The interior was even more ostentatious than the outside suggested—velvet curtains, private gaming rooms, servers moving through the crowd with trays of drinks that cost more than most people's weekly wages.
And scattered throughout were the players.
Merchants trying to look richer than they were. Nobles trying to look poorer than they were. Everyone wearing masks of one kind or another.
Rei moved through the main floor, looking for the right game. According to the ledger he'd memorized last night, there were three significant events today:
Game One: High-stakes poker in the Azure Room. Too rich for his blood, and the players there would eat him alive.
Game Two: Dice tournament in the basement. Better odds, but too many variables he couldn't control.
Game Three: Five-card draw in the Crimson Room. Mid-stakes. Four players. And according to the ledger, at 2:47 PM today, a player named Aldous Grey would win 127 silver coins with a straight flush.
Rei checked the clock on the wall: 2:31 PM.
Sixteen minutes.
He made his way to the Crimson Room, a private space cordoned off by red curtains, a table set for exactly four players, and a dealer who looked like he'd seen everything twice and been unimpressed both times.
Three seats were occupied.
Aldous Grey—a nervous merchant in his forties, sweating despite the cool air, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the table.
Helena Voss—a sharp-eyed woman in her thirties, dressed like money and carrying herself like someone who knew how to keep it.
Petros of Emberfall—a minor noble trying very hard to look like he belonged here, his expensive clothes slightly too tight, his smile slightly too forced.
I remember these names from the ledger. These exact people. This exact game.
The dealer looked up as Rei approached. "Minimum buy-in is twenty silver. You got it?"
Rei placed twenty silver coins on the table. "I'm in."
The three other players assessed him with varying degrees of interest.
"A bit young for this table, aren't you?" Helena observed, her tone amused rather than dismissive.
"Old enough to have money," Rei replied, taking the fourth seat. "That's what matters, right?"
Petros laughed—too loud, trying too hard. "Well said! Well said. Fresh blood at the table. This should be interesting."
The dealer shuffled with the mechanical efficiency of someone who'd done this ten thousand times. "Five-card draw. Standard rules. Ante up."
They played.
The first hand, Rei folded early, watching, learning, confirming what the ledger had told him. Aldous won with a pair of queens, small pot.
The second hand, Rei folded again. Helena won with three of a kind, slightly larger pot.
Aldous was sweating more now. His tells were obvious, he touched his collar when he had a good hand, looked away when bluffing. In the future ledger, he'd had incredible luck on one specific hand, but terrible instincts on everything else.
He's going to win big in exactly seven more hands. Before that, he's going to lose almost everything he brought.
The third hand. Rei played conservatively, won a small pot with two pair.
Fourth hand. Fifth hand. Sixth hand.
Aldous was bleeding money, his stack of coins shrinking with each round. Helena was steady, careful, winning more than she lost. Petros was erratic—big bets on bad hands, conservative plays on good ones, the worst possible combination.
And Rei waited.
Watching the clock. Counting hands. Remembering every detail from the ledger.
Next hand. This is it. Aldous gets dealt a straight flush—jack through seven of hearts. He bets everything he has left. Helena folds with trip kings. Petros calls with a full house and loses. Aldous walks away with 127 silver.
Unless I change it.
The dealer shuffled for the next hand. "Ante up, gentlemen. And lady."
They placed their antes.
The dealer dealt.
Rei looked at his cards: Seven of clubs, nine of diamonds, jack of spades, four of hearts, two of hearts.
Garbage. Exactly as expected, the ledger hadn't recorded his cards because in the original timeline, he hadn't been here.
Aldous looked at his cards and went very still. The tell. He had it. The straight flush.
Helena examined her cards with practiced neutrality.
Petros grinned, the full house, probably.
"Opening bet," the dealer prompted.
Aldous, hands shaking slightly, pushed forward ten silver. "Ten."
Helena considered, then called. "Ten."
Petros raised. "Twenty."
This is it. The moment where everything changes.
Rei looked at his garbage hand, at the pot growing in the center, at Aldous' nervous excitement and Petros' overconfidence.
And called. "Twenty."
Aldous blinked, surprised. "You're staying in with that hand?"
"Maybe I like my chances," Rei replied smoothly.
"Cards?" the dealer asked.
They each took their draws. Aldous kept all five, of course he did, he had a straight flush. Helena took two. Petros took one.
Rei took three, discarding everything except the jack and nine.
The dealer dealt the replacement cards.
Rei looked at his new hand: Jack of spades, nine of diamonds, king of hearts, king of diamonds, king of clubs.
Three kings.
Not enough to beat a straight flush. But enough to beat everything else at this table if he played it right.
According to the ledger, Helena folds here. Petros calls with his full house. Aldous wins.
But I'm changing the variables. I'm in the hand. Which means the betting dynamic changes.
"Bet's to Aldous," the dealer said.
Aldous, still trembling with excitement, pushed forward all his remaining coins—roughly thirty-five silver. "All in."
Helena studied him for a long moment, then looked at her cards again. Trip kings, probably. Good hand. But Aldous' confidence was unshakable.
She folded. "Too rich for my blood."
Petros laughed, that too-loud sound. "All in against all in? I like those odds!" He pushed forward his entire stack, about fifty silver. "Call!"
And here's where it gets interesting.
All eyes turned to Rei.
He had about twenty-five silver left after his previous bet. Not enough to match Petros' all-in. But the rules said he could call for what he had, creating a side pot.
"Call," Rei said, pushing forward his remaining coins. "For what I've got."
The dealer nodded, organizing the pots. "Main pot—Aldous' thirty-five silver, matched by all three. Side pot—Petros' additional fifteen silver, covered only by Petros."
"Show your cards," the dealer commanded.
