The red-light district had a different kind of noise.
Not the clean bustle of markets, and not the polite hum of academy corridors, but a layered, greasy soundtrack made of laughter that didn't reach people's eyes, music that sounded slightly out of tune, arguments half-muttered in doorways, and the constant shuffle of feet on stone that had been worn down by desperation and indulgence.
Lanterns hung low, their light warmer than it should have been, turning skin tones into honey and bruises into soft shadows, making everything look more inviting than it was.
Perfume fought with sweat.
Cheap alcohol bled into the air so thoroughly that Soren could taste it without drinking, and there was always, underneath it all, the faint metallic edge of something he didn't want to identify.
He kept his expression neutral and his pace steady, hood pulled forward enough to hide his face from casual glances.
It wasn't that he thought anyone here would recognise him, but attention was a currency in itself, and he didn't want to spend it.
A voice drifted from a doorway to his left, rich and practised, dripping with the kind of warmth that was clearly for sale.
"Come back soon, honey."
A mature-looking woman stood at the threshold, hand raised in a languid wave as she turned to re-enter the building, hips swaying like she owned the street.
Soren's gaze slid over her, ready to dismiss it as background, until the reply came.
"Of cour—"
The voice cut off mid-word.
Soren stopped.
He didn't need to look through his memories for this one.
Felix.
Standing in the street as if he belonged there, hair immaculate, posture relaxed, face arranged into his usual expression of effortless charm, the kind that suggested he didn't care what anyone thought, and maybe he didn't, not in any serious way.
But his eyes met Soren's, and for a fraction of a second, the performance slipped.
Not panic, exactly.
Embarrassment, sharp and immediate, like someone had splashed cold water on him.
Felix recovered quickly, shoulders rolling back as if he had merely been interrupted mid-conversation, but the faint flush rising along his cheekbones betrayed him.
"Ah," Felix said, voice smooth, too smooth. "Soren."
Soren looked at him for a moment, then let his gaze drift up to the sign above the door.
The painted letters were cheerful, almost wholesome.
[Mother's Bakery]
He read it aloud, tone flat enough to be cruel without raising it.
"Mother's Bakery."
Felix's smile tightened by a hair.
"It's… not what it looks like."
Soren tilted his head slightly.
"It looks like a bakery."
Felix stared at him.
Soren continued, unhurried, as if he were making an academic observation.
"I'm sure you were just here for bread."
A beat of silence passed, and Felix's composure cracked, just enough that he brought a hand up and rubbed at his face like he was trying to wipe the humiliation off.
"Please," Felix muttered, low. "Forget you saw me."
Soren's mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile, but close.
'This is fun.'
He didn't care what Felix did with his time.
They were adults, and Felix had never pretended to be virtuous.
Still, watching him get caught mid-act, watching him try to pretend he was unfazed while clearly wanting the stone to swallow him, was a rare kind of entertainment.
Felix straightened again, attempting to regain control of the situation with sheer audacity.
He flicked his gaze over Soren, then gestured vaguely at the street like Soren was the suspicious one.
"What are you doing here?"
Soren didn't answer immediately, because the honest answer felt ridiculous.
Then he did anyway.
"I'm here to gamble."
Felix blinked once.
"You're saying that like it's a normal errand."
"It is," Soren replied, dry. "Speaking of which, maybe I'll buy some bread after."
Felix's eyes narrowed.
"I hate you."
"Mm," Soren said, and that was all the sympathy Felix was getting.
They started walking together, Felix matching Soren's pace easily, slipping back into his usual stride as if the encounter hadn't rattled him, as if he hadn't been caught stepping out of a brothel with a wholesome sign and a woman calling him honey.
Soren let him have the dignity of the act, but he didn't let him escape completely.
"It's still better than being found walking out of Mother's Bakery," Soren said, as if continuing an earlier thought.
Felix made a sound that was suspiciously close to a groan.
"You're going to bring that up for weeks."
"If you behave, I might only bring it up for days."
Felix shot him a look, then forced a laugh.
