The first rays of morning light could not reach Mason's basement. The illumination filtering through the ventilation ducts was always grayish, tinged with dust, accompanied by the faint, incessant hum of engines—the city's restless stirring before true dawn. Mason had been awake for a long time, or, more heartbreakingly, he had barely slept all night.
He leaned against the creaking bed frame, his left wrist resting on a bent knee, his forefinger unconsciously tracing the skin on the inner side of his left wrist. There had once been a faint golden lightning bolt symbol there, now vanished without a trace, leaving only the skin's weak, hazy memory of its former warmth.
But that wasn't the only reason for his gesture.
What truly churned in his heart, keeping him restless through the night, were the last words Lily had spoken in the alley behind the "Amber Light" apartment building when he left, the touch of her fingertips, the gratitude, curiosity, and shadowy longing in her eyes, and even more... the slip of paper in his pocket with her private number, still carrying the faint scent of her perfume.
"Let's set an official date soon."
These words were like a stone dropped into the calm (or pretended calm) reservoir of his mind, sending ripples that spread out endlessly, stirring up the murkier depths below—excitement, awakening, anticipation of the unknown, and a tactile unease, a feeling of being ensnared.
He forced himself to suppress these chaotic thoughts, refocusing his attention on more urgent, concrete matters that felt "safer."
His consciousness turned inward, as if accessing an invisible interface. There, a newly acquired ability hovered quietly, conveying information that was cold and distinct:
**Probability Intuition (Novice)**
**Remaining Uses: 2/3**
**Remaining Duration (Estimated): ~14 hours**
"Two chances left, fourteen hours," Mason muttered to himself, his voice oddly loud in the silence. "Counting from around eleven last night... it will disappear around one this afternoon."
He raised his right hand, his thumb and middle finger tensed.
"And it activates with a snap each time... I must not use it casually in front of others." He frowned. "It can only give a sense; the more complex the event, the lower the accuracy... This ability sounds trickier to use than 'Always Get the Real Deal at the Plaza.' At least the rules for 'Always Get the Real Deal' were clear, but this..." He shook his head. "It's practically gambling with my own judgment."
He stood up and paced in the cramped basement. The floor felt gritty underfoot, but he paid it no mind.
"Two chances. Can't waste them." He paused, his gaze falling on a worn-edged notebook. "Using it once at the card table was a last resort, but it proved this ability at least 'exists'—though I don't know if it was luck or if it truly worked."
He grabbed the notebook, flipped to the latest page, and traced the numbers with his finger.
"Debt's paid off, compensation settled, Lily gave me three hundred last night... I have a little over twenty thousand on hand now." He closed the book, talking to himself. "This is seed money. Can't squander it. Use 'Probability Intuition' to buy stocks? Go to the casino? Am I insane?"
He remembered the mad old man Samuel's words: "Luck is just opportunity in disguise."
"..." Mason narrowed his eyes slightly. "I shouldn't treat it as a tool for predicting gambling outcomes. Perhaps it can be used to 'identify' those 'opportunities' disguised as 'luck'—assess risks, evaluate people, choose between several similar options."
Just then, his phone vibrated. The screen displayed an unfamiliar local number.
Mason stared at the screen for a couple of seconds, then answered. "Hello?"
"May I speak with Mr. Mason Cooper?" A male voice, somewhat formal in tone, asked.
"Yes, speaking."
"This is the West Los Angeles Consumer Rights Center. We have received a final confirmation document regarding the settlement of your dispute with 'The Time Gallery' watch store, requiring your signature. Additionally, regarding the additional compensation, we need to confirm your payment method. Are you available to come in today? The address is..."
Mason's heartbeat quickened slightly. "The Time Gallery"? Wasn't this settled?
"I need to verify your identity," he said calmly.
The other party smoothly provided the center's full name, address, case number, and even mentioned the mediator's surname—all correct.
"What does 'additional compensation' entail?" Mason pressed.
"Specific details require your presence for the mediator to explain. This is a supplemental offer based on the merchant's desire for an amicable resolution beyond legal requirements. You have the right to refuse."
"The right to refuse..." Mason pondered for a moment. "Alright, I'll be there shortly."
After hanging up, he rubbed his chin.
"Is this an 'opportunity'? Or trouble?" He glanced at his wrist. "Maybe... worth a look with intuition."
***
Mason stood in front of the old office building housing the mediation center. He didn't enter immediately but turned into the adjacent alley, his back to the street, raising his right hand with some unease.
His heartbeat gradually sped up.
*Snap.*
The crisp sound echoed faintly in the alley.
In that instant, a subtle sense of connection arose. He concentrated, focusing his intent on the action of entering the mediation center.
A few moments later, the sensation arrived—very faint, almost imperceptible. It leaned neither towards "good" nor "bad," instead forming a neutral, slightly sluggish sense of "stability." Simultaneously, a vague notion pointed towards the "additional compensation": "trivial, inconsequential."
Mason frowned.
"That basically told me nothing," he whispered. But he straightened his collar and walked out of the alley anyway.
