Chapter 183: Mole
As Arthur settled back down, he saw a gleam of determination still in the man's eyes.
'Can't win 'em all, I suppose,' Arthur thought.
Even though he had stopped one plot, that didn't mean the man with the cigar didn't have more.
The round continued, and Arthur watched as the cigar-wielding player won the hand. His chips multiplied, yet Arthur rested his hand against his chin, disinterested.
Each player had their tricks, vaulting through their own personal loopholes, further implying how interesting this game was.
"Where ya from," the elder woman wondered, "if ya don't mind me askin'?"
"Let's just say it's far from here," Arthur answered, twirling the chips between his fingers.
Clearly, this woman didn't seem any more interested than he did in winning money. To her, blackjack was nothing more than a quest for financial gain. And from the looks of things, it became an elaborate cat-and-mouse game—a battle of wits.
He reveled in it—something deeper than he'd expected.
"What about you?" he asked. "Your face is almost everywhere I look in this city."
Some of the spectators whispered to one another. "What?" one said. "He doesn't know who she is?"
"You're really not free here," she said, putting out her cigarette. "Well, I guess I should introduce myself. My name's Diana, and I own half this city."
That was a very big deal for a country called the "Land of Money." But did that matter to a man like Arthur right now?
Not even close.
Things eventually took a turn for the worse at the blackjack table.
Arthur found himself losing—enough to reduce his pile of chips to just over 280,000 ryō, a huge dip from the heights he had moments before.
For this round, he decided to play it conservatively; he placed one solitary purple chip—the 5,000 ryō token—on the table, a move that drew immediate ire from the man with the cigar.
"What's going on?" he sneered, lighting up another. "Why so little? Afraid now that I'm winning?"
Arthur merely smirked as he met the cigar man's gaze. He had no ideas of responding.
The silence stretched, amplifying the surrounding noise of the casino—the clatter of chips and the shuffle of cards from the other players.
The cigar man's irritation escalated as he threatened, "I'll wipe that smirk off your face. Hit me…"
By the end of his turn, he wound up with twenty and began laughing proudly. Many cheered for his success.
Just then, the quiet man with the shades made a bold move; he leaned back in his chair and declared, "I'll go all in…"
At that, he slid half of his total chips onto the table, shocking even the cigar man into silence.
Why would he do this when he was seventeen? The gamble was a monumental risk. It meant that if the man with the shades lost, he'd be completely wiped out, his chips reduced to nothing.
The cigar man's eyes bulged in disbelief, and Arthur knew that his moment had come. Because the amount on his end totaled more than one million ryō.
"What are you doing?" the man blurted out. "You can't possibly want to go all in with that much!"
The man with the shades leaned in with a calm demeanor and replied, "I see your kind in this city all the time. Just because you know a few tricks doesn't mean you understand how to gamble."
Now it became clear to the spectators—the man with the shades was attempting to get rid of the cigar man for cheating.
What had he done? He was using a third party. This method involved a confederate watching the game from a distance and sending covert signals to the main player about which cards to play against the dealer.
The only other person who could see through that tactic was Arthur.
The man with the shades delivered the final blow with a smirk and said, "You might want to go cheat elsewhere if you're gonna back out."
Of course, no one pointed out what he was doing, yet the man in the shades had clearly hit the cigar man's pride. It was clear that the words had touched a nerve.
Colors flared in his cheeks as he bristled in frustration. With a snarl, he finally threw his chips onto the table, declaring, "I'm all in too! I'll take your chips and those fancy sunglasses when I'm done."
But beneath that bravado, Arthur recognized a deeper truth—the cigar man was beginning to sweat, his confidence faltering as he glanced at the dealer and then back at the chips piled upon the felt.
As the dealer began to deal the cards, time slowed down. Arthur leaned forward, watching with intense concentration.
The first card fell for the man with shades—an ace. The second card revealed itself—another ace. Then the last card fell—a two, bringing him to a total of twenty-one!
The cigar man's face went pale, feeling the inevitability of it all. It was too late. The man with the shades had clearly won.
"That's zero chips for you," he said. "Sorry, but the limit to play at this table is fifty."
The cigar man's face drained completely of color as he processed the words. Then, without notice, he collapsed on the table.
"Someone call for help!" a spectator yelled.
Yet no one rushed to immediately help him. It was as if the theater of wealth and loss had long outgrown compassion; everyone returned their focus to the remaining players, eager for the next round.
It took quite a while for someone to actually remove the man from the table.
Arthur leaned back, not at all distraught by the scene. This was man's basic emotions at play here, after all—no different than what they would have done on Earth.
The quiet man with the shades shifted his attention to Arthur.
"Now then," he said, "I wonder what tricks you'll show me."
Was that a challenge?
"No tricks here," Arthur confessed. "Just a harmless card game."
The man regarded Arthur, noticing something extremely odd about him. Most players in the room would have been intimidated.
The other remaining players were already used to this sort of fiasco, yet Arthur remained unnaturally calm as though he already knew the outcome.
