The aftermath of the Trial felt like stepping out of a dream that hadn't quite ended.
Glass shards floated midair, reflecting a dozen versions of Rex — each one fading like smoke.
The Dealer clapped lazily from atop his throne of cards.
"Well done, Wildcard. You lost approximately 78% of your sanity, but kept your style. Impressive."
Rex rubbed his temple. "Feels like I drank a blender."
"That's the price of playing against yourself," Lia murmured, her tone half worry, half admiration. "Most gamblers forget who they are entirely."
"Maybe I did," Rex said, smirking faintly. "But apparently, whoever I became still annoys you."
Lia almost smiled — almost. "That's how I know it's still you."
The Dealer snapped his fingers, and reality folded like a deck.
The ballroom melted into a smaller chamber — intimate, candlelit, walls lined with spinning dice.
Only three figures remained: Rex, Lia, and the Dealer himself.
"Congratulations," the Dealer purred. "You've been invited to the Secret Table."
Rex tilted his head. "Sounds ominous."
"Oh, it is," the Dealer said cheerfully. "The players there don't gamble for money, power, or fame. They gamble for names."
Lia stiffened. "That's forbidden. Even House Lords don't—"
"Exactly why it's fun," the Dealer interrupted.
He flicked his wrist, and glowing symbols appeared — names written in pure fate-script, each pulsing like a heartbeat.
Rex recognized none of them.
Until one line shimmered brighter than the rest.
[LIA.EXE]
Her name.
He froze. "What the hell is that doing here?"
The Dealer smiled, the kind of smile that meant he'd been waiting for this question since the beginning.
"Every system has a price, Rex. Every assistant, every interface, every voice. You thought she was free?"
Lia's breath hitched. "Dealer—"
"Don't." He silenced her with a single glance. "If he wants to keep your name — your identity — he'll have to win it."
Rex laughed once, hollow and amused all at once. "So, what, I have to gamble for her freedom?"
"Not freedom," the Dealer corrected. "Ownership."
The room fell silent. Even the dice paused mid-spin.
Lia's voice trembled, quiet but firm. "You don't have to do this."
"Lia."
He turned toward her — no smirk, no mask this time. Just a raw, dangerous certainty.
"I never fold when someone else stacks the deck against me."
The Dealer's grin widened. "Excellent. Then your wager is accepted."
[New Trial Initiated: The Wager of Names]
[Stakes: Lia's Identity]
[Opponent: The House Itself]
Lia's voice cracked. "You don't understand—if you lose, the House won't erase me. It'll rewrite me."
"Then I'll just have to beat the universe," Rex said softly.
The Dealer raised a toast with invisible wine. "Oh, this is going to be delicious."
In the distance, the lights of the House flickered — every Table, every odds calculation, every god and gambler turning their gaze toward the Wildcard who just bet his system.
And as the new game began, the House of Odds whispered once more, this time with something almost like anticipation:
"Observation priority elevated. Wildcard has wagered attachment. Probability collapse predicted. Proceed."