"Fine. Whatever."
Soren pulled a pocket watch from his inventory and checked the time, more out of habit than urgency.
The street was getting busier, the night thickening around them.
"I'm off," Soren said. "Try not to wander back into another bakery tonight, I think you've eaten enough."
Felix opened his mouth, likely to throw an insult back, but Soren's thoughts shifted, practical again.
Going into a gambling den alone was an unnecessary risk, even if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Places like that attracted the kind of people who saw an unfamiliar face and wondered what they could take from it.
Felix could be useful.
And unlike the dungeon dilemma, Felix wouldn't be carrying him here.
Felix could gamble too, and if things went wrong, Felix was more than capable of handling it.
Soren looked at him again.
"Want to come with?"
Felix hesitated, expression flickering as he weighed pride against boredom.
"Why?" he asked.
Soren shrugged, minimal.
"Why not."
A few seconds passed, then Felix gave a careless little shrug, like this was entirely his choice and he wasn't at all grateful for an excuse to leave the street where he had just been caught.
"Sure, I don't have much else to do."
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The route Soren chose wasn't the obvious one.
It wasn't the main streets with the brighter lanterns and the louder laughter; it was the side alleys where the stones were damp and the shadows had teeth, where the walls were stained with things that didn't wash out properly, where men leaned too close together and stopped talking when you walked past.
Even Felix's expression shifted a little as they moved deeper, his usual confidence still there, but sharper at the edges, attention scanning instead of merely existing.
When they finally reached the building, Felix stopped in front of it and stared.
"This… is where you're going to gamble?" Felix asked slowly.
Soren looked up.
The place was roughly the size of three houses shoved together, but it had the posture of something that was barely standing out of spite.
The wood was warped, the paint peeled in long strips, and the windows were grimy enough that lantern light behind them looked sickly instead of warm.
A man sat on the step with his head bowed, not asleep, not awake, just… parked there, as if he had run out of reasons to move.
Soren swallowed down the brief prickle of unease.
'To be honest, it's a little scary.'
He had come here with knowledge, not courage, and knowledge didn't stop a knife in the dark.
He glanced at Felix, then forced himself to smile, more for his own nerves than Felix's.
"Yeah. Follow my lead."
Felix's gaze slid over him, and the pity in it was immediate and insulting, like he was watching a nobleman walk willingly into a gutter for the thrill of it.
Soren considered correcting him, considered explaining that this wasn't gambling, not really, because he already knew the answers.
He didn't.
Because the ugly truth was that even if he knew the answers, he was still walking into a den with all his coins in his pocket, and some part of him, the part that remembered gacha banners and dopamine hits, understood the pull a little too well.
He exhaled, then pulled a cloak from his inventory and tossed it at Felix.
"Put this on."
Felix caught it without comment, and to his credit, didn't ask why, just draped it over his shoulders and adjusted it with quick, neat movements.
They stepped forward.
Soren pushed the door open.
It swung inward with a loud creak that felt like a warning.
The smell hit them immediately.
Tobacco, sour ale, stale sweat, and underneath it, something metallic that made Soren's stomach tense.
The air was thick, not just with scent but with heat and breath and too many bodies packed into a space that didn't want them.
Felix pinched his nose, expression twisting.
"That's vile."
Soren's own nose wrinkled.
The room inside was dim, lit by low lanterns that made every surface look greasy.
The floorboards were stained, the tables scarred, and the people clustered around them were the kind who didn't look up unless you were either interesting or profitable.
Laughter burst from one corner, too loud, too sharp, then died off when someone slammed a fist down hard enough to rattle cups.
A bar ran along the right wall, wood polished by thousands of elbows, and behind it stood a muscular man with arms like tree trunks, gaze flat and uninterested, the kind of bouncer who didn't need to posture because everyone already believed he could break them.
Soren walked up to him, posture calm even as his skin crawled.
"I'm here to play," Soren said.
The man looked him over, eyes lingering for half a breath too long on the cloak, on his hands, on his face, then jerked his head towards a door behind the bar.
