Edris strolled past rows of black machines, each station reflecting the flash of golden lights. After leaving the children to their own amusements, it was time to do some exploring on his own.

He soon spotted Ace near a gathering of onlookers. A commotion at the center drew his attention.

A man in a bear mask was reeling on his feet, slurring words at another masked figure—a friend, from the looks of it, who wore a snake mask. From the voice, Edris recognised them from the twentieth-floor lounge.

Jagon, in the bear mask, appeared different now: loud, insistent, and pressing his friend to join a game against his will. The snake-masked man shook his head, arms crossed, clearly unwilling. Edris paused to watch from a short distance.

“H-hey.” The snake-masked man—Terrace— stepped backward. “Let’s just go.”

“Why?” Jagon mocked his panic with a step of his own. “You’re scared?”

At the tension, Ace moved closer to Edris.

“They’re quite different from back at the lounge,” he said in a low voice.

Edris shrugged. “These ‘games’ can do that to you. It’s easy to misjudge when drinks and wagers mix.”

The white-haired man fell silent. His gaze flickered from Edris onto the rows of the console.

“You’ve been in places like these before, haven’t you?”

Before Edris could respond, the snake-masked man stumbled backward from the circle. He nearly collided with Ace, who sidestepped with ease. That small movement seemed to catch Jagon’s eye. The bear-masked man lurched over, his wobbly steps betraying his inebriation.

“Pretty nimble, huh?” Jagon grunted. “You want to go against me in his stead? Come on, then.”

His tone was half a challenge, half a drunken snarl. His posture said he was ready to lash out, though he could barely stand.

Ace tensed, about to lift his arms, but Edris moved forward first. He gave a calm smile, his pale eyes holding the bear’s unsteady gaze.

“I’ll play with you.”

Jagon squinted as if trying to focus, obviously not recognising either from behind the mask. “Huh? And who are you? Get out of the way.”

Ace looked poised to restrain the man or pull Edris back, but Edris only turned his head enough to show the side of his face. The white-haired man stared at him, eyes narrowed. Edris did not react.

He understood the suspicions. After all, Edris was seldom the type to involve himself in others’ fights, yet here he was, stepping up to a volatile gambler with minimal provocation.

Why?

Naturally, there was a reason behind it—and there was.

Edris just wasn’t the type to explain himself.

“I’ll play,” he repeated.

Jagon let out a snorting laugh. “Fine. Why not.”

They took their seats at the black-console table, numbered thirteen. A masked attendant stood between them, hands folded. When the man spoke, his voice had a neutral quality meant to diffuse tension.

“Gentlemen, please present your bid.”

Jargon raised a hand lazily towards Edris, a mocking smile seen through his half-covered mask. The intoxicating effects of alcohol seemed to have worn off the moment he placed himself in that gambling seat.

“Your call, gentleman.”

“I propose cards,” Edris said. “One each. The loser forfeits whatever they offer.”

Jagon let out a low chuckle behind his bear mask. “Cards, huh? Fine by me.”

He spread three battered cards in front of him like a small fan.

“Now, which one should I use?” He let the question hang, flicking his gaze around. Then, in a sudden motion, he slid one card into the console.

Edris drew out [BLAZING TORRENT]. Its surface gave off a mild sheen in the console’s overhead light. He dropped it into the slot without a word. The console glowed green, verifying their stakes.

A transparent shield rose around the station, muffling the outside crowd. Edris saw Ace across from him, the man’s ink-like expression just before the view blurred.

On the console screen, a roulette wheel spun. Jagon shifted in his seat. Edris watched the pointer circle the list of possible mini-games. The spinner clacked to a stop, highlighting the title:

WHEN THE SUN RISES.

A cheerful beep followed.

The instructions for the chosen game appeared on the console.

“Mister Bear and Mister Turtle,” the attendant said, inclining his head at each of them, “welcome to When the Sun Rises. The rules, as you see on your screen, require each of you to work with a set of tokens—half labeled ‘Torch’ and half labeled ‘Shadow.’ You will place tokens face-down, then call the opponent’s token as one or the other. Correct calls earn points. Any token not called remains hidden.”

