Capítulo 182: Blackjack
Arthur kept his posture relaxed as he sat down and took in the other players.
The table included a man with a golden tooth and a cigar, an older woman puffing smoke through an unfriendly countenance, a lavishly dressed gentleman, a businessman wearing shades, and finally, there was a skinny man who appeared out of place, yet his posture was poised, showing his poker face.
"Starting bid is fifty thousand ryō," the dealer announced, seeing Arthur sit down.
Arthur, unfazed, slid the exact number of chips forward. He could feel all eyes fall upon him, intrigued by his boldness, especially given his apparent disparity in the chips on the table.
Was one hundred thousand ryō in chips really that much less? To those at the table, it was.
"New here?" the man with the cigar casually asked, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air as he looked at Arthur with interest.
"As if…" Arthur nonchalantly replied, sensing the scrutiny.
"Really?" the elder woman responded with suspicion. "Looks like we got another vet. Know how to play?"
There was no need to excite the crowd or draw attention to his character. So, with a harmless grin, he skimmed through the rulebook and said, "Not a lot, but I feel confident."
The rules were straightforward: get as close to 21 as possible without exceeding it to win.
Face cards equaled 10 points, aces could be valued as either 1 or 11, and a bust occurred when one's point total surpassed 21. The dealer had to hit at 16 points or lower but stood at 17 or higher. If both the player and dealer busted, the player lost.
Arthur set the book down, waved his hand dismissively, and said, "I don't really get it, but I guess I'll learn as I go."
Of course, he understood the game. It was simple, but he didn't need to tell them that.
As each player placed their bets, it became increasingly apparent that Arthur had significantly fewer chips than the others.
While he had started with 100,000 ryō, the others had between 300,000 and 1 million in chips. Even the skinny man, unsettlingly poker-faced, had an impressive stack.
Who knew what their backgrounds were and their exact level of wealth? A rule of thumb was that if someone was betting, it also meant they were prepared to lose it all.
Not many in this world could pull out several hundred thousand ryō and blow it at a casino. That was why these specific gamblers had seated themselves at the highest table—this was no place for beginners.
The dealer began to shuffle the cards, soon dealing two to each player.
Arthur quickly assessed the faces around him, noting their calmness and excitement. He took a glance at his own hand—a jack and a two, bringing him to a total of twelve.
He then scanned his tablemates. Some players were calling for hits; others chose to double down or split their hands, showcasing knowledge of the game and how strategically they played.
The highest player so far, the skinnier fellow, had seventeen.
When it was his turn, he decided to hit. The dealer slid him a two, bringing his total to fourteen—a cause for concern. Nonetheless, he held a smile, perfectly masking himself.
He requested another hit, granted by a three, raising his score to seventeen. This was amateur hour, and he wasn't going to buy into it.
"Hit me…"
The dealer provided him with a four!
"Twenty-one…" Arthur calmly exclaimed, soaking in the reactions of the other players.
Meanwhile, the dealer revealed an unfortunate bust, much to the dismay of the skinny man, who announced with a sigh, "If you hadn't drawn that four, I would have won."
"Maybe next time," Arthur replied, keeping his tone light.
But from his peripheral vision, he noticed the man with the cigar—his grin too wide, too knowing. That sight of condescension told Arthur all he needed to know.
The secret of blackjack was not just about the cards at hand but understanding potential outcomes. A non-dealer could adjust their risk based on their existing cards, but the dealer faced fixed obligations regarding their hands, creating natural vulnerabilities.
Arthur leaned in closer, feigning uncertainty. He estimated that his previous hands would provide insight into the deck's overall composition.
A glance of casual observation revealed that skillful players often peeked at the discarded cards, mentally marking those that would give them an advantage on their next draw.
If he played this correctly, he might just reap significant rewards from this table without needing to resort to drastic measures—though he wouldn't shy away from using his abilities if necessary.
After a couple of rounds, Arthur's total now stood at 200,000 ryō, a significant gain but not one to boast about.
Each round upped the ante in his mind. He didn't need to worry about losing access to the Water Country's funds if he could multiply his winnings at this table, inch by inch.
Across, the other players were beginning to take note of his unexpected streak—a sign that might just play in his favor.
"Why so few chips this time?" the man with the cigar asked, sizing up Arthur.
"Oh… just getting started," Arthur airily replied as he shuffled the colorful chips before him.
The table began slowly rallying more spectators as the next round of blackjack commenced.
Arthur began tapping on the table with one of the chips he had recently won. The sound caught the attention of the players nearby.
The man with the cigar leaned forward in annoyance and said, "Can you knock that off already? I can't concentrate with you doing that!"
Arthur turned to him with a confident smile and taunted, "It's not against the rules, is it?"
The man paused, choosing to look away. Arthur, however, knew what the man was likely thinking: 'Oh well, if I just leave this sucker alone, he'll eventually go broke.'
How wrong he was.
