A new day dawned—Ken and Blake emerged from the hotel, stepping into the crisp morning air of Valahut City. The early light filtered through the city’s skyline, casting long shadows that danced on the cobblestone streets. Ken felt a twinge of excitement mixed with a familiar restlessness as he surveyed the bustling city.

“Betting Booth?” Blake inquired, his gaze drifting over Ken’s casual attire—a hoodie and sweatpants paired with comfortable shoes. Simple, yet practical for the day ahead.

“Yeah, let’s head over,” Ken agreed, his voice steady, but inside, a knot of anxiety tightened. The bet was a gamble, not just of money, but of trust in a system that had often felt rigged against him.

The rising sun cast a warm, golden hue over the city, its light reflecting off the towering sign that stood as a beacon of new beginnings. The aftermath of the tournament’s finale still lingered in the air, mixing with the morning bustle of flying cars and horse-drawn carriages weaving through the streets. Ken’s heart raced at the thought of the payout, a life-changing sum that could alter his destiny.

Ken moved with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the cityscape with an air of familiarity. Blake trailed behind, observing the unexpected breadth of Ken’s shoulders and the way his breath formed small clouds in the cool air. Ken’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, from the thrill of victory to the fear of being denied what he had rightfully earned.

“Hey, how about we grab some coffee first? The betting booth is just around the corner, and it might take a while,” Ken suggested, nodding towards a quaint café nestled between the vibrant storefronts. The aroma of roasted coffee beans wafted towards them, inviting and rich. The warm scent offered a momentary comfort, a brief respite from the churning emotions within.

“Sure,” Blake agreed, welcoming the idea.

After securing two cups of coffee, they made their way to the betting booth, which buzzed with chaotic energy. The clinking of coins, the rustle of paper, and the murmur of hushed conversations filled the space. Ken’s palms were sweaty as he gripped his cup, the heat seeping into his skin, a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in his stomach.

Ken approached an available attendant and confidently placed his bet. The attendant’s reaction was immediate—a silent call for the manager, leaving Ken and Blake in a state of curious anticipation. Ken’s pulse quickened, his mind racing with possibilities. Was this the moment where everything would come crashing down?

“What’s going on?” Blake asked, his curiosity piqued as he sipped the bitter coffee, its warmth spreading through his body.

“Not sure, but they’re probably hesitant to pay out,” Ken speculated, the rich taste of his own coffee grounding him in the moment. A surge of indignation rose within him at the thought of being cheated.

The attendant avoided eye contact, leaving them to their coffees until a door swung open, revealing a large man in a suit.

“Hello, I presume you’re Ken. I’m Brock Tywell, the manager here. Please, follow me, and we’ll sort everything out,” Brock said, gesturing with a polite bow.

Ken signaled for Blake to accompany him as they were led to a lavishly decorated room, complete with a dining table set for a meal. The scent of a hearty breakfast wafted in the air, but the tension in the room was palpable. Ken’s heart sank; the opulence of the room felt like a mockery of the fairness he sought.

“Please, join me. I’ve prepared some breakfast and lunch, should you be hungry,” Brock offered graciously.

“I’m good, thanks. Blake?” Ken declined, turning to his friend.

“Me too, I’m fine. Thank you,” Blake responded, echoing Ken’s sentiment.

“Very well. Ken, I appreciate your understanding. Your deposit has been secured, given the substantial payout,” Brock continued, his tone professional.

Ken examined the document Brock presented, his eyes quickly finding the final number—$2.5 million. It was incorrect. “This isn’t $3 billion. The odds were +100 million, and I wagered $3000. My math isn’t wrong, is it?” He looked to Blake for confirmation. A wave of frustration washed over him, mingling with a sense of betrayal.

Blake reviewed the document and the bet’s history. Ken’s calculations were accurate.

Brock’s smile didn’t waver. “Ah, there seems to have been a miscalculation with the odds.”

Ken exhaled, his initial suspicions confirmed. He addressed Brock firmly, “I locked in my bet at those odds. I won the S-rank tournament. It’s only fair to honor that.” His voice was calm, but beneath the surface, a storm of anger and determination raged.

“We apologize for our error. If you wish, we can refund your original bet,” Brock offered, still smiling.

Blake chuckled at the suggestion.

Ken’s resolve was clear. “No, I’m going to get what’s mine.” His jaw set, and his hands clenched into fists, ready to fight for his due.

Stolen novel; please report.

Brock maintained his composure. “The odds were indeed miscalculated. We regret the inconvenience.”

“Then cancel all bets for the tournament and provide proof that everyone has been refunded,” Ken insisted, standing his ground. His heart pounded, echoing his resolve.

Brock maintained his unwavering smile. “We cannot do that. It was only your odds that were miscalculated. I presume you do not wish to proceed.”

Ken’s frustration was evident. “I’m just baffled—you think you can get away with this after I’ve won the S-rank tournament?” he said, anger seeping into his tone. The injustice of it all burned within him, fueling his defiance.

Blake, sensing the need for action, interjected, “Ken, let’s not waste any more time here. We’ll take this matter to the royal court.” His voice was a beacon of support in the fog of Ken’s tumultuous emotions.