Aldous laid down his hand with trembling fingers: Jack, ten, nine, eight, seven—all hearts. Straight flush.
"Holy" Petros breathed, then laid down his own hand with significantly less enthusiasm: Kings over eights. Full house.
Helena had folded trip kings. Smart woman.
Rei laid down his three kings.
The dealer assessed. "Straight flush wins main pot." He pushed Aldous' winnings forward—105 silver from the three-way pot.
Almost exactly what the ledger said he'd win. But—
"Side pot goes to full house over three of a kind." The dealer pushed the side pot to Petros—fifteen silver.
Aldous was celebrating, gathering his massive winnings with shaking hands. Petros looked relieved to have won something back. Helena was already mentally calculating her next play.
And Rei had just lost twenty-five silver.
But that's not the real game I'm playing.
"Congratulations," Rei said to Aldous, smiling genuinely. "Hell of a hand."
"Thank you, thank you!" Aldous was practically vibrating with joy. "I can't believe, I mean, I knew I had a good hand, but"
"Drinks on you, then?" Helena suggested wryly.
"Absolutely! Absolutely! Dealer, a round for the table!"
While Aldous celebrated and Petros sulked and Helena calculated, Rei stood and walked to the main floor.
He'd lost twenty-five silver.
But he'd learned something infinitely more valuable: The ledger was accurate. The game played out almost exactly as recorded. Which means every other game in those records is equally reliable.
He moved through the main floor, watching, waiting, identifying his real target.
There. In the corner. A dice game about to start. Lower stakes. More players.
And according to the ledger, in exactly forty-three minutes, a player named Torven would walk away from that table with ninety silver after a lucky streak that bordered on impossible.
Rei had fifteen silver left. His emergency fund back home had another fifteen silver and two gold pieces.
Not enough. I need more buy-in.
He scanned the floor, looking for opportunity.
And found it.
A man in expensive clothes, clearly drunk, had just won a hand of cards and was loudly celebrating—waving a flask around, spilling wine, making a spectacle of himself.
His coin purse sat on the edge of the table, barely secured.
In my previous life, I would have walked past. Too afraid. Too honest. Too pathetic to take the opportunity.
Rei bumped into the man's table—seemingly by accident—apologizing profusely while his hand moved with practiced efficiency.
The man barely noticed, too drunk to care, too wealthy to worry about a few coins.
Rei walked away with an additional twenty silver.
Not stolen. Redistributed from someone who wouldn't miss it to someone who would use it better.
Forty-three minutes until the dice game. I need to be ready.
The dice game started at 3:34 PM, exactly as the ledger predicted.
Eight players around a table. Minimum buy-in: ten silver.
Rei bought in with fifteen—leaving himself some buffer for betting.
The rules were simple: Roll three dice. Highest total wins. Betting between rounds. Strategy came from knowing when to bet big, when to fold, when to bluff.
And Rei had the ledger.
He knew Torven—a lean man with calculating eyes and hands that never quite stopped moving—would win four consecutive rounds starting at 3:51 PM.
He knew the woman to Torven's left would lose big on her third round trying to bluff with a terrible roll.
He knew the older gentleman at the end would win the first two rounds, then lose everything trying to chase his luck.
I'm not here to win big. I'm here to win steady. Build my stack. Get out before the real sharks notice.
The first round, Rei bet conservatively, lost a small amount.
Second round, he folded early.
Third round, he won with a mid-range roll—five silver profit.
He played methodically, carefully, using the ledger's information not to dominate but to avoid losses.
When Torven started his winning streak, Rei bet alongside him—not large enough to draw attention, but enough to profit.
When the woman tried to bluff, Rei folded while others called her bet and lost.
When the older gentleman chased his luck, Rei had already walked away from the table.
Ninety minutes after sitting down, Rei stood up with sixty-three silver coins.
Not the massive win Torven had achieved. Not the spectacular fortune that would draw attention.
But combined with what he had left from earlier, he now had seventy-eight silver total.
More than double what he'd started with.
More than enough for the merchant job.
Thirty silver for transport. The rest as buffer for unexpected costs. And back home, I still have emergency funds if something goes wrong.
He cashed out at the counting house, exchanged some silver for more portable gold pieces, and headed for the exit.
Marcus was still at the door, his expression murderous when he saw Rei approaching.
"You should've lost everything," Marcus said venomously. "That's what happens to cocky kids who think they're smarter than they are."
"Maybe I am smarter," Rei replied evenly. "Or maybe I'm just luckier." He paused at the threshold. "By the way—your secrets are still safe. For now. Consider us even."
"We're not even," Marcus snarled. "Not even close."
"Then I guess you'll just have to live with that." Rei stepped past him into the afternoon sunlight. "Have a good day, Marcus. Say hi to Elira for me."
He walked away, leaving Marcus seething behind him, carrying enough money to secure his first real step into the merchant world.
Seventy-eight silver. Acquired through theft, blackmail, and gambling with future knowledge.
Three days ago, I would have been horrified at what I just did. Now I'm just thinking about the next move.
Kael was right. The game changes you. Makes you into someone you don't recognize.
Rei touched the coins in his pocket, felt their weight, their possibility.
But if becoming someone I don't recognize means saving my family, then I'll become a monster if I have to.
The sun was setting as he made his way home. Training tomorrow morning. Meeting with Mira Castell to arrange transport. Another night dying in the future, learning sword theory from Darius.
The pieces were moving into place.
Two weeks until Mira's awakening.
Three days until he had to prove himself to a merchant who would either give him opportunity or blacklist him forever.
Five years until he claimed a county.
And every single day, he was becoming a little less like the boy who'd drowned in that river.
A little more like the man who would rewrite the future.