Edris kept his eyes on the row of tokens that materialized in front of him. Meanwhile, Jagon stretched his arms behind his head. “Heh. Simple enough.”

“After each round,” continued the host, “you can discard certain tokens and draw from a limited pool. The first to seven points prevail, or until a player forfeits. Good luck.”

Edris took stock of his tokens. He heard the faint hum of the console’s shielding. Beyond it, Ace and Terrace stood in the crowd, their features just visible through the tinted barrier. Jagon hadn’t even looked at his own tokens. Instead, he seemed focused on Edris.

“You not going to check what you have?”

“Why would I?” Jagon replied. “I can read everything I need from you.”

Edris raised an eyebrow, a flicker of wariness spread across his features.

“Can you now?”

When the first round began, a coin toss decided that Edris would act first. He placed a token, face-down, on the glowing field. As soon as he pressed it into the slot, he made his call. “Torch.”

Jagon’s arm shot up, fingers splayed, as he spoke over him. “Bluff.”

Edris turned his token over. It read Shadow, displayed by a purple marking at the center. A small chime sounded, and the scoreboard lit up.

> 1 : 0

Edris blinked, surprised at the speed of Jagon’s response. The console’s shield kept outside noises minimal, but Edris glimpsed the various people watching from beyond the barrier.

Outside the shield, Terrace muttered in a tight voice, “He did it so fast… That’s how Jagon gambles. Claims he can see every twitch.”

He glanced at Ace, who watched intently. Despite supposedly being on opposite sides, he seemed more attached to the other than his own.

“He’s an Awakened, you know,” he said. “A skilled beast tamer back in the real world. Says he can sense heartbeats, breathing, subtle movements.”

Ace gave him a sideglance, and Terrace gulped.

“Jagon said he can read anyone’s mind by observing their tells…”

The white-haired man stood, posture upright and arms folded. If Jagon were indeed an awakened beast tamer—someone gifted with heightened senses—then Edris’s usual calm and subtle approach would be at risk.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

In the game space, Jagon leaned back, tapping a finger on the table. “Told you so. You lots always make it so obvious.”

Edris ignored the barb and gathered his tokens. “Shall we move to the next round, or do you want to talk more?”

“Fiesty, I see.” Jagon snorted, tossing another token onto the console. “Torch.”

“Bluff,” Edris called out.

At his claim, Jagon flipped over the token, revealing a flame-like symbol at the center. He clicked his tongue regretfully.

“Nice try, pale-face.”

Edris didn’t react to the taunt. “Next.”

Despite his calmness, however, the scoreboard ticked upward with a steady rhythm that seemed to match Jagon’s growing confidence.

The bear-masked man leaned forward, gaze locked on Edris, voice laced with smug triumph.

“You’re slipping,” he remarked, pressing his cards against the table. “I can practically see it in your posture. Did you know that your pulse quickens every time you bluff?”

Across the console, Edris appeared to tense slightly, a shallow intake of breath that only made Jagon let out a low chuckle.

“C’mon,” he continued. “Just look at yourself. Look at your own body’s signals. You think you can hide those tells from a beast tamer?”

The spectators, mostly masked players from earlier, watched in uneasy fascination. Jagon’s remarks felt so pointed, so exact, that many had started to believe he was unraveling Edris’s every move in real-time. It didn’t help that Edris made tiny mistakes—longer pauses, sharper exhales, moments where he seemed to delay placing his tokens.

Each time, Jagon pounced, calling his bluffs with uncanny accuracy.

Ace stood a short distance away, arms folded. His face was unreadable, but there was a flicker of thought in his gaze as he studied the exchange. Edris’s façade had cracks—or appeared to, at least. Meanwhile, Jagon was pushing the game forward with a frenetic pace, rushing the man into decisions, piling on the pressure.

Each new round ended with Jagon claiming another point.

At last, the scoreboard read six to zero.

