Following the instructions he had received, Kang Seonyeong — under the alias Kaleb Chow — made his way to the Jade Hall ten minutes before seven in the evening.
Inside, unlike the private quiet of his suite, a restless crowd had already gathered. Nearly ninety percent of the guests were men between forty and sixty; the rest were a scattering of young women and a few foreign visitors. Yet not a single person looked genuinely interested in the so-called "Elixir of Immortality."
"Not eighty—one hundred percent background actors," Seonyeong noted silently.
At the front of the hall stood eight long rectangular tables, each built for twelve players. Guests took their seats, some exchanging banal greetings, others staring blankly into space.
Waiters in dark burgundy vests and black trousers moved smoothly between tables, pushing service carts laden with snacks and aged whiskey. When Seonyeong sat down, one of them approached him; a shadow fell across the table.
— Would you like something to drink?
The voice was familiar. Seonyeong looked up and met Yi Hoon's eyes behind service glasses.
Scanning the bottles on the cart, he asked quietly:
— Got lemonade?
— If you wait a moment, I'll bring it.
— No need.
It was the pre-arranged code, confirming that he and Yi Hoon had made contact and everything was proceeding according to plan. If, later, he asked for lemonade again, it would mean an emergency.
***
At that moment, the bright lights in the hall dimmed abruptly, and the massive display at the front began to pulse with light.
On the screen appeared a man in his sixties with an unnaturally wide smile.
— Good evening, esteemed participants. My name is Lee Jae-uk.
A murmur swept through the crowd. Lee Jae-uk was a well-known public figure, his face familiar from business magazines and televised interviews.
The man's appearance, however, was far from graceful. His belly bulged outward like an overturned cauldron, and his puffy face creased so deeply when he smiled that his already small eyes nearly disappeared. Even his hands looked swollen, as if standing upright for too long was torture.
Still, he was a successful industrialist who had moved to Europe in his youth, built a financial empire, and later become a philanthropist. His story of "brilliant return" mixed with national pride made him the media's darling, affectionately nicknamed Chairman Teddy.
Seonyeong smirked inwardly.
"An actor. Nothing more."
He watched the players' reactions carefully. Someone nearby muttered, "So it's true—the European Stronghold really did sponsor this." Apparently, most of the guests were as uninformed as he was. Though, perhaps ignorance was safer.
The fake Lee Jae-uk continued, his lips still stretched into that monstrous smile:
— Thank you for taking the time to join us. Unfortunately, I'm currently away on business, so I can't greet you in person. But I'm delighted to connect with you this way. Ah, yes—everything tonight is being broadcast live through a private link. There are fewer than a hundred viewers. Ha-ha.
Among those viewers were people like Kim Jinsu—who knew Seonyeong only as Kaleb Chow—and likely Chairman Lee Kang-eun of SangyeonPharm, watching through Lo Dan's hacked feed.
The fake chairman explained the rules:
— The game will follow the principles of Texas Hold'em. The tournament will run for three days, from 7 p.m. to 3 a.m. Outside play hours, you may freely move around the Fiftieth Floor. Most participants prefer to rest until noon and then socialize.
Texas Hold'em—two private cards combined with five community cards to make the best possible hand. A perfect choice for this many players.
— Your entry fee has been converted entirely into game chips, which you'll use throughout the tournament. The winner will be the one holding the most chips at the end. If you lose all your chips, you're out. Of course, you can leave anytime—but if you wish to buy more chips, simply tell our staff.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Even Seonyeong's eyes widened.
"You can rebuy? Insane."
There were one hundred participants, each paying one billion won. If one person collected everything, that would be a hundred billion. But if some lunatic decided to add even 0.1 billion more, they would instantly top the chart.
Of course, no sane person would throw that kind of money away—but sanity wasn't something abundant here.
The tournament was nothing but a smokescreen to measure who among the wealthy were the most desperate—and to select the top five.
Seonyeong frowned.
"If you don't plan to waste money, the easiest way to win is to steal the code from whoever does."
Apparently, SangyeonPharm thought the same. They didn't seem to care about his poker skills.
