By the time Terry Benedict arrived, Hunter Sun was the only player left at the table.
He found the young man leaning back in his chair, calmly smoking a freshly lit cigarette.
The moment Terry laid eyes on that handsome, youthful face, his brow furrowed.
It was not because of the kid's looks, nor his age.
It was because Terry was a man who trusted his instincts above all else, yet he could not detect a single ripple of emotion on the stranger's face.
There was no thrill of victory. Not even after cleaning out four separate players at the blackjack table.
Glancing at the mountain of chips, Terry estimated the kid had walked away with at least six or seven million dollars.
There was no fear in his eyes, either. Even with the Director of Security and a squad of muscle surrounding the Asian youth, he remained entirely unfazed.
He just sat there, smoking in absolute silence.
As guests from nearby tables cast nervous glances their way, Terry's mood plummeted.
"Are you absolutely certain he isn't counting cards?"
Terry shot the question at his Casino Manager. He was not a forgiving man.
The last time a cheat tried to hustle his floor, Terry had his men shatter the grifter's arm and leg.
Then he threw the bastard to the wolves, hiring the best lawyers in Vegas to ensure a ten-year prison sentence.
Even then, Terry had not felt satisfied.
He tracked down the cheat's younger brother and broke both of his legs just to make a point.
In a city built on sin and desire, Terry Benedict was an apex predator. He had not stayed at the top of the Vegas food chain by playing nice.
His ruthless reputation kept the rats at bay.
Frank, the Casino Manager, hurriedly dabbed his sweating forehead with a handkerchief.
"The eye in the sky confirms he is clean, Mr. Benedict. Walsh has been standing right behind him for over an hour."
"If he was running a scam, Walsh would have caught it."
Proving the kid was playing clean only made the situation worse.
Frank knew exactly how his boss's mind worked.
No casino owner had a clean conscience. Sure, this kid had just taken a few unlucky billionaires to the cleaners.
But if he had not stepped in, those billionaires would have eventually lost that money to the house anyway.
In Terry's eyes, the kid was not robbing the players. He was robbing the Bellagio.
It was no wonder the boss looked ready to kill.
"Who sent you?"
Terry stopped right next to Hunter, his voice dropping to a freezing whisper.
The kid was far too calm.
A paranoid tactician like Terry immediately assumed this was a hit job. Someone had staked this savant to bleed his casino dry.
Probably one of his old rivals.
When you controlled the Strip for as long as Terry had, the list of enemies was endless.
Hunter had actually noticed Terry the second the man stepped onto the floor.
Recognizing the face, a familiar weight settled in Hunter's gut.
He had triggered another cinematic collision.
There was no mistaking that cold, aristocratic face. Terry Benedict was a highly recognizable figure.
Even knowing he had accidentally stumbled into an active plotline, Hunter did not flinch.
Ever since his Acting skill broke through to Level 5, mastering his micro-expressions had become second nature.
Hunter looked up at Terry, a faint, mocking smile tugging at his lips.
"What is the matter? The house is the only one allowed to make a profit?"
"Or did you actually catch me cheating?"
Terry choked on his words. If they had proof of cheating, Hunter would already be bleeding in a back alley.
Walsh, hovering nearby, saw his boss getting backed into a corner. The Security Director immediately signaled his guards to close the perimeter.
Hunter did not even blink. He just kept that mocking grin fixed on Terry.
Terry's usually stone-cold expression twisted with suppressed rage.
Whispers were breaking out across the high-roller lounge. People were watching.
If he made a scene now, it would be a PR nightmare.
After a tense silence, Terry let out a cold snort.
He turned to Frank. "Go get Ben."
Frank paled but nodded immediately. "Right away, boss."
Stepping aside, Frank murmured rapid instructions into his radio.
Minutes later, a sharp-eyed, middle-aged white man in a dealer's uniform approached the table.
The man radiated a shrewd, calculating energy. He bowed slightly. "You asked for me, Mr. Benedict?"
Terry pointed at the green baize in front of Hunter. "Play a hand with him. Bring five million in chips."
"If you win, you walk out with the cash." Terry locked eyes with Hunter. "If you lose, I keep one of your hands."
The threat hung heavily in the air.
Hunter's smile did not waver.
"Who the hell do you think you are? The Emperor of America? You want my hand? Come take it."
Hunter's utter lack of respect snapped the last thread of Terry's patience. The casino mogul's blood boiled.
He shot a lethal glare at Walsh.
The Security Director did not hesitate. He and his men lunged, grabbing for Hunter's shoulders and arms to pin him down.
In a fraction of a second, Hunter moved.
He seized the hand reaching for his collar, twisting it with bone-snapping force.
Using the guard's own momentum, Hunter executed a brutal shoulder throw, slamming the man spine-first onto the heavy blackjack table.
The next moment, Hunter became a blur of precision violence.
Fists and elbows struck only the most vulnerable joints and nerve clusters.
Agonized screams echoed across the casino floor, cutting through the horrified gasps of the patrons.
In less than five seconds, Hunter had laid out Walsh and his entire security detail. They collapsed in a heap of groaning limbs, completely incapacitated.
"You..."
Terry stumbled back, his face completely devoid of color.
He never expected this handsome, seemingly elegant kid to be a lethal weapon.
On the floor, a convulsing Walsh gritted his teeth and reached for the holstered pistol at his waist.
Hunter closed the distance in a single step and stomped down hard.
Crack.
"Aaagh!"
Walsh shrieked as the bones in his hand shattered into gravel. His fingers fell limp, useless against the grip of his gun.
Hunter turned his back on the wreckage, his gaze settling on a terrified Terry Benedict.
"If you cannot afford to lose, do not run a casino."
"I thought you were a big shot. Turns out, you are just a sore loser."
"Did you really think I gave a damn about winning your loose change?"
"Pathetic."
Thanks to the cascade of skill level-ups he had just triggered, Hunter was actually in a fantastic mood.
The mountain of chips on the table meant absolutely nothing to him anymore.
Leaving Terry frozen in humiliation, Hunter did not spare a single glance at the millions he had rightfully won.
He simply turned around and walked out of the Bellagio.
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