Ren watched him with curiosity.
Almost disbelief.
Kenshin Oda.
A thin boy with glasses, slightly hunched posture, and acne scattered across his cheeks like small red marks of anxiety. His hands were still trembling slightly even as the dealer pushed the chips toward him.
Ren narrowed his eyes.
What's with this guy?
Oda didn't look like someone who had just won a large pot.
He didn't smile.
He didn't celebrate.
He didn't even look relieved.
Instead, he kept adjusting the frame of his glasses nervously, as if they were slipping off his face even though they clearly weren't.
Ren leaned back in his chair slightly.
Is it adrenaline? he thought.
Or is he just naturally like that?
Oda's eyes moved over the table again — quickly, analytically. Almost like he was scanning numbers instead of people.
Ren felt something strange about him.
Not strength.
Not confidence.
Something else.
He doesn't look like a gambler.
He looks like someone solving homework.
And then—
Ren noticed something else.
Oda's fingers were shaking.
Not violently.
Just slightly.
Like the tremor of a machine that had been running for too long.
Years Earlier
"Who knows how to solve this equation?"
The math teacher stood in front of the classroom, chalk still in his hand, pointing toward the large board filled with symbols that most students had already given up trying to understand.
Immediately, a hand shot up.
First row.
As always.
Kenshin Oda.
The teacher sighed slowly.
"Anyone else besides him?"
Silence filled the classroom.
Students stared at their desks.
Some looked at the clock.
Others doodled in their notebooks.
Mathematics had long since lost the battle for their attention.
The teacher scratched the back of his head.
"Come on, class. Someone other than Oda."
No hands.
Not one.
The teacher sighed again, heavier this time.
"Fine… Oda, go ahead."
Oda stood up quietly.
His glasses reflected the fluorescent classroom lights as he walked toward the board.
He didn't look proud.
He didn't look excited.
He just looked… normal.
For him, this was routine.
He picked up the chalk.
Within seconds, equations began appearing across the board — symbols linking together like pieces of a puzzle that only he could see.
The classroom watched.
Not with admiration.
With boredom.
One of the boys in the back whispered loudly:
"Of course it's him again."
Another student yawned.
The teacher folded his arms.
Within a minute, Oda stepped back.
The equation was solved.
The teacher nodded.
"Correct."
He turned to the class.
"You should all try learning something from him."
But no one was listening.
The bell rang.
Students immediately stood up and rushed out of the room like prisoners escaping.
Oda quietly returned to his seat.
No applause.
No congratulations.
Nothing.
Years passed.
Oda participated in every mathematics competition Japan had to offer.
Local olympiads.
Regional contests.
National tournaments.
Each one ended the same way.
First place.
Always.
His teachers praised him.
His school used him as a promotional example.
Newspapers occasionally mentioned his name.
But outside those small circles…
No one cared.
At one point he even reached the international stage.
The International Mathematics Olympiad.
The best students in the world gathered there.
And Oda…
Won first place.
Again.
But when he returned home to Japan, the airport was quiet.
No reporters.
No cameras.
No celebration.
Just his parents.
And a teacher.
The car ride home was silent.
That night, Oda sat in his room staring at the gold medal resting on his desk.
He turned it slowly in his fingers.
Then he placed it down.
What's the point?
His thoughts were quiet but heavy.
If no one cares… what's the point of winning?
Recognition.
That was what he wanted.
Not money.
Not fame.
Just someone acknowledging that he existed.
High school didn't make things better.
Oda had no friends.
People knew who he was.
But they didn't talk to him.
Girls ignored him completely.
Some laughed when he passed by.
Others didn't even notice him.
He was invisible.
Or worse.
He was the "math guy."
One afternoon, a group of older students from the school's athletic teams cornered him near the lockers.
They were smiling.
Too much.
"Hey genius," one of them said.
Another nudged him.
"Go talk to her."
Oda blinked.
"Who?"
The boys pointed across the courtyard.
Rita.
One of the most popular girls in the school.
Her uniform shirt was slightly open, revealing more than the dress code probably allowed. Her skirt was short, hugging her hips tightly.
Her chest was so perfectly shaped that it almost looked artificial.
Almost every boy in school fantasized about her.
She was standing in the corner with a group of rich girls, smoking cigarettes during break.
One of the athletes laughed.
"Come on, we all saw how she looks at you."
Another added:
"She's totally into you."
Oda hesitated.
He was intelligent.
But socially…
He was painfully naive.
He believed them.
So he walked toward her.
The boys behind him were already trying not to laugh.
Rita was mid-conversation when she heard a quiet voice.
"Hey."
She turned around.
Her expression froze.
Standing behind her was Oda.
The most undesirable boy in the entire school.
The courtyard exploded with laughter.
Students nearby had already realized what was happening.
Rita's face twisted in disgust.
Before Oda could say anything—
She spat directly on his glasses.
The saliva slid down the lenses.
"Disgusting."
And then—
She kicked him.
Hard.
Directly between the legs.
Pain exploded through Oda's body as he collapsed to the ground.
The athletes approached slowly, still laughing.
One of them looked down at him.
"Well, genius…"
He pointed toward Oda's pants.
"Looks like you couldn't solve that problem."
More laughter.
Another boy spoke.
"You should save your olympiad money and go see a prostitute."
The laughter continued.
Oda lay there on the ground.
His glasses still wet.
His body shaking from pain.
But his mind was doing something else.
Calculating.
If he fought back…
Probability of victory: 0%.
If he insulted them…
Probability of retaliation: 94%.
If he reported them…
Probability of consequences: minimal.
Every path ended the same way.
Failure.
He clenched his fists.
Recognition.
He wanted recognition.
But not like this.
Not as a joke.
Not as the pathetic genius everyone mocked.
Something inside him shifted.
That was when the hunger changed.
Mathematics had given him answers.
But not recognition.
So he turned to something else.
Gambling.
Baccarat.
Roulette.
Blackjack.
Anything involving probability.
Casinos.
Illegal rooms.
Back-alley gambling dens.
Oda walked into them all.
And won.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Because probability wasn't emotional.
Probability was pure.
He calculated patterns.
Algorithms.
Expected values.
Dealer rotations.
Betting distributions.
Soon, people began whispering about him.
The quiet boy who always won.
But then he discovered something new.
Poker.
And everything changed.
Because poker wasn't only mathematics.
It was people.
Bluffing.
Emotion.
Psychology.
Reading faces.
And Oda…
Was terrible at reading people.
He could calculate odds instantly.
But he couldn't understand why someone would bluff when the math said they shouldn't.
He couldn't interpret smiles.
Or lies.
Or fear.
And that frustrated him more than anything.
So he kept playing.
Night after night.
Trying to solve the one equation he couldn't understand.
Humans.
And when he heard about a mysterious tournament at the Imperial Hotel Tokyo…
He knew.
This was it.
This was the stage.
The place where he could finally be recognized.
Not as the math nerd.
Not as the bullied kid.
But as something else.
A player.
Back in the present.
Kenshin Oda adjusted his glasses again.
The chips sat stacked neatly in front of him.
For a brief moment, he looked down at them.
Then at the table.
Recognition.
Maybe…
This was finally where he would earn it