Chapter 46: Sundeck, Pool Bars, And Slot Machines

The elevator doors slid open to the upper deck, and Kane’s jaw dropped.

The pool area stretched before them like a fever dream of excess—azure water shimmering in the Mediterranean sun, bordered by gleaming gold-tiled edges that caught the light in blinding flashes.

"Is that a swim-up sushi bar?" He pointed to a marble counter where a chef in white prepared fresh rolls for guests lounging in the water.

"Who eats raw fish while swimming?"

"People who can," Cyrus replied dryly.

"The salmon nigiri is exquisite," murmured a bronzed woman in a barely-there bikini as she glided past them.

Kane watched staff members weaving through loungers, distributing fresh towels and complimentary champagne from silver trays.

A muscular man with oil-slicked skin accepted a glass without looking up from his phone, its diamond case glinting in the sun.

"This is ridiculous," Kane said, unable to contain his amazement.

As they turned the corner, a cloud of coconut-scented mist enveloped Cyrus as a woman with platinum blonde hair sprayed sunscreen with reckless abandon. ℴ

Kane doubled over, wheezing with laughter as Cyrus wiped the oily spray from his face with the back of his hand.

"You know, you should change into something more... appropriate," Kane suggested between gasps, gesturing to the other male guests lounging shirtless around the pool.

"You know, show off those dragon abs."

Cyrus turned to Kane, his crimson eyes flashing with such intensity that Kane’s laughter died instantly.

"Suggest that again, and you’ll be swimming back to Athens."

"You need to learn to relax," Kane said, leading Cyrus away from the pool. "We’re on a luxury cruise ship after all."

They soon reached a different section of the upper deck, where the atmosphere shifted from hedonistic pool party to casual recreation.

A miniature golf course sprawled across the starboard side, its artificial turf a vivid green against the endless blue horizon.

"Look, something that doesn’t involve oiled bodies or champagne." Kane gestured toward the course where a few passengers putted colorfully patterned balls around whimsical obstacles.

Cyrus eyed the setup with thinly veiled skepticism. "I fail to see how hitting a ball with a stick constitutes relaxation."

"That’s because you’re overthinking it." Kane grabbed two putters from a rack and handed one to Cyrus.

Beyond the mini-golf, elderly couples pushed discs across shuffleboard courts, their laughter carrying on the sea breeze.

"We should play," Kane suggested, twirling his putter. "Bet I could beat you."

"I highly doubt that." Cyrus’s eyebrow arched slightly.

Cyrus approached the first hole. He studied the angles, positioned himself with perfect posture, and tapped the ball with just enough force to send it rolling smoothly into the hole.

"Hole in one," he announced flatly.

By the fourth hole, Kane was seething.

Cyrus had made par or better on every attempt, while Kane’s ball seemed magnetically attracted to every obstacle on the course.

"This is ridiculous," Kane muttered, watching Cyrus sink another perfect shot. "Did they have mini-golf in ancient dragon times?"

When Cyrus turned to examine the next hole, Kane nudged his ball with his foot, inching it closer to the cup.

"I saw that," Cyrus said without turning around.

"Saw what?" Kane asked innocently, freezing mid-nudge.

A small crowd had gathered to watch them play, chuckling at their banter. An elderly woman clapped when Cyrus sank another impossible shot.

"Your husband’s quite the golfer," she told Kane with a wink.

"He’s not my—" Kane began, but stopped when he noticed the group of onlookers smiling appreciatively.

"He’s very talented," Kane said instead, shooting Cyrus a look that promised revenge. "At everything."

The crowd ate it up, charmed by Kane’s expressiveness and Cyrus’s stoic intensity.

By the final hole, Kane’s defeat was total and humiliating.

Cyrus’s ball rolled perfectly into the eighteenth cup, while Kane’s ricocheted off three obstacles before landing in a decorative pond.

"That’s twenty-three under par," Cyrus announced, returning his putter to the rack.

Kane scowled, his tail bristling beneath his clothes. The small crowd that had gathered applauded Cyrus’s victory before dispersing.

"You’ve probably been practicing for centuries," Kane muttered, slapping his putter back into the rack.

"Let’s go somewhere I might actually have a chance."

"And where would that be?" Cyrus asked, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Kane pointed toward a staircase leading below deck.

They descended into the ship’s interior, leaving the bright sunshine behind.

The subtle chime of slot machines and murmur of excited voices rose to greet them as they approached the entrance to the Silver Mermaid’s opulent casino.

The casino glittered with old-world luxury—crystal chandeliers hung from coffered ceilings, while emerald-felted tables stretched across the polished marble floor.

A mix of patrons in evening wear and resort casual filled the space with animated chatter.

"Now this is my kind of battlefield," Kane said, rubbing his hands together. His fox spirit thrived on chance and mischief.

Kane’s eyes locked onto a slot machine glittering in the corner—its golden trim and animated display promising riches beyond imagination.

"Jackpot starts at fifty thousand," he whispered, already imagining the victory dance he’d perform when those reels aligned.

He slid onto the velvet stool, reaching for his wallet, then froze when he saw the minimum bet.

"Five hundred dollars per spin?" His voice cracked. "That’s robbery!"

Cyrus peered over his shoulder, unimpressed.

"Slot machines are just glorified toys designed to separate fools from their money through flashy lights and false hope."

Kane’s ears would have flattened if they weren’t concealed. "Says the guy who probably has a vault of gold somewhere."

"I do, actually." Cyrus reached into his jacket, producing his wallet.

He handed Kane a sleek black card.

"I’ll cover your little experiment," Cyrus proposed. "I bet you won’t recover the money I’m about to waste on your behalf."

"Challenge accepted," Kane said, plucking the black card from Cyrus’s fingers.

"But let’s raise the stakes. If I win within five spins, you wear one of those hideous floral shirts."

Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. "And when you lose?"

"If," Kane corrected, inserting the card into the machine. "And if that happens, you can decide my punishment later."

"We have a deal," Cyrus agreed, his voice dangerously soft.

Kane pressed the button for his first spin. The digital reels whirred and flashed in a blur of neon promises and pixelated luck.