26. No Problem
The music of the band *Saikoro* wove a narrative of youthful romance, reminiscent of *The Tale of Genji*, with lyrics drenched in the bittersweet blue of a high school couple's tragic love.
Listening to a single song left an afterglow, as if we'd just watched an entire film.
By the time the next song began, we were guided to a table.
A dealer, a girl with the youthful air of someone fresh out of elementary school, stood there. She beckoned us and said,
"You don't need to keep headbanging if you're joining the game."
Thanks to her, Jinri and I were freed from headbanging, able to take in our surroundings with steady vision for the first time in a while.
The dealer girl wore a pristine uniform, her eyes emitting a red glow like detection sensors. When her laser-like gaze hit us, its intensity forced us to close our eyes. From then on, we avoided eye contact with her.
On the table lay a miniature model of Tropical Night City, resembling a Monopoly board.
It wasn't just a static model—people, cars, drones, and humanoid robots working or doing chores in buildings moved vividly, recreated in meticulous detail.
Astonishingly, each figure mirrored real humanoid robots in the city, their movements faithfully replicated.
Among them were Jinri and me.
Miniature versions of us sat on the hood of a taxi, gazing at the starry sky.
To them, giants like us loomed overhead, but the miniatures, oblivious, wore expressions as if convinced they were the real ones.
Meeting their gaze felt oddly romantic, though they perceived our stares as merely the night sky.
"Now then," the dealer girl said, brushing back her short hair and extending her hand.
In her palm rested a stark white die.
"Let's begin the game."
Jinri and I nodded, while the other guests, about 25 humanoid robots, swallowed hard with tense expressions.
They wore short-sleeved T-shirts printed with portraits of their favorite rock stars, damp with sweat—not from headbanging, but perhaps deliberately designed to adapt to the casino's stifling heat and humidity.
Blending into the rock festival vibe seemed to require this sweaty appearance, a fact they likely embraced.
"First, a check," the dealer said, tossing the die to me.
I caught it hurriedly, my expression puzzled as I looked at her and asked, "What do I do with this?"
She replied calmly, "Please verify there's no cheating."
"Easier said than done," I muttered, reluctantly inspecting the die.
I zoomed in for a closer look, but lacking any knowledge to spot tampering, I could only vaguely think, *Looks like a decent die.* I passed it to Jinri. She, seeming to accept she had no way to check either, quickly handed it to the next guest with a resigned air.
I got it.
If you don't know, don't waste time—move on. I admired Jinri's judgment, feeling like I'd learned something.
The next to receive the die was a male humanoid robot, around our age setting.
He scrutinized it intensely, his eyes emitting a red glow like the dealer's, as if conducting a physical and chemical analysis.
Clearly a casino regular.
I watched, impressed by his efficiency.
After 0.005 seconds of thorough inspection, he passed the die to the next guest with a confident look, certain it was clean. The die made its way through all 25 guests, completing the verification before returning to the dealer's hand.
"Any issues?" the dealer asked.
The guests, as if responding to a rock star pointing a mic at the crowd, shouted in unison with short, forceful harmony:
"No problem!"
With that signal, the game began.