The laughter faded, but the echo lingered — like the sound of dice that hadn't stopped rolling.
Rex and Lia stood in a corridor lined with slot machines that breathed. Each one exhaled faint mist and whispered odds in a hundred languages. Somewhere above, the great chandeliers of starlight flickered, resetting reality between blinks.
Lia's heels clicked on the floor, the rhythm sharp, angry.
"You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," Rex said. "I practice."
"You just got sponsored by a sentient casino! Do you know how rare that is?"
"I'm guessing once every apocalypse?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You don't get it. When the House sponsors someone, it treats them like… a living variable. You're no longer just playing the game — you are the game."
Rex smirked. "I always wanted to be a genre."
Lia glared. "You think this is funny, but your existence is statistically contagious now. Every gambler in this universe — every system, every god, every probability freak — will want to test you."
"Great," Rex said, stretching his arms. "I hate being ignored."
Lia stared at him for a long moment. "You really are reckless."
"Or maybe I just don't like being predictable."
Before she could respond, the hallway lights dimmed.
A soft ding echoed, like a jackpot hitting infinity.
A new prompt shimmered above them.
[System Alert – House Trial Activated]
Trial Name: House Rules Are for Mortals
Objective: Survive a Challenge Duel.
Opponent: To Be Determined.
Time Limit: 3 minutes.
Reward: +10 Recognition Points.
Failure: Instant Debt Collection (Full Fate Wipe).
Rex exhaled. "Okay. Who's the unlucky challenger?"
Lia's expression darkened. "No one volunteers for the House's trial. It… chooses."
The mist in the hall thickened, curling into shapes — silhouettes of gamblers, monsters, gods — before collapsing into a single humanoid form.
A man stepped out of the haze, his eyes gleaming like shattered coins. He wore a coat woven from betting slips, and his smile was too sharp to be human.
"Wildcard Rex Ward," he said, voice smooth as dice rolling over bone. "The House sent me to test the new pet."
Lia's grip tightened around Rex's arm. "Don't underestimate him. That's a House Auditor. They don't lose."
Rex tilted his head. "Auditor, huh? So what — he checks if I pay my taxes in chaos?"
The Auditor smiled faintly. "No. I check if you're worth the risk of existing."
He snapped his fingers, and the corridor warped.
Machines dissolved. Floors vanished.
In an instant, Rex and Lia stood inside a void — infinite tables floating in darkness, each representing a possible outcome.
Lia whispered, "You can still back out."
Rex cracked his neck. "And miss my debut? Nah."
"Trial begins," the Dealer's voice purred.
"Let's see how the Wildcard handles the House's first audit."
The Auditor raised a glowing coin. "Heads, you die. Tails, I collect your soul."
Rex grinned. "And if it lands on its edge?"
The coin spun, glowing brighter. The House itself seemed to hold its breath.
Rex's eyes flashed gold for the first time. "Then I call that a draw."