Right on cue, Lo Dan's whisper sounded in his earpiece:
— Hyung, if you bust on the first day, that'll be embarrassing. Keep at least some of your chips. We can't send more than one billion won.
— I wasn't planning to.
Seonyeong cleared his throat and leaned back lazily in his chair.
"I wonder how good Yi Hoon actually is at poker. He was supposed to take my place originally…"
***
The fake Lee Jae-uk announced:
— This will be the fairest game yet. All results will be displayed in real time on the electronic board you see before you. Each balance will be shown in units of ten million won.
A giant screen beside him lit up, showing numbers from 1 to 100. The crowd gasped.
Next to each player's white number, a golden figure read "100." The first number was the player ID; the second represented their chip count.
Beside Seonyeong's No. 47 also gleamed "100." Since calculations were done per ten million won, his billion was displayed as 100 units. Every loss of ten million would drop the number by one.
A small twitch ran down his throat. Even though the money wasn't his, realizing he could burn through a billion in three days made his stomach tighten. This was no mere game—it was an offering disguised as gambling.
At that moment, Lee Jae-uk looked less like a chairman and more like a cult leader.
— Each poker table can seat up to ten players in addition to the dealer, — the man continued.
He raised a hand, gesturing backward. The lights at the rear of the hall flared to life, revealing ten gleaming poker tables arranged in perfect symmetry.
— Tonight, players will be seated by number—ten per table. Starting tomorrow, tables will be arranged by chip count—the top ten at each.
A wave of whispers ran through the crowd. The fake chairman's smile deepened until his eyes vanished again.
— Chip counts will update in real time. Final standings will be decided on the third day: the five players with the most chips will be declared winners. Those ranked six to thirty may exchange chips for cash, but below thirty-first—nothing.
At least a quarter of them would get their money back. Otherwise, no one would have agreed to participate.
— Of course, if you think you've won enough, you may exchange chips for cash at any time. But remember, your balance will drop accordingly.
Seonyeong snorted softly.
"No one's here for money—they want the immortality ticket."
Then another thought struck him.
"What if the European Stronghold doesn't have the funds to pay anyone at all?"
"I could expose that bastard by demanding cash instead of the code after winning…"
But if he did that, the furious Lee Jae-uk would surely hunt him down. Tempting—but reckless. He was merely a pawn under SangyeonPharm's orders.
The fake Lee Jae-uk snapped his fingers. Staff members entered, handing each participant an elegant gift bag containing a large box.
— As a token of appreciation, we've prepared presents for all participants—our latest flagship products.
The hall erupted with admiration. Inside the boxes were luxury skincare sets worth over three million won at retail.
Seonyeong glanced at his bag with distaste. Inside were strange capsules and a jar of cream in a gold-edged box.
He felt an unpleasant chill. There was no doubt it contained traces of vampire blood.
Covering his mouth as if coughing, he whispered into the mic at his collar:
— Forwarding the package to you. Analyze it.
— Wow, Lo-noona says thanks, came the reply.
After more self-praise about the prestige of the event, the fake chairman finally concluded:
— And now, let's give the floor to Chairman George—the man who made all this possible.
***
The image flickered away, and a soft, tragic piano melody filled the air. On screen appeared a black-and-white photo of an elderly man lying in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask, his face twisted in pain.
Below it, messy handwriting read:
"Chairman George in a desperate fight for life."
Then came a video montage—an emaciated old man struggling through physical therapy, trembling hands gripping a cane, the sorrowful faces of his family.
Seonyeong, half-asleep moments earlier, frowned.
"What's this drama supposed to be?"
The video shifted to a biography: owner of this casino complex—five more like it—one of the richest men in Asia.
Then a frail voice from the hospital bed said:
— But what's the use, if I die?
Suddenly the music swelled—majestic and triumphant. The gray footage turned to color. The old man's face brightened, his cheeks filled out, and soon he was walking unaided, smiling radiantly.
Moments later, the same man appeared on screen again—now vibrant, dressed sharply, seated beside a young beauty in a silk cheongsam.
Someone behind Seonyeong gasped:
— Did he… get younger?
