The scent of spilled ale and stale bread hung heavy in the air. Liriel, a heap of bruised arrogance, was out cold on the tavern table. Lyra, her face streaked with tears, sat beside him. Across the table, Mizuki, the mischievous catperson, was a smug, predatory presence. She held the heavy Behemoth's Respite beam rifle in her hands. The team was defeated, but not broken.
"Hey, Mizuki," Rohan said, his voice quiet but firm. "Give us some time to plan, alright? It's not every day we get to gamble with the great Mizuki the Mischievous."
Mizuki smiled, a low, purring sound. "Alright, alright, but just don't run away, nyow. You look like someone who would cry in the bathroom the second you're alone, nya."
Rohan ignored her taunt. Her overconfidence was a weakness he could exploit. He had a plan. Or, at least, he had an idea.
Rohan and Lyra walked out and back to the tavern table in 15 minutes or so.
A waiter, wiping down a table, leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk. "Hey, kid, what's with the knife? Planning to take the gun by force, are we?"
Another waiter chimed in, his voice filled with false concern. "Don't do it, kid, it would be better for you to just walk away."
Lyra, seeing Rohan's face tighten, intervened. "Don't worry," she said, her voice a little too loud. "That knife isn't for hunting. It's for carving, and he bought it because… because…" she struggled, her voice trailing off.
"It's one of my late grandfather's treasures," Rohan said, stepping in to finish her sentence. He gripped the Tome-Key in his hand, a look of forced confidence on his face. "I hold it to get confidence." The lie felt strange and heavy on his tongue, but it was his only option.
The crowd erupted in a mix of whispers and laughter. "Hey, get that kid a break, he's just scared." "He actually bought a knife?" "What a weirdo."
Just then, a man with an arrogant smirk and a monocle stepped forward. "Don't worry, everyone," he said, his voice a theatrical baritone. "I am an Appraiser, . I can see the power level of others, artifact or player." He began to smile, a cruel, mocking gleam in his eyes. "I can't believe my eyes. Get in on this, guys. That boy's power level is actually one."
The crowd burst into a fresh wave of commotion. "Really? A level one?" "Come on, even my pet dog is twenty times his level!"
The appraiser, basking in the attention, continued. "Calm down, guys, there's more, and it's even more mind-boggling." He paused for dramatic effect. "That knife... wait for it," he said, trying to control his laughter, "is actually a zero. Null. Help me scratch my back, will ya, kid? It's itching! Hahahaha!"
The two waiters in front of them couldn't hold it in. One of them fell on the tables, holding his guts, hurt from laughing. The other, with a casual, almost practiced ease, slammed an empty table with all his might, the wood shattering into a thousand pieces. He didn't even flinch. "I actually got alarmed for a toy like that," he said, his voice filled with a fake, theatrical regret. "It's the first time I ever saw power level zero."
Lyra, waving her hand in a frantic, desperate gesture, tried to intervene, but Mizuki's voice cut through the noise. "It seems like you have nyost even before the match began," she purred, her tail swaying back and forth with amusement. "Give me your potion and get nyoing, kid."
Rohan, however, was no longer scared. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, quiet determination. He looked at the shattered table, the arrogant appraiser, and the laughing crowd. Mizuki saw a clear grin on his face for one second. Then he acted scared and she thought she must have seen wrong and he said, "N-no. I won't give up before a fight." He then walked to the table and sat down, completely unfazed, his gaze never leaving her.
A flicker of genuine surprise, and then a spark of pure interest, ignited in Mizuki's eyes. "This kid has balls of steel, nya."
Rohan, now seated at the table, met Mizuki's gaze with a newfound calm. "So," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "What are we going to play?"
Mizuki, a smirk playing on her lips, fanned her deck of cards with a practiced ease. "I feel pity for nya," she purred. "I'll let you decide, kid."
Rohan seemed to be lost in thought for the next few moments, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the tabletop. He was a boy, and an Indian, and in his subconscious, he held a deep, abiding pride in his eating skills. He was confident he could win against a girl, and he knew, with a programmer's certainty, that the girl was a cheater. Her luck was a sub-routine she had manipulated.
He looked up, a sly grin on his face. "I would like it to be an eating contest."
