Lock smiled faintly.
This time, the power of luck was clearer—more tangible.
Unlike the slot machines, the dice couldn't be subtly altered or influenced through indirect means. The shift came too fast for fortune to arrange coincidences or environmental assistance.
A ripple of force shimmered through the air—barely visible, but real. A mysterious power twisted in the void, and the three dice under the cup turned to three points.
Lock's eyes sharpened. Compared to the mechanical precision of slot machines, this manifestation was vivid and traceable. For the first time, he could see a faint trajectory—the outline of how luck moved.
The manager forced a polite smile, sweat trickling down his temples, and handed twenty black-gold chips to Black Widow.
"Congratulations," he croaked.
Twenty chips—twenty million dollars—transferred instantly.
The greasy dealer tried to maintain composure. "Mr. Lock, are you ready for another round? Odds remain the same. Please—place your bet."
Natasha smiled like a rose in bloom. "Oh, that's generous of you."
With a single sweep of her hand, she poured every last chip—millions upon millions—onto the felt.
The sound of metal and ceramic striking the table made everyone's breath catch.
"Hiss…"
The crowd recoiled in disbelief. With all the chips they'd won earlier combined, the bet on the table exceeded one billion dollars.
Even in New York's largest casino, this was terrifying.
If they lost, the casino would collect twenty billion dollars.
If they won, the casino would have to pay twenty billion.
It wasn't just a bet. It was an earthquake.
The manager's voice trembled as he stepped forward. "Ah… dear Madam, the betting limit for the lobby table is five hundred million per round. This… this one billion… isn't exactly within the rules."
He wanted to cry. This had trouble written all over it.
If they won, the casino would bleed. If they lost, the woman might flip the entire building upside down.
His eyes darted around instinctively, searching for cover in case a fight broke out. He was just an employee, not paid enough to die over dice.
Black Widow glared coldly. "Don't insult me. You can send a so-called 'god-tier gambler' to the lobby to intimidate regular guests—that already breaks the rules."
The greasy dealer's face twisted in protest. "I'm not— I didn't even—"
No one would believe him. Not after the zero-point miracle.
And besides, none of these people were ordinary gamblers.
Who the hell wins every slot machine in a row?
Before the argument could explode, the crowd stirred. A path opened as a man in a black suit slipped through and whispered something in the dealer's ear.
The greasy man's face tightened. He looked up. "The boss says… we can make an exception. You may bet the full amount. But—there's a condition. You must stand at least three meters from the table."
The spectators gasped, then exchanged knowing looks.
So that was it. The casino suspected Lock had somehow used vibration, magnetism, or subtle telekinetic tricks to affect the dice last round.
Even the higher-ups believed it.
Lock just nodded. "Fine."
The dealer hesitated, then added, "And… I'll make it harder. You announce the number first—then I shake."
The room erupted.
"What?"
"That's insane!"
"Is that even allowed?"
Predict the result before it's even rolled? How?
Even a fortune-teller couldn't pull that off.
And now that Lock stood three meters away, no kind of sleight-of-hand or vibration trick could influence the dice.
The greasy dealer's heart pounded. This was no longer gambling—it was witnessing something that bent reason. But he told himself he'd be fine. He'd roll as soon as the dice cup hit the table. No delay, no chance for interference.
"Alright," the dealer sneered. "You're crazy. Let's see how far that confidence takes you. What number will it be?"
Lock said softly, "Sixty-three points."
The room fell dead silent.
The dealer blinked. "What did you just say?"
A murmur spread.
"Did he say sixty-three?"
"There are only three dice!"
Even the dealer paled as realization hit him.
A die has six faces—1 through 6. The sum of all sides is 21. Three dice… that's sixty-three.
He wasn't calling a number. He was declaring an impossibility.
For the dice to show sixty-three points, each one would have to split apart, every side intact, perfectly separated—and then all six sides of each die turned face-up on the table at once.
That wasn't just impossible. It defied physics.
Even if the dealer wanted to cheat in Lock's favor, it couldn't be done.
And the dice cup couldn't even fit eighteen separate faces. They'd overlap, stack, collide—utter nonsense.
The greasy dealer's lips trembled. "A-are you sure?"
Lock's voice was steady. "Yes. Sixty-three."
The tension hit its breaking point.
A billion-dollar bet. An impossible number. Every gambler in the hall could feel something unseen gathering around the table.
Lock could too. He saw faint tendrils of energy—threads of luck—wrapping around the dealer and the dice cup.
Even with divine power, Lock doubted he could split dice so precisely in so little time.
But he wasn't here to win money.
He wanted to learn how luck achieved the impossible.
He wanted to see the mechanism of fate itself.
"Go on," he said softly. "Shake."
The dealer's hands trembled. His gut screamed Don't do it, but his muscles disobeyed.
He picked up the cup. The dice rattled within.
He raised it over his shoulder, shook once—twice—thrice—then slammed it down.
Or tried to.
At the last instant, his hands froze mid-motion. His wrists jerked uncontrollably, trembling as though seized by invisible strings.
Two more seconds of delay—two agonizing seconds.
Then—
Clack!
The cup hit the felt.
The dealer yanked it open.
And the entire room forgot how to breathe.
---
A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
Support: patreon.com/Narrator_San