By then, several onlookers assumed the match was basically over. One or two stragglers began wandering off, muttering that Edris didn’t stand a chance.

Jagon, seeing them leave, called out, “No need to watch this crumble, folks. It’s decided. The apex predator always comes out on top.”

He paused to level his stare at Edris.

“Isn’t that right?”

Edris let out a controlled breath, eyes flickering over his tokens. He said nothing in defense. The faint tremor in his shoulders, the slow exhale—it all seemed to confirm Jagon’s read.

Celio appeared at Ace’s side, with Ives trailing behind. The boy’s gaze darted between Edris and the scoreboard, panic knitting his brows.

“Ace,” he asked, voice low. “What’s happening? Why… is Master letting this happen?”

Ace didn’t move his eyes from the game.

“I wonder.”

On Edris’s side of the console, Jagon pressed on, reveling in the moment.

“You can’t hide from me. All that composure you showed earlier? Gone. Now your posture’s slack, your breathing’s erratic, your heart’s pounding. You probably didn’t even notice, did you?” He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’ve spent years refining these senses. I know how to pry open an opponent with just a glance.”

Celio, observing Edris’s ragged breath, chewed his lip. As a beast tamer himself, he had to admit that Jagon’s commentary seemed convincing. Each time Edris so much as shifted, Jagon crowed about detecting panic.

The entire scene looked grim.

But then Edris murmured something to the host, passing a small request across the console. Under Jagon’s look of amusement, he straightened in his seat.

“Mister Turtle has submitted a modification request for the match bid,” the host declared.

“Oh?” Jagon raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s put it all in,” Edris said. His voice sounded calmer than the trembling posture suggested.

“What?” Jagon paused, narrowing his eyes.

The scoreboard read six points in his favor, yet the man wanted to raise the stakes?

“Don’t be foolish. Are you out of options already?”

A faint smile found its way onto Edris’s face. “Are you scared?”

“Ha?”

Jagon looked at him as if the turtle-masked man had lost his mind.

The crowd around them rumbled with hushed astonishment as Edris leaned back with a shrug. The host, taken aback, hesitated before speaking in a polite but firm tone.

“Mister Turtle,” he said, “I must remind you that you currently have only one card recorded on your [PROFILE]. You cannot—”

Edris placed his gloved palm flat on the table, cutting the host’s protest short.

“I’ll give up this.”

He then pulled back his sleeve slightly, gesturing almost offhandedly at his own flesh.

This time, the crowd fell entirely silent.

“Master?!” Celio blurted from beyond the transparent shield. The anxiety in his voice was clear.

The host’s silver irises flickered, uncertain. “Any stakes put forth cannot be revoked. This change is… irreversible.”

Edris lifted his second hand as if it made no difference. “Not enough? I can offer both. A hand for a card.” He spoke in a calm, level tone that carried through the silence.

Jagon, still seated, twisted around in his chair and gave a short, mirthless laugh.

A ripple ran through the onlookers. Even those who had dismissed the match as decided were now fixated on Edris. No one seemed to breathe. Jagon chuckled again, an airy, amused sound, while Celio’s face paled. He turned toward Ace, voice trembling.

“What is Master thinking? Should we—should we stop him?”

But Ace didn’t speak. His dark eyes locked onto Edris’s figure, scanning every faint angle of his body language.

At that moment, Edris glanced upward, and their gazes met. A muted sigh escaped Ace’s lips, though his features remained as impassive as ever.

“A reminder,” the host intoned, clearing his throat, “that decisions here have real consequences. They will carry into the Labyrinths and beyond them.”

“I know,” Edris replied, his tone unchanging.

Still leaning back in his seat, Jagon roared with laughter, clutching his stomach in theatrical delight.

“I’m at match point, and you want to hand me freebies?” His bear mask shifted as he sneered. “Your heart’s racing. You’re feigning bravery when you’re petrified.”

With a smirk, he dropped the rest of his cards into the console, one after another.

“Thanks for the quality entertainment, pale-face.”