As if answering, the rejuvenated man on screen wrapped an arm around the woman's waist and said cheerfully:
— They say youth can't be bought. But maybe that's about to change. Play without regrets.
The broadcast ended.
For a moment, silence. Then scattered murmurs rose:
— Wow… amazing.
— Maybe poker really rejuvenates you.
— Or maybe the European Stronghold helped him. Lucky man.
— Think our gift bags work the same way?
Players looked down at their boxes with excitement, their greed reignited.
Seonyeong stared blankly, astonished. It was brilliant marketing—a trap disguised as a miracle.
By showing Chairman George's "resurrection," they'd inflamed the desire of every remote viewer watching online. Even a dying billionaire could regain youth through the European Stronghold!
Now their sponsors would order them to win at any cost.
Lee Jae-uk reappeared on screen, smiling like the devil.
— I wish you all good luck.
***
The poker table was large, but with ten players shoulder to shoulder, space quickly vanished.
It didn't stay crowded for long. Within ten rounds, four players had already left—headed for drinks—and only six remained.
Every eye at the table watched Seonyeong's hands. When he raised, others double-checked their cards. When he folded, they sighed in relief.
His play was erratic, unreadable. Even seasoned professionals couldn't predict him. For gamblers whose pride rested on their skill, Kaleb Chow's sudden dominance drew attention fast.
— Raise, five units.
As the flop—three community cards—appeared, Seonyeong flicked his chips forward without expression.
No. 41, Kwak Du-won, a burly man beside him, whistled.
— Hm… risky timing.
No. 50, Jung Yeong-min, furrowed his brow, studying his cards. He looked in his mid-forties, thin and tense, his fingers twitching as he counted chips.
Pretending not to notice, Seonyeong quietly observed him exchange glances with No. 43, seated earlier at the same table. That one had already busted. So the sponsor's still sitting here.
When Jung Yeong-min's hesitation dragged on, Kwak Du-won coughed pointedly.
— You done thinking yet?
Finally, Jung Yeong-min exhaled.
— …Call.
He pushed his chips in. Kwak Du-won immediately laughed and shoved all his remaining chips into the center.
— Raise, all-in!
A hundred million won.
The crowd gasped.
— Ohhh!
The dealer announced:
— Current raise—fifty plus one hundred million. Total pot: one hundred fifty. No. 44, your move.
No. 44, Kim Yang-cheol, threw his cards aside at once.
— Fold. Looks like a straight. Waiter, Cosmopolitan, please.
He waved Yi Hoon over for a cocktail. Meanwhile, Nos. 45 and 42 folded as well.
Now only Seonyeong, No. 47, remained.
He smiled faintly and slid forward a stack worth one hundred million.
— Call.
— Wha—
Jung Yeong-min blinked, flustered.
— Your move? — Seonyeong asked mildly.
— Hah…
He swallowed. Under normal circumstances, the tension wouldn't matter. But tonight, his stack was shrinking—down to seven hundred million while this "Kaleb" had already climbed to 1.2 billion.
"Damn it… I need a comeback."
He looked at the three community cards on the table: Jack of Clubs, Nine of Hearts, Seven of Clubs.
His own hand: Jack of Spades and Jack of Diamonds. Three of a kind already. If the turn or river brought another Jack, he'd have four of a kind—almost unbeatable.
But if his opponent had something stronger? A straight flush, maybe?
"Fold now?"
Then he remembered the three hundred million he'd already lost. His pride screamed louder than reason.
— Mr. Kaleb, you seem confident.
— Who knows. Ha-ha.
Across the table, Kwak Du-won leaned back, exhaling smoke. He hadn't beaten Kaleb once tonight. The kid's face was unreadable, his aura unnervingly calm.
Jung Yeong-min licked his lips, tapping the table with nervous fingers.
— How thrilling. I'm in the last three…
He'd already invested fifty million, and matching the all-in meant doubling that again. High risk, high reward—exactly what poker was made for.
"Two cards left. Odds are good…"
He glanced toward his sponsor, No. 43. The man nodded sharply—Go.
Jung Yeong-min took a breath.
"Hell, it's not even my money."
— Let's do it!
He pushed his chips forward.