From the outside—
This place looked like a legitimate factory that produced children's stuffed toys.
It had proper business licenses.
Its seamstresses were legally employed.
Go a little further inside—
And it turned into a privately owned frozen pork warehouse.
Also licensed.
Also legal.
On the surface—
Nothing seemed wrong.
But go just a bit deeper—
And even a blind man could tell something was off.
Hidden beneath it all—
Was an underground casino.
Of course, the NYPD knew about it.
But knowing—
And acting—
Were two very different things.
First—
Even if they knew, they wouldn't dare storm in.
Under U.S. law—
Private property was protected.
Trespassing could legally be met with gunfire.
If the police wanted to search—
They'd need warrants.
Not one—
But multiple—
From entirely unrelated departments.
And even if they got inside—
By then—
Everything illegal would already be gone.
More importantly—
No one dared touch Kingpin's businesses.
His influence stretched across both sides of the law.
It was his reputation—
That protected this place.
The moment Luke stepped inside—
He felt it.
The atmosphere—
Changed instantly.
Dim lighting.
A chaotic mix of people.
Tattooed men with bare upper bodies.
Cold-faced security guards.
Drunken professional gamblers.
And well-dressed middle-aged men—
Pretending to be successful elites.
(Most of them balding.)
Beside them—
Women in revealing outfits.
Laughing.
Leaning.
Among them—
Even some Asian beauties—
Sharp eyes, full lips, elegant yet bold.
The entire casino—
Was thick with smoke and heat.
Different races.
Different builds.
All gathered around gambling tables—
Eyes locked on one thing.
Luck.
This was Luke's first time in a casino.
In his previous life—
He had stayed far away from places like this.
Now—
He scanned the room—
Looking for a dice table.
He found one quickly—
Near the edge of the casino floor.
It wasn't that he didn't want to play other games—
He simply didn't know how.
Poker?
Blackjack?
Baccarat?
He knew nothing.
Mahjong?
Forgotten.
The only "card game" he knew—
Was a casual one from his past.
But tonight—
None of that mattered.
Because tonight—
He relied on one thing only—
Luck.
On the way here—
He had already drunk Seria's Luck Potion.
It tasted like orange.
Sweet.
Slightly sour.
And now—
He believed—
Tonight—
He would dominate.
"Luke, they're completely defenseless."
Lotus whispered excitedly.
"I strongly suggest throwing a few grenades."
"…There it is."
Luke ignored him completely—
And walked toward the dice table.
It wasn't peak night hours yet.
And dice games weren't the most popular.
So the table was relatively quiet.
Three players.
One dealer.
Luke sat down.
The others glanced at him.
Then—
Laughed.
An Iron Man mask.
A small body.
"A freak."
One of them muttered.
Luke didn't care.
Soon…
You'll be the ones losing everything.
At the entrance—
Luke had exchanged money for chips.
10 chips.
$10 each.
$100 total.
That—
Was all he had.
And tonight—
He would turn it into something much bigger.
Not through destruction—
Like Lotus suggested.
But through skill.
Or rather—
Luck.
The rules of the dice game were simple.
Three dice.
Inside a transparent container.
Players bet on:
Big (11–17)
Small (4–10)
Special cases:
3 or 18 → Dealer wins
Triples → Dealer takes all
Fast-paced.
Simple.
Perfect for Luke.
He didn't rush.
Instead—
He observed.
A few rounds passed.
He learned the flow.
Then—
The dealer announced:
"Place your bets."
Luke picked up one chip.
Thought briefly—
And placed it on:
Small.
The others bet too.
Two chose Big.
One bet on a triple—
High risk, high reward.
"Bets are closed."
The dice rolled.
Everyone stared.
The dice stopped.
1… 5… 6.
Total: 12.
Big.
Luke lost.
He frowned slightly.
The others smirked.
Next round—
Luke bet again.
Small.
The others—
All chose Big.
This time—
One of them stacked a large pile of chips.
They glanced at Luke—
Still betting only one chip.
Their expressions—
Full of contempt.
"Bets are closed."
The dice rolled again.
Then stopped.
2… 2… 4.
Total: 8.
Small.
Luke won.
Finally—
He relaxed slightly.
The potion—
Was working.
The dealer pushed two chips toward him.
Back to 10.
The others—
Showed different reactions.
The most eye-catching—
Was a muscular white man.
Covered in tattoos.
A vertical scar ran from his eyelid to his ear.
His smile—
Was unsettling.
He had lost twice in a row.
And he didn't like it.
The other two—
Snorted dismissively.
Wins and losses—
Were normal.
One round meant nothing.
Third round.
Luke placed—
Three chips.
On—
Small.
The others?
Two bet Big.
The muscular man—
Still bet on triples.
No one followed Luke.
No one wanted to bet with a "freak."
The dealer smiled.
"Place your bets… final call."
The dice—
Began to roll again.