The screen flickered, verifying the new stake arrangement. A murmur ran through the crowd as fresh tokens appeared for the next round.

This time, Edris took the first move. His steps looked mechanical: he gathered the tokens, then sifted them without a single glance, as though their contents were irrelevant.

Jagon was still riding his confidence, half expecting the man to slip again. But Edris paused, studying his opponent through half-lowered eyes.

“Let’s guess together,” he said in a gentle tone.

Jagon arched an eyebrow at the invitation.

Edris deftly switched one of his original tokens with a new one from the pile. He turned the chosen token face-down between them without even glancing at it.

“I say this token is a Shadow,” he announced, tapping the back of it. His gaze lifted to Jagon’s. “Am I bluffing or not?”

The host glanced to Jagon, waiting, but the bear-masked man blinked in momentary confusion.

“…Bluff,” he declared.

Edris flipped the token. It bore the word SHADOW in bold lettering.

A short, sharp inhale passed through the onlookers. Jagon’s jaw tensed as he snapped his head up.

“What—”

The scoreboard updated at once:

> 6 : 1

“Ah,” Edris made a faint, almost polite shrug. “Looks like I wasn’t.”

Jagon’s eyes narrowed in the dim light. For the first time that evening, his smile had disappeared. And amidst the thickening air of the Golden Room, a realization spread through the onlookers that something had shifted.

“A fluke is a fluke.”

Jagon gave a low grunt and placed his token for the next round, calling it “Shadow.” Edris tapped his own console and spoke in a measured voice.

“You said your beast-tamer abilities gave you extra sensitivity to people’s reactions. That you can read their tells.”

Jagon paused. He stared at Edris, as though searching for some hidden detail.

“So what?”

“Nothing,” Edris answered, sliding his hand over a switch on the table. “Bluff. I call Torch.”

Jagon flipped the token, revealing a Torch label. The scoreboard clicked to 6:2. Edris picked up a fresh token from the pile.

“You’re not the only one,” he added.

“What do you mean by that?” Jagon asked. His voice had lost some of its earlier certainty.

Edris didn’t elaborate. He only glanced at the next set of tokens, his face calm.

At the edge of the crowd, Ives watched the two men, frowning.

“What’s happening now?” she asked in a low voice.

Celio shook his head. “I was sure Master’s posture showed all the signs Jagon mentioned. Breathing, heartbeat, all of it.”

Ace stood beside them, arms folded. “A misdirection,” he said, his gaze fixed on Edris. “Jagon thought he saw every movement, but he’s been dancing with a shadow.”

Ives blinked. “But Mister Edris really did look rattled.”

“Look at his expression.” Ace steered his eyes toward the console, a complicated look framing his own features. The two followed his gaze.

“Does that seem like panic to you?”

Ives studied Edris’s face. His eyes held no fear, only a sharp focus. Celio exhaled, realization dawning.

“You mean..!”

Ace sighed quietly. His gaze settled on Edris, and he nearly shook his head at his opponent’s mistake.

Edris was Edris, after all.

This man was playing with his opponent. Jagon relied on his beast-tamer skills to interpret every quickened breath and pounding heartbeat as signs of fear. But such a focus on raw information could blind him to the reasons behind those signals.

He saw elevated pulse, flush in the cheeks, tension in the muscles—and assumed that must be panic. He saw a flinch, measured some ragged breath, and labeled it “fear.” It never occurred to him that those same indicators might come from something else.

“Edris wasn’t rattled at all.”

Ace caught the light in Edris’s eyes: a calm, anticipatory gleam that had nothing to do with dread. It was the look of a man who recognized an opportunity, of someone about to harvest a field he’d planted.

The white-haired man sighed.

“He’s thoroughly enjoying this.”

A quiet shift rippled through the onlookers, who sensed a turn in the game’s tide. Jagon eyed the dark-haired man with suspicion, a hint of doubt in his stare. Across from him, Edris arranged his tokens again. The console readied for the next call.

The match was far from over.