As rounds progressed, he demonstrated an uncanny knack for winning, manipulating the game to his advantage through his knowledge and perception. With each successful hand, his stack of chips nearly tripled, drawing glances of disbelief from the other players.
The man with the cigar finally erupted. He leapt from his chair, slamming his palm down on the table in frustration.
"How the heck are you going up in chips?" he yelled incredulously, practically spitting on the table.
The elder woman raised an eyebrow, also feeling skeptical, and asked, "You're not cheating, are you?"
"Not at all," Arthur innocently replied. He honestly hadn't even activated his Tamashii yet. "I'm just counting cards."
A murmur went through the group at his revelation. Arthur could see them weighing just who he was now.
Counting cards was considered illegal in some countries and states on Earth. But this was neither; this was the Edo period, where many didn't even know what that was.
In blackjack, the dealer often busts depending on the cards remaining in the deck. If the deck had many cards with values of two through eight, the dealer held a substantial advantage.
Conversely, if numerous nine, ten, or ace cards remained, the upper hand shifted to the players.
The gamblers didn't know whether to admire his boldness or dismiss him as an amateur.
"Did you know that there are 52 cards in a deck, and 24 of them are nine, ten, or ace cards?" he continued confidently. "That gives a ratio of about 2.17. As that ratio shifts, the dealer becomes more vulnerable, allowing me to adjust my bets accordingly."
"What the…?!" the skinny man interjected, "Are you telling me that in this short amount of time, you came up with a card-counting theory?"
The man with the cigar shook his head in disbelief to add, "Only the most skilled could do that! How's an amateur like you even pulling this off?"
As this banter unfolded, Arthur noted the man with the shades, the only one who had hardly voiced his thoughts at the table. He twitched slightly, his façade of nonchalance cracking at Arthur's obvious deductions.
It dawned on Arthur that he had recognized the tapping—a simple yet effective method he was using to keep track of the cards discarded, essentially creating an abacus out of the clattering rhythm.
It looks like Arthur's time playing rookie ended before it could really begin.
"You should all know," he clarified, "many people think that money's the root of all evil. In truth, it's the love of money that is the root of all evil."
Instantly, things became tense. Now they would take him seriously.
With the dealer preparing to commence the next round, there was an unexpected announcement.
"All the cards have been used up!" he addressed. "I'll bring out the new deck now."
This revelation piqued Arthur's interest, for through his card counting, he knew only 49 cards had been dealt. Did Arthur miscalculate or something? No, someone among them had been cheating!
He could probably figure out who it was, but with the level of wealth these gamblers had, it wouldn't be easy. Yet Arthur also had something up his sleeve that he was confident no one here could use: chakra.
'Tamashii…'
His eyes grazed over the table, pinpointing the candidate: the skinny man.
Arthur had watched him closely during a prior round, managing to swap three face cards back into the deck without anyone catching on. Under that man's clothes were other cards, strongly resembling what the dealer had.
Some rounds later revealed that his wasn't the only trick afoot. The elder woman had her own method; Arthur had noted how she marked the back of certain cards with her fingernail—a barely perceptible bend that would escape the eyes of most.
And the man with the cigar, an apparent roughneck, had developed a method called "shiner," using carefully placed reflections in the room to glean information on the open table.
How most interesting.
Each player had a trick up their sleeve, but none had suspected that Arthur had such keen observational skills that allowed him to see through their façades.
The man with shades intrigued him as well. Arthur noted that the dealer consistently dealt the second card from the top to him—a technique known as "second dealing," almost impossible to perfect unless working together with the dealer.
It's no wonder a seat was open at this table. These weren't just rich folks playing around with coins; they were passionate about their work and knew how to cheat without getting caught.
Arthur found it both amusing and troubling. Cheating in the world of gambling often went hand in hand with a lack of integrity, but it seemed everyone had gotten accustomed to bending the rules.
He could gladly expose their secrets right here and now. But where was the fun in that?
This was just another test for him to prove himself once again.
After all, the only prohibition in this entire casino was the illegal transfer of chips; technically, cheating was permissible as long as you didn't get caught.
Affluence often bred cunningness, and apparently, wealth in this hidden corner of the world came with its own set of rules.
"Excuse me, could I get a pen?" Arthur nonchalantly asked, turning to the dealer.
The dealer nodded and handed him one, and as Arthur reached for it, he purposely dropped the item, causing it to roll just under the table.
"My sincere apologies," he exclaimed, crouching down as he retrieved it.
While picking it up, he subtly observed things. The moment he returned to his seat, he caught a glimpse of the man with the cigar narrowing his eyes. Then shock registered on his face, for he couldn't quite see what he wanted to.
Arthur had cleverly shifted one of the mirrors reflecting the table.
How did he do it? It was simple—his pen, lacking its cap, had been thrown with chakra-enhanced precision, knocking a nearby object just enough to disrupt the careful alignment of the mirrors.
The man with the cigar was quite amusing since he had managed to carefully align them just right. But one shift, and his cheating strategy was easily disrupted.
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