"Ren, I have no idea what nonsense you're talking about."
The instant her secret was dragged into the open, Yukino's eyes turned ice-cold. No one likes admitting they're inferior to someone else, even if that "someone" is their own sister. To meet her mother's expectations, Yukino had spent her entire life forcing herself to move in Haruno's direction.
"Then just pretend I'm talking out of my ass, Yukinoshita."
Ren pulled his hand back and flicked a dismissive wave, like he was brushing off dust. He didn't care whether she denied it or not. Compared to her personality defects, he was interested in something else.
"Yukinoshita. Who do you think the Service Club is actually meant for?"
"Anyone seeking help can be an applicant."
Yukino's voice was firm. When it came to the goal she fought for, she never hesitated.
Like Ren, Yukino was also trying to find what she needed by helping others. The difference was simple: Ren knew what he wanted. He had a target. Yukino was feeling her way in the dark, clinging to a vague idea called "the genuine thing," without even knowing what it was supposed to look like.
She could only stumble forward on a road with no visible end, hoping that one day she'd find what she needed. But how could a girl find "the genuine thing" when she hadn't even defined it? Maybe it had already appeared at her side, and she simply didn't notice—or refused to acknowledge it.
"Is that so… Yukinoshita. Take a walk with me."
Ren stood and extended his hand, a casual invitation.
"Try finding that thing you're chasing by founding the Service Club."
"Given your behavior just now, I refuse to shake your hand."
She didn't take his hand.
But she stood up anyway—and followed him.
On the path to finding "the genuine thing," she wasn't going to ignore even the smallest lead.
The car started. Ren drove Yukino toward the unknown.
Daytime life isn't really "living." It's just survival.
Night tore away the last thin veil of decency and shoved the raw reality of "life" into Yukino's eyes. They arrived in Shibuya, the "City of Youth," where the night was louder, denser, and more chaotic than the day.
Vibrant lights flooded the streets, so bright it felt like the sun had never set. Crowds shouted and surged through hours meant for sleep. Calling it a massive "Sleepless City" wouldn't be an exaggeration. Here, the gap between wealth and class wasn't abstract—it was visible. Physical.
"Ren, you think the thing I'm looking for is here?"
Yukino watched the scenery slide past the window, doubt thick in her voice. Ren claimed he was taking her to what she sought, but bringing her to Shibuya made her wonder why she'd believed his bullshit at all.
She might only have a hazy sense of what "the genuine thing" was, but she knew what it wasn't: a lie. This place of indulgence and freedom reeked of money, lust, and deception—the exact opposite of what she was chasing. Satan doesn't appear in a church, God doesn't crawl out of a grave, and the "genuine thing" isn't born in a den of gold and vice.
Ren killed the engine and parked near a casino.
He waited, silent, like he was watching a clock only he could see.
Just as Yukino reached for the door—ready to call a taxi and leave—a man was thrown out of the casino.
"Please! Let me back in! Let me in! I can flip it! I know I can flip the score!"
Tossed out by casino thugs, the man's eyes were as red as a cornered beast, the whites webbed with burst capillaries. He crawled toward the entrance, muttering to himself. The casino had once thrown him bait, and after tasting it, he truly believed the Goddess of Luck would smile on him again and hand him a complete reversal.
"Get lost. Stop being an eyesore. You don't have any chips left to bet."
The thugs guarding the door looked down at him with dead eyes, telling him to crawl away. They'd seen his type a thousand times—people who couldn't accept losing, convinced they were one move away from the jackpot.
"Chips… chips… right, chips!"
The man's face snapped into sudden clarity, like he'd been struck by revelation. His eyes lit up. He'd found new "chips." A manic joy twisted his expression as he grabbed the thugs' arms and shook them, half-talking to himself.
"Hahahaha… just wait! I'm going back to get my chips right now!"
When a thug shoved him back down, he didn't even get angry. He scrambled up and sprinted away toward home.
He was going back for his "chips."
Ren pointed at the gambler's pathetic, retreating figure.
"Yukinoshita, do you think a person like that is worth saving?"
"No."
"But doesn't the Service Club believe in lending a hand to those in difficulty? Won't you give it a try?"
Yukino didn't answer. She tightened her grip on her milk tea—until her fingers ached.
Like Eriri Spencer Sawamura, Yukino had been well sheltered by her family. This was the first time she'd ever seen a gambler teetering on the edge of insanity. She still hadn't touched the family business. In terms of society's cruelty, she was an amateur.
"What do you think those 'chips' he mentioned are?" Ren asked.
"Money."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Yukino said, absolute.
A girl who had never watched the world chew people up couldn't picture anything else. She assumed the man was sprinting home to grab the last of his savings—his final bet.
"Then shall we have a wager, Yukinoshita?"
Ren leaned back, settling into his seat like he was getting comfortable for a show.
"I bet the chips that man brings back won't be money."
"A bet?"
Yukino hesitated.
She'd clashed with Ren more than once, and she hadn't won a single time. Losing that often made her wary. She started to suspect an angle.
"What's wrong? You scared?"
Ren turned his head, studying her profile. His tone was lazy—too lazy.
"Ren, that's a very clumsy provocation."
"But it worked."
"What are the stakes?"
Yukino saw straight through him and demanded the price up front. If she was going to lose, she wanted to know what it would cost before she agreed.
"One order. The loser must carry out one command from the winner, provided it doesn't violate their interests."
"If the loser deems the order unreasonable, they can refuse to execute it."
Ren didn't make it difficult. The terms were almost generous—dangerously so.
"Deal."
Yukino accepted.
The bet was set.
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