Ren couldn't accept it.
The previous hand replayed in his mind like a broken recording—looping, distorting, refusing to stop.
Haruto's calm eyes.That straight to the Queen.That faint, almost pitying smile.
He had misread him.
No—worse.
He had underestimated him.
And that was something Ren had sworn he would never do again.
This isn't online.
The thought repeated like a warning siren.
Online, mistakes were data.Losses were statistics.You closed the laptop, recalculated, came back stronger.
Here—
Mistakes had weight.
Mistakes had faces.
Mistakes looked back at you.
The chips in front of him felt heavier now. Smaller.
The room seemed warmer. Or maybe it was just his skin.
Hands passed.
Ren barely registered them.
Fold.Call.Small bet.Small loss.
Another hand.
Another small bleed.
The erosion wasn't dramatic. It was slow. Surgical.
And that made it worse.
He wasn't exploding.
He was dissolving.
Across from him, Hiroki watched.
Not openly.
Not mockingly.
But attentively.
Ren could feel it.
Every time he adjusted in his chair.Every time he swallowed.Every time his fingers hesitated half a second too long over his chips.
Hiroki's ring turned once.
Twice.
Subtle.
Measured.
Calculating.
He's enjoying this.
That thought irritated Ren more than the loss itself.
Next hand.
Haruto glanced at him.
"Hey," Haruto said lightly, almost casually. "You always played like this?"
Ren blinked.
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to solve a math problem instead of playing cards."
Ren forced a breath through his nose.
"I'm fine."
Haruto tilted his head.
"You don't look fine."
Hiroki exhaled through his nose—a sound dangerously close to a laugh.
"Poker isn't for everyone," Hiroki said flatly. "Especially not for people who think too much."
Ren's jaw tightened.
"Shut up," he replied quietly.
Hiroki didn't react.
Didn't need to.
That was the worst part.
Another hand passed.
Ren called preflop.
Lost on the turn.
A small chunk gone.
His heart rate was too high.
Why is my chest tight?
He flexed his fingers under the table.
They were trembling.
Barely visible.
But he felt it.
The tremor traveled from his fingertips into his wrists.
This is stupid.
You've played higher pressure hands than this.
But had he?
Online, nobody saw you.
Nobody smelled fear.
Nobody watched your breathing.
Here, silence amplified everything.
He could hear the soft hum of the ventilation system.The faint scrape of chips.His own pulse in his ears.
"Hey, Haruto," Ren said suddenly.
The words left him before he could filter them.
Haruto looked up.
"Yeah?"
"You always play like this?"
Haruto smiled slightly.
"Like what?"
"Calm."
Haruto leaned back in his chair.
"I adapt."
That answer landed heavier than it should have.
Adapt.
Ren swallowed.
That's what I'm failing to do.
Haruto's gaze softened just slightly.
"You're overthinking."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Ren looked at him sharply.
"Stop analyzing me."
Haruto shrugged.
"You started it."
That was true.
Ren felt heat crawl up his neck.
Poker does this.
It strips you.
It shows you what you are under pressure.
And right now—
Ren didn't like what he was seeing.
The dealer shuffled.
The sound was smooth. Precise.
The cards were dealt.
Ren looked down.
King of spades.Queen of spades.
Strong.
Structured.
Playable.
But his hands were still trembling.
Why am I shaking?
He inhaled slowly.
Don't rush.
Hiroki entered the pot.
Haruto called.
Ren stared at his cards.
This is good.
This is a hand you build with.
But doubt crept in.
What if you're forcing it?
What if you're trying to prove something?
His heartbeat thudded louder.
He called.
Flop.
2 – 7 – 8.
Disconnected.
Dry.
Nothing helpful.
Nothing terrible.
But nothing strong.
Ren felt something inside him crack slightly.
Again?
Why now?
Why when I finally get something playable?
Haruto checked.
Hiroki checked.
Ren hesitated.
His fingers hovered over his chips.
Monologue inside him exploded:
What do I do?If I bet and get raised?If I check, I look weak.If I bet small, they call.If I bet big, I commit.
His thoughts tangled.
I can't win like this.
His vision blurred slightly.
He blinked hard.
Why is the room warmer?
He realized—
He was biting his nails.
Hard.
The metallic taste hit his tongue.
Blood.
When did I start doing that?
"Hey," Haruto said quietly.
Ren didn't look up.
"You don't look too good."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
Ren froze.