A flicker of surprise, then a look of utter confidence, crossed Mizuki's face. "Bring it on, errand boy," she said.
The waiter, the one who had just shattered a table, stepped forward. "Wait, wait, who will pay for the food?"
Mizuki, with a dismissive wave of her hand, just laughed. "The loser, of course. Is nyat a problem with you, choco boi?"
Rohan with a smirk in his face says "Nyah," mocking her.
Mizuki, momentarily flustered, gave a frustrated flick of her tail. "Whatever," she snapped, a hint of anger in her voice. "Bring the food, nyow!"
A small, wooden table was set before them. The judge, a stocky man with a handlebar mustache, cleared his throat. "I'll be the judge," he announced, his voice booming over the tavern's hushed crowd. He gestured to the food that was set before them: two steaming bowls of thick, meaty stew, a basket overflowing with fresh bread, and a plate piled high with roasted potatoes. It was an equal feast for both sides.
"Are you guys ready?" he asked, his eyes filled with a professional, serious glint.
"Yeah," Rohan said, a calm, quiet resolve in his voice.
"I was born ready, nya," Mizuki purred, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
The judge slammed his fist on the table. The contest began.
Rohan, a man who had always eaten with a quiet, polite dignity, was a whirlwind of motion. He tore into the food with a ferocity that was almost animalistic. His programmer's mind was focused on one thing: winning.
But Mizuki was a study in cunning. She ate with a delicate, almost feline grace, but Rohan saw her hand, a blur of motion, move to his side of the table. A roasted potato, a perfect, golden orb of food, disappeared from her plate and reappeared on his.
"What are you doing, Mizuki?" the judge roared, his voice filled with indignation. "It's a contest! You shouldn't joke like that!"
Mizuki, genuinely confused, stared at her empty hand, then at the potato on Rohan's plate. A look of genuine confusion and a hint of panic crossed her face. She tried it again, a quick, almost imperceptible flick of her wrist, but this time, the judge was watching. He caught her in the act.
She was caught. Her trick, her skill, had been exposed. She looked at Rohan, a mix of anger and confusion in her eyes. He was smiling.
Mizuki stared at Rohan, her eyes wide with genuine confusion. Her skill, the core of her identity as a gambler, had failed. It was a flawless ability that made anyone watching believe her actions were legitimate, a mental manipulation that could bend reality to her whim. She could cheat at cards, steal from a man in broad daylight, or even kill someone, and onlookers would simply think, "That's just how it works."
But somehow, with this level-one boy, her skill was broken.
He's a Power level one player. He shouldn't have any skills that can counter my mental manipulation. So why is he smiling like he knows something?
Mizuki, disoriented by her failed skill and the shock of a genuine loss, tried to keep up, but it was impossible. She could no longer eat more than Rohan. She had lost.
"I win, I guess," Rohan said, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice. "Wow, I thought she was unbeatable."
The others were just as shocked. The man who had been acting as a judge just stared. Another man joined him. "Maybe she is bad with food," he said. "Damn, Mizuki taking a bet she can't win is new, guys. Am I dreaming?"
Mizuki, humiliated and defeated, her pride in tatters, said, "One more time, nya." She believed her skill had glitched because she had never used it with food. She wanted to prove to herself that her skill wasn't broken.
Rohan, who just wanted to go with Liriel and Lyra said. "What's in it for us?" he said. "We got our rifle back..."
"I'll give you all of my money, and if I win, you'll give that rifle back," she said, her voice filled with a new resolve.
Rohan, who had just won the rifle back, didn't want to bet anymore. He had a plan, a simple one, to just leave the tavern and start his journey. He smiled, a genuine, unadulterated smile that was a rare sight on his face. He looked at Mizuki, his eyes filled with a new kind of confidence.
"No," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Let's do this. If I lose, I'll be your servant for the rest of my life. And if you lose, you'll be mine. Hahahaha... It's not funny, I know, I'm bad at it."
The tavern, which had been so loud just a moment ago, was now silent.
A man with a mustache said, "As if she would need someone like..." his words were cut short by Mizuki.
"Alright, nya," she said, a wicked smirk on her face. "I wanted a servant to scratch ny back."