The unflappable aura surrounding him was most certainly strange. It felt as if he were invincible, untouched by anyone.
The man adjusted his shades, choosing not to be ensnared by whatever or whoever Arthur was. If he was hiding something, then it would be uncovered, no?
After a few rounds, the table became extremely apprehensive due to Arthur's impressive winning streak. It had elevated his total chips to nearly one and a half million ryō.
The spectators' eyes kept darting between the mountain of chips before him and the increasingly agitated man in shades. That same man had lost more than sixty percent of his earnings.
There was heavy tension as Arthur sat relaxed in his chair while the other players exchanged incredulous looks.
For the first time that evening, the man in shades stood up in frustration. He tilted his head in a way that betrayed his irritation, signaling to the guards stationed at the perimeter of the table.
"You!" he snapped at Arthur, glaring at him from behind his dark glasses. "Stand up!"
Unperturbed, Arthur rose from his seat, feeling the weight of everyone's gazes on him. It was to be expected.
The guards moved in close. The scrutiny was invasive, uncomfortable even.
They patted him down almost too aggressively in front of the gathering audience. Spectators murmured, questioning the morality and personal rights beside the scrutiny.
Through it all, Arthur remained aloof, eyes closed as if not feeling a thing. He knew he had nothing to hide, and the invasive nature of their checks did little more than make him feel innocent.
The guards exchanged glances and nodded to the man in shades, indicating that Arthur was indeed clean.
As the crowd relaxed in approval, a few patrons clapped, admiring his showmanship amidst an unnecessary search.
The man in shades returned to his seat, but Arthur remained standing, provoking curiosity from Diana seated next to him.
"Why are you still standing?" she inquired in a probing tone.
With a slow opening of his eyes, Arthur remained composed and steadily replied, "Because... it's time I addressed the real cheating."
The surrounding onlookers leaned in closer, their interests piqued.
Arthur locked eyes with the man in shades and said, "Why not tell them? Or would you rather have me expose your act?"
"Cheating?" the man scoffed. He then leaned forward. "You think you can accuse me without proof? What are you implying?"
Arthur took a moment, letting the drama build.
The audience became eager to hear what would happen next. Could he truly prove that this man was cheating?
By all means. The method this particular gambler had used was called collusion with an insider. It meant that he had enlisted help from the dealer to manipulate the game in his favor.
To prove something like that, however, would be a spectacle.
"I'm not implying anything," Arthur said. "I'm deliberately calling you out, Dennis Nikrasch…"
At the mere mention of the name, the man's facial expression shifted from condescension to shock. He stalled, caught off guard, as if the name struck him unexpectedly.
Then silence. The skinnier fellow seated across the table furrowed his brow in confusion as he asked, "What's wrong? Who's this Nathaniel fellow?"
Diana was also intrigued. It was clear that no one at this table actually knew each other, save those who recognized Diana as someone widely known across the capital.
So she pressed, "What are your ties to that name, sir?"
The man with shades regained his composure, nodding deliberately at the dealer.
"This discussion is no longer appropriate for public ears," he declared, rising and beginning to step away from the table. "I fold. But you… come with me so we can continue this in private."
Arthur didn't yield.
"And what of my winnings?" he coolly asked. "You accused me of cheating and had me touched without consent. Wouldn't it be wise to compensate me fairly?"
The man's eyes twitched. He was in no position to be ordering someone like Arthur around.
As such, the man conceded with a dismissive gesture, "Fine… Follow me."
Diana and the rest of the spectators were left confused as eyes watched Arthur and the man leave.
Just who was Arthur, they wondered—and what did he know that would make the man in shades so desperate to keep this a secret?
Because of the sudden halt, many were left disappointed, secretly hoping for violence.
After the two passed through security checkpoints, they arrived at a larger room decorated with opulent designs that screamed wealth: lush carpets, extravagant chandeliers, and large paintings depicting affluent lifestyles.
Several men in tailored suits occupied the space, each adorned with rings and shining cufflinks.
Arthur had already scanned this area, knowing prior just what he had walked into.
The man with shades approached the main individual sitting at the head of a table. When he did, he began whispering into the man's ear.
Whoever that particular man was, Arthur could only speculate him to be the boss of this operation—the real owner, so to speak.
The room fell silent as the boss turned his gaze toward him with a curious look.
"Who are you?" the boss inquired in a condescending tone.
Arthur's demeanor remained the same as he replied, "I'd prefer that my name not be leaked…"
The main man chuckled, adjusting himself in his seat as he said, "I like him already! Tell me, how'd you uncover one of our moles?"
A "mole" in a casino is an insider or informant who gathers crucial information about the casino's operations, security measures, and potentially dishonest practices, often being an employee with access to sensitive information.
They are considered reliable by casino owners because of their insider knowledge, which allows them to identify vulnerabilities, detect fraud, and suggest improvements to enhance their profits.
While moles can alert their owners of potential threats, they themselves also pose a risk if they're caught.
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