The process was disappointingly mundane. The mediator was a middle-aged woman with an expressionless face. She presented a supplemental agreement: "'The Time Gallery' acknowledges serious procedural flaws in the sale. To thoroughly eliminate any risk of further dispute, they proactively offer an additional $500 as a 'customer care fee.' You need to sign a confirmation stating that all disputes are fully resolved."
Mason read the terms carefully. They were indeed straightforward, with no hidden traps.
He recalled the intuition's "inconsequential" sense and looked at the agreement before him. He understood.
"I accept," he said, signing his name.
Fifteen minutes later, he walked out of the center. His phone vibrated with a text message confirming a $500 deposit.
"One chance used, for a 'nothing wrong' confirmation and five hundred dollars." Mason looked at his phone screen, a wry smile on his face. "**Probability Intuition (Novice)**, one use left, duration... about eight hours."
He called up the ability interface to confirm:
**Probability Intuition (Novice)**
**Remaining Uses: 1/3**
**Remaining Duration (Estimated): ~8 hours**
That was it. The last chance.
He decided to use the second chance to visit the old downtown street with the "revitalization plan"—maybe an intuition could be useful there.
***
On the subway, Mason watched the cityscape rushing past the window, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Lily..." he murmured her name softly, remembering the scent of her perfume as she leaned close under the streetlight last night and the sparkle in her eyes.
His phone vibrated again. A text. The sender number was both unfamiliar and oddly familiar.
Lily: "My lucky star, where are you? I've been thinking about last night all day (the cards, and... other things). Are you free tonight? I know a fantastic Italian restaurant, the owner's a friend, guaranteed to be quiet and delicious. Give me a chance to thank you? :-)"
The message included the restaurant's name and address.
Mason stared at the screen, his thumb repeatedly rubbing its edge.
"A formal date invitation..." he murmured.
To go or not to go? This question couldn't be answered by Probability Intuition. It was about desire, awakening, and the assessment of complexity.
He had used one intuition today for a mundane outcome. One last chance remained; perhaps it should be saved for something more valuable.
He thought for two minutes, then replied:
"Thanks for the invitation, Lily. But I have plans tonight. Another time?"
It wasn't a complete rejection, but he wasn't ready to step into such obviously risky territory.
***
The old downtown street contrasted sharply with the bustling main avenues. Narrow, with buildings that were somewhat worn but freshly painted, trying to cultivate a "retro-artsy" vibe. Mason walked slowly, observing everything.
A poster for a "Small Business Revitalization Plan" was pasted on a street corner, listing application conditions and preferential policies. Many storefronts bore "For Transfer" or "For Rent" signs.
He stopped in front of a vacant shop. The location wasn't great, the space roughly twenty or thirty square meters. A "For Rent" notice was on the glass window. The rent was cheap but required the business style to align with the "cultural positioning of this street."
Mason stood there for a while.
"If I use that twenty thousand to open a shop..." he muttered. "Sell supplies? Convenience store items? Doesn't fit the theme. Specialty snacks? I don't know how. Used bookstore? Profit margins too thin."
A thought suddenly flashed: "What if I open a 'vintage' or 'collectibles' shop, specializing in selling things that always appear as 'fakes' to me? I could package them as 'retro replicas,' 'decorative items' to sell..."
This thought stirred something within him.
He walked to a small square at the end of the old street, found an empty bench, and sat down. It was time to use the final **Probability Intuition**.
He raised his right hand, thumb and middle finger pressed together. This time, his intent was firmer—this was the last chance.
*Snap.*
The sound startled a sparrow in a nearby dense bush.
The connection formed. Mason closed his eyes, focusing his attention on the old street, that vacant shop, and the idea of "opening a vintage replica shop."
He waited.
A few moments later, the sensation arrived—somewhat clearer than the last time, but still shrouded in thick fog.
He perceived a complex, contradictory leaning: on one hand, an extremely faint "attractiveness," a semblance of "possibility"; on the other hand, a stronger sense of "sluggishness" and "uncertainty," almost a warning—too many variables here, unstable customer flow, hidden policy risks, potential changes, and the project concept was far from mature.
It ultimately formed an overall impression of "neutral stagnation": "This path is neither smooth nor blocked outright; it's thorny, requires groundwork, and the payoff may not match the effort."
Mason opened his eyes and let out a long, slow breath.
"So... not a good choice." He gave a bitter laugh. "At least not now."
He stood up, brushing dust off his pants. The setting sun lengthened the shadows of the buildings.
In the depths of his consciousness, the ability interface updated automatically:
**Probability Intuition (Novice)**
**Remaining Uses: 0/3**
He walked towards the subway station, his figure gradually swallowed by the deepening twilight and the bustling crowd.
The real challenge never lies in what abilities you obtain, but in how you find your own winding path within the trap of rules.
He knew that in this city of Los Angeles, opportunity and danger always went hand in hand—what he had to do was find his footing at the crossroads of probability and the boundaries of reason.