Half the wires were gone.
The once dense web of red and blue was now sparse and broken. Severed wire ends stuck out like amputated blood vessels, emitting a faint smell of ozone.
Beep.
Viper had just cut a purple wire. Green light. Safe.
But he was no longer as composed as the start. His knuckles were white around the cutters, and a layer of fine sweat coated his forehead. He was a veteran, a smart man. After three rounds, he sensed something was wrong.
The kid across from him was too stable.
Vance cut with absurd speed, as if he could see the current flowing. And what unsettled Viper most was that smile. Every time Viper hesitated, Vance looked at him through those black sunglasses as if reading an open book.
"What are you looking at?" Viper asked, voice cold.
"Your fear." Vance leaned back, twirling the cutters. "Manager, I can see the pulse in your neck. It's hammering. You're scared, aren't you? Scared that the next snip will send that needle into your vein."
Viper narrowed his eyes. He didn't get angry; he cooled down. As a man who ran an empire in District 9, he had beast-like instincts. He realized his emotions were being used.
"I see. Psychological warfare?"
Viper sneered. He suddenly pulled a metal case from his pocket, took out a cigar, and lit it. Thick smoke, heavy with spicy spices, instantly filled the box.
Vance's brow furrowed slightly.
The smoke was too strong. It acted like a heavy fog, jamming Vance's sense of smell. The clear scents of Viper's emotions—the sour anxiety, the sweet anticipation—were all buried under the pungent tobacco.
"Your turn." Viper blew a thick ring of smoke into Vance's face. "Go ahead."
Vance held his breath and waved away the smoke, his eyes narrowing behind his shades.
Trouble.
Without his olfactory cheat, he had to rely on observation alone.
He looked at the dozen remaining wires. One was Death. Several were Dominoes. Cutting a Domino would randomly shift the Death position.
Vance reached for a blue wire.
Suddenly, Viper laughed.
"I calculated that wire earlier," Viper said through the smoke, his voice laced with malicious guidance. "Its resistance is 0.03 ohms lower than the others. Usually, that's the sign of a high-voltage pump connection."
Vance's hand stopped.
Was he lying? Or telling the truth? A minute ago, Vance could have just sniffed the air. Now, there was only the damn cigar.
This is real gambling. When the cheats fail, only pure logic and guts remain.
Vance stared at the blue wire for three seconds, then retracted his hand.
He didn't cut the blue one. He didn't cut any wire. He turned to Crow.
"Referee, I apply to use my 'Skip' privilege."
In Domino Execution rules, each player had one chance to pass. The cost: the next turn, they must cut two wires. It was drinking poison to quench thirst. But in this sensory blackout, it was the only way to buy time.
"Application granted," Crow recorded indifferently. "Mr. Vance skips this round. Next round, Mr. Vance must execute a double operation."
The pressure shifted instantly back to Viper.
Viper was surprised, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. He knew he'd guessed right—the kid's "mind reading" was environmental.
"Since you want to die later, I'll oblige."
Viper bit down on his cigar, his gaze sharpening. He stopped relying on intuition and pulled out a portable micro-spectral analyzer.
The power of technology.
Minutes later, Viper locked onto two wires. One Safe, one Domino. He didn't hesitate to cut the Domino Wire.
Click.
Gears whirred inside the device. "Death position shifted," Crow announced. "The Fatal Wire has been reset."
Viper laughed loudly. "Hear that, kid? The position changed. All your previous calculations are now garbage." He looked at Vance like a rat in a trap.
"Next round, you cut two. In this chaos, the probability of stepping on a mine is over 30%. You're dead."
Vance sat in the smoke-filled haze, his expression finally turning grave. But not despairing. He watched the laughing Viper, watching the reflection of the spectral analyzer in Viper's cybernetic eye.
He waited. The tobacco smell was strong, but it would fade. And such violent mood swings—ecstasy, arrogance, bloodlust—could not be fully masked.
As long as Viper breathed, as long as his heart beat, the cracks would show.
"Don't celebrate yet, Manager," Vance said softly, his voice cutting through the smoke.
"You cutting the Domino Wire messed up my board, sure. But it also exposed your hand."
"You were scared. You didn't dare cut the unknown wires, so you chose a reset."
Vance leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Viper behind the sunglasses.
"And a gambler who starts relying on 'resets' to avoid risk... is usually one step away from bankruptcy."
The atmosphere in the box pulled tight. What Viper thought was a slaughter had turned into a tug-of-war on a knife's edge.
Viper's smile froze. He realized that even in such a disadvantageous position, the madman across from him hadn't lost an ounce of his aura.
It wasn't a bluff. It was the patience of a hunter watching prey struggle in a net.