No words, no welcome.
Just permission.
Soren started towards it, and Felix fell in beside him, quieter now.
Beyond the door was a staircase leading down.
The wood beneath their boots creaked, and the sound echoed in a way that made the space feel too empty, like the building above was merely a skin.
As they descended, Felix spoke again, voice lower.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you even here? If you wanted to gamble, there are places made for nobles."
Soren's fingers tightened briefly on the stair rail.
There were plenty of answers he could give, excuses he could offer, jokes he could toss back, but the last few days had scraped him raw in a way he hadn't fully patched yet.
He was tired of pretending the Arden name was still a safety net.
He stopped on the stairs for half a second, then continued down, voice flat with something bitter underneath.
"I've been disowned."
Felix's step stuttered.
"What?" he breathed, and for once, Felix sounded genuinely caught off guard.
Soren didn't look back.
He kept walking, because if he turned and saw Felix's face properly, saw surprise and pity and curiosity all mixing together, he would say something sharper than he meant.
Felix recovered quickly, because Felix always did, but his next question came softer.
"Why here, then?" Felix asked. "Places like this aren't just sketchy, they're… dangerous."
Soren let out a short, humourless laugh.
"Because it's the easiest place to make money," he said, and the words came out harsher than they needed to. "Well, if you trust me and follow my lead, you'll see. I didn't come without a plan."
Felix was silent for a moment, then muttered something under his breath.
"I'll think about it."
They reached the bottom.
Another door.
Soren pushed it open, and the noise surged up to meet them.
This lower level was worse, tighter, more crowded, and the air felt older, as if it had been trapped here too long.
A small arena space sat in the centre, surrounded by benches and standing room, with people clustered around it like flies around rot.
A giant blackboard dominated one wall, chalk dust smeared and layered from constant rewriting.
Soren walked straight to it, eyes scanning, heart giving a small, relieved kick when the familiar pattern snapped into place.
.
[Familiar Ring]
Odds:
Aquafin - 3/1
Urin - 4/1
.
Irina - 7/1
Cephalos - 18/1
.
'Perfect.'
Same line-up.
Same odds.
Felix stepped closer, reading over Soren's shoulder.
"So who are you betting on?"
"The first round is Irina," Soren said, voice steady, and his memory fed him the scene like it was already happening. "She'll look like she's losing at first, then she turns it around near the end. Second is Ophen, third is—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Felix's head tilted.
"Third is…?"
Soren blinked once, then corrected himself smoothly, as if he hadn't almost recited an entire sequence on reflex.
"In short," Soren said, "I know the right answers. If you want to make money, follow me."
Felix stared at him, suspicion sharpening.
"How would you—"
Soren didn't give him time to finish.
He turned towards the counter, where another man sat with a stack of tickets, eyes dull from repetition, fingers stained with ink and ash.
Soren placed his pouch down on the wood with a soft clink.
"All of it on Irina."
The man didn't ask if he was sure, didn't offer a warning, just snatched the pouch like he was afraid Soren might grow a brain and change his mind, then shoved a ticket into his hand.
Soren closed his fingers around it, then moved away, weaving through bodies until he found a seat near the arena.
The benches were sticky.
He ignored it.
Ticket in hand, he leaned forward slightly, attention fixed on the ring as attendants prepared the first match.
Footsteps approached behind him a moment later.
Felix dropped into the seat beside him with a long exhale, running a hand through his hair like he could scrub the smell of the place off by force.
"Did you bet too?" Soren asked.
Felix glanced at him, then huffed out a laugh that sounded more resigned than amused.
"Yeah," Felix said. "You were so confident I figured I might as well. Besides, I'm not exactly strapped for cash."
Soren's mouth twitched.
"You'll thank me soon enough."
Felix opened his mouth, probably to argue, but the crowd's noise shifted, attention pulling forward.
Soren turned his eyes back to the arena.
Two familiars faced each other under the lantern light.
————「❤︎」————