"Please stand up. It's time."
The guard's voice cut through Ren's thoughts like a cold blade.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Just precise.
Ren rose instinctively. The chair legs scraped softly against the floor — a thin metallic sound that seemed louder than it should have been in such a sterile space.
For a split second, the small waiting room felt as if it were shrinking. As if the walls had leaned inward while he wasn't looking. As if the air itself were urging him to stay seated.
Too late for that.
The door opened.
White corridor.
White lights.
White silence.
Ren stepped out and fell into rhythm beside the guards. Their footsteps were synchronized again. Identical stride length. Identical pace.
He adjusted his breathing to match them.
Inhale.
Exhale.
No rush. No hesitation.
Everything in this building operated with intentional restraint.
Even movement had choreography.
At an intersection of corridors, two more guards waited.
Same uniforms.
Same posture.
Same absence of expression.
And between them—
Haruto.
Ren blinked once.
Then he smiled.
"Hey, Haruto! What's up, man?"
Haruto looked up slowly.
His eyes scanned Ren's face as if retrieving a file from memory.
Recognition sparked.
"Huh? Oh… I know you. You were with me in high school, right? Uh… R? Or was it something with a T?"
Ren sighed dramatically.
"It's Ren, idiot," he said, irritation mixing with a grin. "Ren."
Haruto's face brightened instantly.
"Hah! Right! Yeah! We used to take the bus to school together, didn't we? Man, those were the days, haha!"
For a moment, the corridor dissolved.
The guards.
The guns.
The tournament.
All of it faded.
There was only a crowded morning bus. Fogged windows. The smell of cheap deodorant and winter jackets. Haruto hanging from the overhead rail with one hand, laughing about something stupid.
The world had once been that simple.
"So how did you end up here?" Ren asked.
The question wasn't casual.
It was an anchor.
Proof that their past wasn't imagined.
A guard intervened instantly.
"Please stop. The method by which invitations were received cannot be disclosed."
The words landed like a steel door closing.
Ren and Haruto exchanged a look.
Both swallowed.
I see…, Ren thought.
So that's how it is.
Information control.
Secrecy layered over spectacle.
His thoughts sharpened.
Why did Yoshi tell me to say I came from him?
And now I'm not allowed to say anything at all?
A small knot tightened in his stomach.
This isn't just a tournament.
There are rules beneath the rules.
"Hey, Ren," Haruto said casually, as if nothing had happened. "You were always good at poker. Back in school… you lost pretty often though, haha."
Ren raised an eyebrow.
"Shut up. That was different. I was calculated. You always got lucky on the last card."
Haruto laughed loudly.
"Yeah! That's true. My luck's never left me. And you really were the most calculated one. I liked your playstyle."
The compliment was simple.
Unfiltered.
No ego attached.
It hit Ren harder than expected.
Warmth spread through his chest.
Validation.
Not from a rival.
From a friend.
"Here," Haruto continued, flashing that familiar grin, "I'll follow your lead completely, Ren."
Ren almost smiled.
He stopped himself.
"Do whatever you want," he replied casually.
But inside—
Something shifted.
He's following me.
Not because he's weaker.
Not because he doubts himself.
Because he trusts me.
That trust weighed more than intimidation ever could.
Haruto kept talking, filling the sterile corridor with fragments of humanity.
"You know what I miss most about high school?"
"What?" Ren asked.
"I miss… Anika."
Ren paused mid-step.
Seriously?
In his mind, Anika appeared instantly.
Front-row student. Glasses. Soft voice. Always prepared.
And yes—
Her curves.
Her chest pressing slightly against her blouse when she leaned forward to write.
Man…, Ren thought.
This idiot hasn't changed at all.
"Anika…" Ren said thoughtfully. "Smart. Glasses. Too good for us."
Haruto grinned.
"Too good? Please. She totally wanted me."
"Sure she did."
"She did!"
"And what, you're still thinking about her?"
Haruto shrugged.
"After I win here? Maybe I'll invite her for a night at this hotel."
Ren snorted.
"You haven't changed."
"Hey, ambition matters."
For a few seconds, they laughed.
Genuine laughter.
In a building filled with armed guards and hidden rules.
It felt absurd.
And comforting.
Then—
The corridor widened.
Massive double doors stood ahead.
From the opposite hallway, two more escorts approached.
Yamamoto.
Perfect suit. Confident posture. Expression already annoyed.
And beside him—
Hiroki.
Relaxed.
Unbothered.
Silver ring catching the light as his fingers brushed through his hair.
They exchanged brief glances.
No words.
No nods.
Assessment.
The doors opened slowly.
The hall revealed itself.
High ceilings.
Controlled lighting.
Shadows intentionally placed.
At the center—
One poker table.
Isolated.
Perfectly illuminated.
Not like furniture.
Like an altar.
Screens along the walls displayed names in sharp digital clarity.
Order.
Precision.
Spectacle.
This wasn't a tournament venue.
It was a stage.
And they were performers.
Near the table stood the dealer.
A mime.
Face painted white.
Black exaggerated lines framing eyes and mouth.
A permanent drawn smile.
Expression unreadable.
Ren felt a faint chill crawl down his spine.
This isn't normal.
This is ceremonial.
A mechanical voice echoed from unseen speakers.
"The only rule: any attempt to cheat will have CONSEQUENCES."
The word reverberated.
Not shouted.
Not emphasized.
Just heavier.
Consequences.
Ren's fingers flexed slightly.
Cheating.
Interesting.
Poker, to him, had never been about cheating.
It had been about reading.
About patience.
About letting others expose themselves.
If reading someone counts as cheating here…
then what game are they actually playing?
His thoughts drifted briefly to Yoshi.
The white coin.
The invitation thrown casually into his life.
Maybe not everyone here is playing the same game.
Haruto stepped closer.
"You okay?" he whispered.
Ren nodded.
"Yeah."
And he meant it.
His heart was beating faster.
But his mind—
Clear.
For the first time in months, he wasn't moving out of desperation.
Not for hospital bills.
Not for survival.
He was moving forward.
By choice.
I'm not here just to survive anymore.
I'm here to see how far I can go.
He lifted his gaze toward the table.
Toward the light.
Toward the confrontation waiting at its center.
No matter what comes next.
No matter the consequences.
Ren Takahashi understood something with quiet certainty:
The real game—
Had finally begun.