upon hearing that.

"Humans normally only serve to entertain the demons in the games. They do everything to win money, while the demons have fun watching their desperation. And sometimes, that desperation ends up leading to death," Jack explained without any hesitation, exposing the reality behind the lights and excitement that filled the place.

You felt your stomach churn violently at that grotesque reality.

"But those who manage to gain popularity..." He paused dramatically, his eyes fixed on yours. "They get hired."

"Hired?"

"Slowly tortured would be a better term. They get this blessing of immortality, and then they are trapped inside here forever—or rather, until they lose their popularity and face a fate worse than the humans who die in the games."

Your gaze wandered for a moment into the shadows of the ceiling as all the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place in your mind. Everything made sense now... The bizarre behavior of the people, the sadism of the clients, the dense atmosphere, and the strangely heavy air that permeated the casino walls...

"God..." You passed a trembling hand over your face. "Why didn't I suspect this before?"

"Because the place was designed precisely for that." Jack closed his eyes again, his voice sounding almost like a belated warning. "When you walk in here, something changes."

"What?"

"You keep coming back. Regardless of whether you're losing or winning."

A frigid, violent shiver ran down your spine at that final realization. Because deep down, you knew he was absolutely right. Even being such a cautious person by nature and deeply hating gambling, you had never considered the most obvious option: simply turning your back and leaving.

Your gaze fell back onto his exposed wounds. No matter how irritating Jack proved to be, the amount of blood he was losing was still absurd and concerning. Spotting a metallic first-aid kit on a nearby table, you grabbed it and began to approach the sofa.

"I won't need that, you know why," he grumbled without opening his eyes, sensing your approach.

"You're leaking blood all over the couch," you retorted dryly. "And I want you to take my handcuffs off."

Without waiting for any kind of permission, you pulled a wooden chair close to him and sat down. Jack unlocked your hands with a key pulled from his pocket and then just watched the ceiling in silence as your nimble hands began to separate the gauze, the antiseptic, and some adhesive bandages. When you reached out to tend to one of the deeper cuts, he tensed his muscles, looking ready to protest.

"Quiet."

To your surprise, Jack shut his mouth immediately. His behavior changed almost strangely in the face of your firmness. The acidic arrogance he displayed vanished as quickly as it had appeared, giving way to a guarded vulnerability. "Filthy..."

You ignored the provocative comment and pressed the cotton soaked in antiseptic against his skin, starting to clean the first wound. In response to the touch of your hands, Jack seemed to lean subtly against your fingers, involuntarily seeking the contact.

"Are you enjoying this? I should suspect that all humans who come here are masochists."

"Don't call attention to me, you're embarrassing me..." he replied in a low voice, feeling his face warm up slightly from the physical proximity.

His disarming honesty caught you completely by surprise. The glimpse of that vulnerable side made you fall silent, even though a part of your brain insisted you should keep teasing him to keep your defenses up.

He let out a brief chuckle through his nose, a soft sound that relaxed your chest. "I don't know what you do, but your touch strangely makes me feel better... All my pain vanishes..."

You simply didn't know what to say to such a confession. The silence that settled in the room from then on was dense, but strangely it wasn't uncomfortable. For the first time since your paths had crossed in this damned place, Jack didn't seem to be trying to irritate you or test you. He was just tired, stripped of his defenses. When you finally finished cleaning and bandaging the first wound, you noticed that the rigidity in his shoulders had visibly decreased.

"And I am not a demon," you broke the silence, keeping your focus as you changed the gauze to start the next bandage. "Much less a lust demon."

Jack arched an eyebrow, staring closely at your face.

"I'm a human just like you," you reaffirmed.

"Liar. If that were true, you wouldn't have made me spare you, and you wouldn't be making me act so out of character," he accused, his narrowed eyes analyzing your expressions.

Your hands faltered, and you almost dropped the bottle of antiseptic on the coffee table. "I didn't do anything; it was probably because I made you drink too much."

"I have a high alcohol tolerance, do you think human tricks are a match for me? You definitely have something that fools what was made to fool humans," Jack countered, his voice convinced that there was something very different about you.

"I was out of character today too... You're just as observant as I am, you must notice the difference between the me of today and the day we played for the first time," you argued, trying to deflect suspicion and recalling your first confrontation.

"I don't know." He shrugged, though his gaze remained sharp. "Maybe you're just really good at acting."

Irritated by his stubbornness, you pressed the gauze against an open cut with a little more force than strictly necessary. Jack immediately winced in pain and muttered a few quiet curses before settling down and biting his lower lip.

"Good," you stated with a tone of finality, finishing the task of securing an improvised bandage around his chest with a tight knot. "Don't worry. I'm not here to steal your spot."

Jack remained silent, just watching the finish of the bandage.

"I just need enough money to sort something out," you confessed, putting the remaining supplies back into the kit.

"And after that?"

"And after that, you'll never see me again."

"And why do you think I'm going to help you?" he questioned, returning to that usual cynical posture.

You put the kit back in its place, rested your arms on your knees, and leaned toward him with a bold half-smile. "Well... Ace and I know each other, and she likes me a lot." You threw out the bluff with total confidence, holding his gaze in the hope that he would buy the lie. "It would be easy to convince her to replace you with someone—"

Jack narrowed his eyes immediately, and the mention of his boss's name made his gaze turn heavy and laden with genuine irritation. For a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, the tension in the small room mounted. Jack stared deeply at you, looking for any sign of hesitation or weakness in your pupils, but something in your performance made him shift his stance. He took the bait, believing you truly possessed that influence.

Finally, he let out his breath through his lips in a long sigh of surrender. "...Fine."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise at the ease of the victory. "What?"

"I'll help you," he finally yielded.

A small, victorious smile appeared on your lips, brightening your face for a brief instant. "Thank you very much."

"Don't misinterpret this. I'm only doing this to get rid of you," Jack growled, trying to salvage some of his dignity before standing up from the couch with movements that were still a bit stiff.

However, as he began to pass you to walk toward the exit, he stopped abruptly. His gaze descended and remained fixed on your figure for too long, analyzing the details with a sudden seriousness.

"What is it?" you asked, uncomfortable.

Jack frowned, his brow furrowing in pure confusion. "There's something strange."

"About me?"

"Yes." He continued to observe closely, his eyes squinted as if he were trying to see something invisible hovering around your body. "There's a very strong energy coming from you."

Instinctively, your fingers moved up to your pocket, touching the cold surface of the pendant hidden beneath your clothes. A flutter in your stomach warned you that he must, in some mystical way, be sensing the presence of the object. "I have no idea what you're talking about," you deflected quickly.

Jack clearly didn't believe your innocent facade. Then, realizing he wouldn't be able to wring that answer out of you right now, he simply shrugged and stretched his body.

"Forget it. Let's go," Jack said, already turning toward the wooden door. "I'll walk you to the exit." He paused for a moment before stepping through the door. A half-smile, almost enigmatic, returned to his face as he extended his arm to you.

"What a gentleman..." you commented, not even trying to hide the irony, as you accepted his arm. "Where was this behavior before?"

"I admit I was being... childish." His voice came out quieter now. "I'm sorry."

You watched his profile for a moment, still suspicious. "I don't understand why this job is so important to you..."

Jack didn't answer, and you didn't push as you both crossed the hall.

Hello to everyone who's made it this far!! And as you probably suspected, this isn't the end xD The story ended up muuuch longer than I expected. This first part alone ended up being nearly 18,000 words… I was worried about going too far over the limit, so I decided to stop here for now.