Lance didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened. What the fuck?!
Victor stepped past him, brushing his shoulder—just enough to be disrespectful.
The room slowly began to hum again. Cards shuffled. Chips clicked. Conversations resumed.
But Lance stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the table Victor had just left.
His fists were clenched. His throat tight.
Kenji stepped closer. "What the hell was that about? You okay?"
Lance didn't respond.
Because something had shifted inside him.
After a while, he asked, "How can I see him again?"
Kenji thought for a moment before saying, "From what I remember, he's not from here. I'd say he's here for the tournament series that's happening next week."
Lance nodded but didn't say anything.
######
The week passed quickly, and with it came another streak of losses for Team Gambit.
"So… what's the damage?" Kenji asked, sprawled on the couch like a bored cat. His voice lacked urgency, but they all knew what he was asking.
"Deducting the bounties, I think we made roughly $2,000. Negative," Amara replied, scrolling through her hand histories on her laptop. Her brows were furrowed, lips pursed. "I didn't change my tactics… So how the hell did I lose those hands?"
"Variance, probably," Kenji yawned. "It's poker. Win some, lose some."
Amara sighed. "Yeah, well, it'd be nice if we could just keep winning."
"I wonder how Lance is—"
"FUCK!" Lance's shout came from the bedroom, sharp and raw.
Kenji and Amara exchanged a look before rushing towards the noise.
Kenji shoved the door open and yelled, "What happened?!"
Lance didn't answer right away. His head was down, face buried in his arms on the desk. The screen in front of him still showed the final hand. A replay hovered onscreen.
Lance: J♠️ J♣️
XP3RT888: A♠️ 10♦️
Preflop: Lance had raised 8BB from UTG. "XP3RT888," sitting in the big blind, had called.
Flop: A♥️ J♥️ 2♠️
Lance had hit middle set. He fired a bet for half the pot. "XP3RT888" re-raised, committing half his stack. Lance called.
Turn: A♣️
Lance tanked, nearly letting the timer run out… then shoved.
"XP3RT888" called.
River: 2♥️
A full house—for both of them. But "XP3RT888" had Aces full of Twos while Lance had Jacks full of Aces.
Kenji winced. "Damn… you got cooler'd, bro. And not the Bad Beat Jackpot kind."
Lance let out a groan, forehead still pressed to the desk.
"You were so close to ITM," Amara murmured. "How many spots away?"
"Three," Lance said, voice muffled.
Kenji clicked his tongue. "That hurts."
Amara stepped closer. "You shoved on the turn?"
"He only had like 29.5% chance of hitting a Full House or better by river, so I figured he'd fold under pressure. I should've just checked. I forgot about the Bad Beat Jackpot – there's no way he'd fold Ace trips if there's a chance of him getting the jackpot."
Leaning back, eyes hollow with frustration, he added, "I didn't think carefully."
"You've been playing all day," Amara said. "Your brain is probably tired now. Besides, everyone has downswings."
"But not everyone has a best friend who owes loan sharks $300,000," Lance blurted out; the weight of the words pressing heavily on his chest, his mind racing through unpaid medical bills and his mother's exhausted face.
That shut the room up.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I'm just… tired. We've been playing non-stop. And we're still in the red this week."
When he excused himself and went to the bathroom to freshen up, Amara asked Kenji, "What's wrong with him today?"
"Mila is on a date."
Amara blinked. "What? She told me she was meeting an old friend."
Kenji shrugged. "Yeah. A guy friend. Son of one of Dad's business partners. Also… her ex."
Amara's brows shot up. "Wait—what?"
Kenji nodded slowly. "He's in town for a few days."
Her expression hardened. "And she didn't tell Lance?"
"She did." Kenji looked away. "But he just told her to have fun."
Amara leaned back, crossing her arms. "No wonder he's on tilt."
"That's not it."
They both turned to see Lance standing in the doorway, towel in hand, hair damp. He'd clearly heard enough.
"Who she goes out with is none of my business," he said, voice steady, but just a little too neutral. "I meant what I said—I hope she enjoys herself."
He walked past them, grabbing his phone off the desk before sitting back down.
"It's that Victor guy," Lance continued, his tone shifting. "He's been in my head all week. He looks familiar, but I can't remember where I've seen him. It's like there's something I'm supposed to know—and it's driving me crazy."
Amara exchanged a glance with Kenji, but said nothing.
Lance leaned forward, staring at the dark reflection in his laptop screen. After a long pause, he turned to Kenji. "You said that there's a tournament running this week. Should we go take a look?"
Kenji raised an eyebrow. "What—you want to watch him?"
"No, I want to study real tournaments," Lance denied. "I have never been to any of those."
Kenji leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Yeah. The side events are open to the public. It's not just high-rollers—there's a few smaller buy-in tournaments, and the final tables are usually streamed on a screen."
Lance grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. "Let's go."
"Now?"
"Now."
Kenji blinked. "You want to go spy on Victor in the middle of a downswing? While emotionally compromised?"
"I'm not compromised," Lance said flatly. "I'm curious."
Kenji gave Amara a this-guy's-gone-full-tilt look but followed anyway. "Alright. I'm in. But I'm bringing snacks. I refuse to study poker on an empty stomach."
######
An hour later, at a 5-star hotel 2 hours away,
The buzz of activity in the hotel's grand ballroom hit Lance like a wall. Rows of poker tables stretched across the gleaming floors, punctuated by raised stages with massive LED screens displaying chip stacks and hand histories in real-time. Soft jazz hummed beneath the chatter of hundreds of voices.
Lance's eyes darted around, absorbing everything. The atmosphere was electric—but different from the chaos of underground dens. Here, it felt polished. Professional. Like a battle of minds under velvet lights.
The two of them walked around, checking out the players at different events. Amara decided to stay back as she had to complete her art assignment.
Slowly, the boys made their way towards the crowd forming around a roped-off area. Lance scanned the players and one stood out almost immediately.
Victor Armstrong.
He sat second in chips, posture upright but relaxed. That same unreadable mask on his face. The player next to him had clearly just busted and walked off without a word. Victor collected the chips with mechanical grace.
"That guy's a monster," Kenji muttered, watching him.
But Lance wasn't watching Victor's hands. He was watching the way he read the table. His eyes flicked from opponent to opponent, pausing just long enough to register stack sizes, expressions, posture shifts.
"He's not just reading cards," Lance whispered. "He's profiling everyone."