He lowered his hand.
His fingertip was red.
Hiroki finally laughed softly.
"Look at him," Hiroki said. "The genius."
Ren snapped his head up.
"Shut up."
His voice cracked.
Just slightly.
But it cracked.
Hiroki leaned forward.
"Kid," he said calmly, "this isn't online."
The words stabbed.
Ren felt heat surge in his chest.
I know that.
"I'm not a kid," Ren said.
"You look like one."
Silence fell.
Ren's breathing grew shallow.
What's happening to me?
He had never felt this before.
Not like this.
He had always been controlled.
Cold.
Measured.
Now—
He felt exposed.
Like every weakness was visible.
His fingers trembled again.
He clenched them into fists under the table.
Control yourself.
Poker isn't about emotion.
It's about information.
Focus.
He looked at Hiroki.
Then at Haruto.
Haruto wasn't smiling.
He wasn't mocking.
He was observing.
And that scared Ren more.
Because Haruto wasn't trying to destabilize him.
He was just watching him fall apart.
That's worse.
"Ren," Haruto said softly, "you don't have to force it."
Ren's eyes snapped up.
"I'm not forcing anything."
"You are."
Ren's lips pressed thin.
"I said I'm fine."
Hiroki turned his ring again.
"You're shaking."
That did it.
Ren slammed his chips forward.
"Raise."
The word came out harsher than intended.
Too sharp.
Too emotional.
Hiroki's eyes flickered.
Haruto studied him.
The silence stretched.
Ren's internal voice screamed:
What are you doing?This isn't calculated.You're reacting.
But he couldn't stop.
Something had snapped.
Not confidence.
Pride.
He couldn't let them see him like this.
He couldn't let Haruto think he was weaker.
He couldn't let Hiroki look down on him.
I have to take control.
Even if it's artificial.
Hiroki smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
He called.
Haruto hesitated.
Then called.
The turn came.
Useless.
Ren's stomach twisted.
You committed.
Now you're stuck.
He felt sweat at the back of his neck.
His pulse pounded.
I can't win like this.
I'm not thinking clearly.
What's happening to me?
He glanced at his reflection in the polished surface of the table.
His eyes—
They weren't sharp anymore.
They were frantic.
Blurry.
Unstable.
He barely recognized himself.
Is this what tilt feels like?
He had read about it.
Studied it.
Analyzed other players falling into it.
But experiencing it—
Was different.
Hiroki leaned forward slightly.
"You know what your problem is?" he asked.
Ren didn't answer.
"You think reading people makes you superior."
Ren's jaw tightened.
"You're not wrong," Hiroki continued calmly. "You're just not ready."
Haruto didn't speak.
That silence hurt more.
The river fell.
Still nothing.
Ren had overcommitted.
He knew it.
But backing down now meant admitting weakness.
And his pride wouldn't let him.
He bet again.
Too hard.
Too fast.
Hiroki watched.
Haruto watched.
Time slowed.
Ren's thoughts spiraled:
Why can't I breathe normally?Why does my chest feel tight?Why can't I see clearly?
Hiroki's eyes narrowed.
Haruto's gaze softened slightly.
"Ren," Haruto said quietly, "stop."
Ren snapped.
"Don't tell me what to do!"
The outburst echoed.
The guards shifted subtly in the corners.
Hiroki leaned back.
And smiled.
"Now this is interesting."
Ren realized—
He wasn't playing the table anymore.
He was fighting himself.
And he was losing.
For the first time since entering the tournament—
He felt small.
Not in chips.
In presence.
In stability.
In certainty.
He swallowed hard.
What am I doing?
The answer came coldly:
You're scared.
Not of losing money.
Not of losing to Hiroki.
You're scared that Haruto isn't who you thought he was.
And if he changed—
Maybe you misread everything.
Maybe your entire advantage was built on assumptions.
That realization was heavier than any lost pot.
Haruto spoke again.
"Ren… breathe."
The word hit him strangely.
Breathe.
Simple.
Basic.
He inhaled.
Slowly.
Exhaled.
The tremor lessened slightly.
But the crack remained.
This isn't over.
Not the pot.
Not the duel.
Not the fracture.
Something inside Ren had shifted.
And even if he survived this hand—
He knew one thing with painful clarity:
He could no longer rely on the version of himself that had dominated online tables.
This was different.
This was real.
And for the first time—
He wasn't sure he was ready.