Chapter 145: Gambling den

The subterranean gambling hall hummed with chaotic energy. Thick clouds of expensive cigar smoke hung low in the air, mingling with the scent of spilled liquor and the electric desperation of high-stakes gamblers. Money changed hands in relentless, violent waves across gilded felt tables, accompanied by the deafening roar of wins and losses.

Nova stepped into the den, her presence instantly carving a quiet path through the rowdy crowd. She wore a sleek, black face mask that concealed her nose and cheeks, revealing only her sharp jawline, immaculate lips, and piercing, lethal blue eyes.

She paused near the central high-stakes table, where frantic bettors screamed over a game of dice. Nova didn’t join the chaos; she merely observed, her eyes cool and detached.

”Yo, little sister. A den like this is no place for a girl like you,” a smooth, velvety voice drawled from behind her. “You should run along home before you get hurt. Or did someone trick you into coming here?”

Nova turned slightly. A young man stepped out of the shadows, casually waving a custom leather hand fan. Dressed in a tailored black Italian suit, he sported short, stylish silver hair and an easy, silver-tongued playboy smirk.

Instantly, a translucent interface flared before Nova’s eyes.

[Ding]

[Target Information Report]

[Name: Malik Son]

[Age: 27]

[Status: Co-owner / Best Friend of the Underground Gambling House Owner]

[Note: Holds half the operational authority of the establishment; the supreme boss is his best friend.]

[Threat Level: 0]

Nova dismissed the screen with a blink, her gaze locking onto Malik with absolute indifference. “I want to see the real master of this den.”

Malik raised a eyebrow, his smirk widening with genuine intrigue. “Oh? And why would a mysterious little lady want to see him?”

Nova remained completely silent, her icy stare unyielding.

When it became clear she wouldn’t indulge his small talk, Malik let out a soft, delighted laugh. “How about a proposition? We play a quick game. If you lose, you leave obediently and never step foot in this hall again.”

Nova’s lips curled into a subtle, dangerous smirk beneath her mask. “Have we met somewhere before?”

Malik fanned himself lazily, his sharp eyes dropping to her left hand. “No. But I certainly recognize those four distinct rings on your fingers—each representing a top-tier Mafia Don. You carry some dangerously heavy backing, little sister.” He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to a sharp, analytical register. “If someone dragged you here, they are trying to ruin you and of course those backing you as well. But if you walked in here on your own accord…”

He paused, his dark eyes glittering with realization. “…then you came here to claim this entire establishment for yourself.”

Nova’s smirk deepened. “It seems there are still intelligent men running the underground,” she murmured softly. “And if I win?”

Malik smiled warmly. “If you win, I will personally escort you to the man you came to see.”

”Then let us play,” Nova replied flatly.

Malik gestured toward a private, polished mahogany dice table at the center of the hall. With a simple snap of his fingers, he dismissed the high-rollers and dealers, clearing the entire space in seconds.

”Little sister, do you prefer to roll the dice, or would you rather place a bet?” Malik asked, sliding a velvet-lined cup and three heavy ivory dice across the green felt.

Nova looked down at the cup, her tone bone-chillingly casual. “If I roll the dice, you will lose in a single turn. But if I bet on your roll, you might at least prolong the inevitable.”

A sharp collective gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd of elite gamblers.

”Who is this girl? Is she out of her mind?”

“Challenging the ‘Gambling God’ Malik on his own turf?!”

“She’s out of her depth—she’s going to lose far more than just her pride tonight!”

Malik ignored the spectators completely, his eyes locked onto Nova’s unblinking gaze. “Is that so? Now that you put it that way, my pride won’t let me back down. I want to see you roll, little sister.”

Without a word, Nova reached out. Her slender fingers closed around the three ivory dice, dropping them into the heavy leather cup. In the next breath, she snapped her wrist.

The sound that followed was mesmerizing. The cup moved in her hand like a fluid blur of dark lightning. The clattering of ivory against felt didn’t sound like random physics; it sounded like a rhythmic, hypnotic symphony under the command of a master conductor. There was no strain in her movement, no hesitation—just an impossible, blinding speed that defied human reflexes.

SLAM!

Nova brought the cup down flat on the mahogany table. The sudden, absolute silence in the room was deafening. Beneath the felt, the faint, lingering hum of the dice finally died down as they settled into place.

Malik’s playboy smirk vanished completely. A bead of cold sweat formed at his hairline, his brows knitting into a tight, frustrated line.

As a master gambler, Malik relied on advanced acoustic tracking to calculate the rotation and faces of dice by sound alone. But Nova’s rhythm had completely shattered his calculations, shifting pitches and frequencies so unnaturally that his mind was left reeling. He had tried to track her hand movements instead, but her speed was a total blur.

He couldn’t read the sound, and he couldn’t track the motion. For the first time in his life, the ‘Gambling God’ was forced to play blindly, relying on pure, terrified luck.

Nova leaned forward slightly, resting her knuckles on the table, her lethal blue eyes pinning him where he stood. “It is your move. Where do you place your wager? Big… or Small?”

The sprawling gambling hall, usually deafening with shouts and chaos, fell into a suffocating, absolute hush. Hundreds of eyes were glued to the central table, holding their breath as the tension reached a boiling point.

Malik swallowed hard, taking a slow, deep breath to steady his trembling fingers. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a thick stack of high-value black casino chips and slammed them down on the table.

”Small,” Malik declared, forcing a confident grin.

Nova didn’t even glance at the chips. Her expression turned entirely bored. “You lost,” she stated flatly.

”Little sister, you haven’t even lifted the cup yet,” Malik noted, fanning himself faster to mask the sudden knot in his stomach. “How can you be so certain?”

Without offering a single word of explanation, Nova casually lifted the leather cup.

The crowd surged forward to look at the three ivory dice resting on the felt.

[ 6 ] – [ 6 ] – [ 5 ]

”What?! A total of seventeen?!”

“She actually won?!”

“Unbelievable! The Gambling God just lost on a single roll!”

Malik stared down at the sum of seventeen—a resounding ‘Big’. He bit his lower lip before letting out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head in sheer awe. “Unbelievable… I actually lost to a girl half my age. You are a hidden grandmaster, aren’t you?”

Nova smirked beneath her mask, casually sweeping the heavy stack of black chips across the felt toward herself. “I must admit, this gambling house has surprisingly strict, honest rules.”

Malik raised an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked. “What makes you say that, little sister?”

”I just won a fortune in a single turn, yet not a single one of your enforcers has moved to accuse me of cheating,” Nova remarked coolly. She turned her head slightly, pointing a single finger toward a shadowy, elevated alcove far in the upper corner of the hall. “I take it you rely entirely on that ultra-high-definition, multi-spectrum heat scanner hidden up there to verify every play?”