A warm, soft pelt wrapped Dolo's tiny body. Small arms rocked him with careful, practical movements, gentle but sure. The scent of warm milk mixed with fresh leaves and old wood filled his nose.
What the hell is this now…?
He tried to move. His short, weak paws barely twitched, offering no strength or control. All he managed was a high-pitched squeak.
I fucking hate this. One moment, I'd died like a king. Now I'm trapped, powerless in a raccoon's baby body. Pure fury roared inside—but all I could do was stare helplessly at the ceiling. Are you kidding me?
A firm but gentle female voice above him:
Two adult tanuki leaned over the cradle. The mother had smooth, light-brown fur and a tired, lively gaze. The father was bigger, with a prominent belly and a worn, fluffy tail. He grinned like someone who'd just won a shady bet.
The mother picked him up without much fuss and pressed him against her chest.
— Welcome, runt. You kept us waiting, didn't you?
The father let out a low, rough laugh.
— He's small, but you can tell he's got spark in those eyes. He's gonna be a clever little bastard, just like his old man.
Dolo stiffened in the embrace, muscles coiling with discomfort.
Assholes. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me like I'm just some helpless pup. I'm Dolo—the man who stole millions from the mafia. Rage twisted in my chest. I'm not your toy.
He wanted to scream at them to put him down. Space, that was all he needed. To be treated like an adult. But all that came out was another weak, childish gurgle.
I can't even curse or ball my fists. This—this is hell. Worse than death itself.
The mother adjusted him and rocked him with a steady rhythm.
— It's getting late. Time for the nightly story. Today I'm telling you how Falsía was born, little one. Pay attention, because this story will be more useful to you than anything else in life.
Dolo perked his ears as much as he could. Something about this story piqued his interest.
The mother lowered her voice, telling the tale naturally, like she'd repeated the legend a thousand times:
— A long, long time ago, the world was nothing but chaos and endless wars. Two powerful gods ruled everything: the God of Games, who loved clear rules and honest excitement, and the God of Swindling, who lived for tricks, bluffs, and fake smiles. Their followers slaughtered each other for centuries. Nobody really won.
She paused and looked at Dolo with a raised eyebrow.
— Until the two gods got tired of all the destruction and made a pact. Together, they created Falsía and set down four sacred rules that not even they can break.
Dolo listened closely.
— First: No one can use force to take anything from anyone else. No punches, no direct theft, no murder. Every conflict, every dispute, everything you want to win… gets decided by a game. Cards, dice, races, riddles—whatever. But always with rules both sides agree on.
— Second: Every race in Falsía received special abilities for playing. We tanuki got the gift of deception, illusions, and a kind of luck that sometimes seems to mock fate itself.
— Third: Every bet must have equal value. You can't risk a single coin to win an entire kingdom.
— And the fourth, the nastiest one: If you cheat and get caught… You lose everything. Absolutely everything.
A sudden, surreal shift caught his attention: A translucent blue window appeared before Dolo's eyes. Dolo almost smiled inside.
Well… at least the system gets it.
The mother kept rocking him.
— That's why in Falsía everything is a bet, runt. Money, land, abilities, freedom… everything can be won or lost in a single game. But always by the rules.
The father, quiet until now, let out a sly laugh and pulled a worn deck of cards from his vest. He shuffled them with impressive skill—bridging, cutting, fanning them out like a casino dealer.
— Look here, son. Tomorrow I'll start teaching you. With these little tricks, you'll eat well for the rest of your life.
The mother turned her head, annoyed.
— You're not teaching him your cheap tricks, honey. Don't even start.
The father kept shuffling, still grinning.
— Cheap tricks? Thanks to these cheap tricks, we have this house, woman. Thanks to these cheap tricks, we eat every day, and you get to wear that necklace you like so much.
The mother snorted, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
— You're such a shameless rascal, you know.
Dolo watched with narrowed eyes.
Interesting… the old man's one of my kind.
But just as Dolo began to process this, reality crashed in—suddenly, a warm, humiliating wetness spread across his crotch. He had pissed himself. The makeshift cloth diaper was soaked in seconds.
No. Not this. This can't be happening.
The parents noticed almost at the same time by the smell.
— Oh, sweetie… You had an accident. Time for a change.
The father put the cards away and laughed.
— Welcome to real life, champ. Not even a full day old, and you're already marking your territory.
Dolo wanted to die there, crushed by shame. It burned hotter than any bullet in his last life. It scalded away his frustration, leaving nothing but humiliation.
I want to die. What a fucking embarrassment. There were times in my life when I felt zero shame—scamming that family man, making dons beg for their own money. But this has no comparison. I just pissed myself and can't even clean it up.
The mother lifted him and changed the soaked diaper while speaking calmly:
— Relax, runt. This is normal. In Falsía, even the greatest started out this small.
Dolo squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to disappear, pretending to sleep.
But inside, shame stoked rage and a raw, grinding determination. It seethed in him, red-hot and alive.
Two gods. Four rules. Everything's a bet. My Luck: 10. Yet I can't even control my own body. Hell of a starting hand.
A dangerous smile formed in his mind.
This isn't a world. It's the largest casino in the world. And I'm going to take it all.