The tavern, which had been so loud just a moment ago, was now silent. Everyone was shocked even Rohan. Everyone was genuinely excited for this one. She had just lost one, so they thought this could be interesting, as if she loses again, that would be something they would remember forever, but they had little hope that she would lose to this supposedly errand boy of the hero's party.
The table was cleared and a fresh deck of cards, polished and new, was set before them. This was Mizuki's game, a high-stakes poker variant where a straight flush was the ultimate hand. Mizuki, a confident smirk playing on her lips, gave him a taunting look. "Let's make this interesting, nya," she purred.
Rohan, however, was showing the crowd that he was scared, a perfect mimicry of a man in over his head. But Mizuki, a gambler with a lifetime of experience, felt her animal instincts flare. She knew he was trying to look weak; there was something hidden, a glint in his eyes that spoke of a dangerous plan. Her pride, her very identity, could be on the line today.
The games began. The referee from the previous round, a stocky man with a handlebar mustache, stood ready. "Are you guys ready?" he asked, his voice booming over the tavern's hush.
"Yeah," Rohan said, his voice a convincing mix of bravado and fear.
"I was born ready, nya," Mizuki purred.
The judge slammed his fist on the table, and the game began.
The cards were shuffled and dealt. As the judge laid the cards on the table, a man in the tavern with a wide smile checked both of their hands. He was smiling. "Damn," he said to himself, "today's the history day."
Mizuki, with her heightened cat-like hearing, heard it. Her instincts, her pride, her very being, were on the line. She knew she had to win, and she knew Rohan had the cards to beat her. She tried to shuffle his cards with her own, a blur of motion that should have gone unnoticed. But the referee, a man with a stern look, intervened. "I won't give another warning, Mizuki."
Now she was scared. She was a master of misdirection, a master of bluff, but this was a game she couldn't win. She looked at Rohan, who was now laughing, a genuine, unadulterated laugh that was a rare sight on his face.
"You... you are cheating," she stammered, her voice filled with a new kind of fear. "There's no way my..."
"My what?" Rohan said, a smirk on his face.
"Forget it," she snapped, a hint of genuine fear in her eyes. "I'm leaving."
Lyra, who had been holding Liriel, was now happy. She was just about to tell Rohan that they were free, that can go now, but something unexpected happened. Rohan, a man who had been a silent observer for so long, grabbed her hand and said, "Welcome to the party... servant."
Rohan had a problem. Ever since he was a child, he couldn't stand it when someone said they would do something and then didn't follow through. It was a core part of his identity. He would fight with his boss if he said he would get a promotion and didn't get one. He would fight with his friends if they couldn't make it to a party after saying they would come. He was a man of his words, but now he couldn't tolerate anyone who didn't say true to their words.
Mizuki, a gambler who had always relied on her words, felt a genuine fear. She was a cat getting looked down on by a lion. Rohan was totally changed. Lyra was scared, too.
Mizuki, her instincts screaming at her, finally spoke. "Okay, nya."
"Okay what?" Rohan said, his voice now a low, commanding tone. "Say it better."
"F*cking Bra.....Okay, nya...., nyaster," she said, her voice filled with a new kind of respect and fear.
The tavern was still buzzing, but the mood had shifted. The cheers and jeers that had filled the air were now replaced by laughter and a chorus of goodbyes. The crowd, amused by the spectacle, bid farewell to Mizuki, laughing at her new role as a servant to the errand boy.
"Mizuki, pick Liriel up," Rohan said, his voice quiet but firm. "We're going to the hotel. It's late."
"Okay, what a selfish b*tchy nyaster I've got," Mizuki replied, her tone a playful defiance. She walked over to the unconscious Liriel and, with surprising strength, lifted him onto her back. The hero, the warrior, the lone wolf, was now a limp, drunken heap being carried by a mischievous gambler.
As they walked out into the cool night air, Mizuki, her curiosity overpowering her pride, finally spoke.
"But how did your dumb ass pull it off, nyaster?" she asked, her voice a low, husky whisper. "My 'all rules are meant to be broken' ability... why wasn't it working?"
Rohan and Lyra looked at each other, and a small, knowing smile touched their lips.
"How did we know?" Rohan said, a rare, unadulterated grin on his face. "Let's just say we found a little exploit in your code."