"No. I do not understand why we are being handled like we are nothing." Ken words were straight and narrow.

Blake closed his mouth. He backed off a little, didn't want to enrage Ken, as Ken was justifiably angry. The thought of taking this matter to the royal court loomed over them, a path fraught with delays and uncertainty.

Brock, who had been observing the exchange with a practice neutrality. "I assure you Mr. Ken, you are not being treated as nothing. The payout you're claiming is false based on the mistake on the odds."

"I'll give you one chance. Either pay me now what I am owed, either money or anything of equitable value or I'll ensure..." Time crawled to a halt, Ken looked through the building, went through and grabbed who ever looked important from the building - and carried them to the room. He lined them all up.

Time normal again, "...I am going to make you all suffer, one by one."

Brock smile disappeared.

Blake anxiety reached a new height, his hearing deafened. He knew of Ken's capability, and right now - Ken is mad. He doesn't know how Ken would react, he silenced himself even further into his private zone.

"Oh, you are not smiling now." Ken distracted in his anger. This may have been the straw that broke the camel back.

Brock's gaze shifted to Blake, seeking an ally, but Blake was nowhere to be found. "Sir, Ken—please understand, threats will only bring the royal knights to your door, and they won't hesitate to imprison you."

"Oh, really? Can they?" Ken's voice dripped with sarcasm.

He continued, "If you find yourself here, consider it misfortune. Brock here believes his establishment can evade paying what's due. So, I'll start by stripping each of you, piece by piece—finger by finger, limb by limb, organ by organ. And you'll linger on the edge of death for a while. But before I begin, who among you can override Brock and settle my dues?"

Silence hung heavy in the room.

Brock, beads of sweat on his brow, attempted to placate Ken. "Sir, the odds were a genuine mistake, please—"

"That's not what I want to hear, Brock. Who shall I start with?" Ken's gaze swept over the ten men he had gathered—all visibly shaken. He seized a larger man by the arm.

"Are you of any importance?" Ken inquired.

"Just an accountant," the man stammered.

"By your accounts, do you possess the means to pay me?" Ken pressed.

The accountant's voice confused at how he arrive here "I could check swiftly, with your permission, what is your name and bet?"

"Proceed," Ken commanded as he gave the slip note of the bet, his eyes locking with Brock's, who swallowed hard.

Ken paused, his gaze sweeping over the captive audience. "Which of you is also an accountant? Show yourselves."

Reluctantly, every hand in the room rose. Ken's brow furrowed in disbelief. All accountants? What the fuck?

"Fine," Ken said, his voice steady. "One of you will tell me—what's the average revenue for this place? And for all your establishments kingdom-wide?"

An accountant, visibly shrinking back, spoke up. "This establishment alone generates close to 5 billion dollars annually. Collectively, across the kingdom, we're looking at projections of 30 billion."

Ken's eyes narrowed, a sharp edge to his voice. "You had the funds to pay, yet you chose to hide behind an alleged error. It's hard to believe you'd overlook such a mistake if it threatened your bottom line." His gaze cut through the room, landing on Blake for a silent confirmation.

Turning to an accountant busily tapping on a tablet, Ken's tone was demanding. "What's the financial outlook?"

The man admitted nonchalantly, "We're financially stable. The upset turned out to be quite lucrative."

Ken leaned forward, his voice low and steady. "Tell me the truth. Was the +100 million odds a genuine error?"

The accountant met Ken's intense stare and shook his head. "No, it wasn't a mistake. Our review process is exhaustive. Mistake or not, we're obligated to honor the bet. I'm not sure what's going on, but I have the authority to correct our manager's oversight and process your payout."

A hint of relief flickered across Ken's face. "Do it," he instructed, then motioned to the door. "The rest of you, leave. You," he pointed to the forthright accountant, "Stay. We need to talk terms."

As the others left, bewildered, Ken focused on the remaining man. "Settle the payment. Will you be alright after this?"

"I expect I'll be let go because of this debacle," the man replied, filling out the necessary forms.

Ken frowned. "Why did he think he could get away with it?"

The accountant shrugged. "Perhaps greed blinded him to the risks."

"And the owner? Are they aware of what happened?"

"I doubt it. Brock concealed this particular wager," the accountant said, nodding towards Brock.

Brock swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sir, Ken. I... I made a mistake."

Ken dismissed him with a wave. Brock's earlier smugness had left a bitter taste. "Report this to the higher-ups. I want no more part in it once my funds are secure."

"Your money's been transferred," the accountant confirmed. "Is there anything else I can assist with?"

Ken considered the man. "What's your name?"

"Ben," he replied.

"Ben, you've proven yourself very useful and honest. How about a job managing my finances?"

Ben straightened up. "I'd need an official offer and some assurances. Can you provide that?"

Ken handed over his contact details. "Send me your conditions. I'm looking for someone to handle my assets exclusively."

"Understood," Ben said, nodding his appreciation before departing.

Ken then noticed Blake, who seemed smaller, diminished. "Blake, it's over. Come on."

Blake stepped forward, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Ken."

Ken shook his head. "No apologies. Let's go."