Yamamoto was starting to lose it.
Not in the crude, explosive way—no screaming, no chairs thrown across the room. No.It was far more dangerous than that. Something inside him had cracked, and what remained no longer resembled the rich, arrogant boy who treated poker as a boring toy, raising without reason just to assert dominance.
He was no longer bored.
He was starving.
He couldn't accept the humiliation. He couldn't accept that someone like Ren—a nobody, a boy without money, without pedigree, without background—had read him, stripped him bare, reduced him to something small.
No…That's not how this is supposed to be.I'm the one who controls the game.I'm the one who throws money and watches people scramble for it.
For the first time in his life, poker didn't feel like cheap entertainment.
It wasn't a joke anymore.
Suddenly, it had become a battlefield.
I want to play.Not to win money.Not to dominate them.I want to play for real.
The dealer—silent, face painted like a mime, unreadable—dealt the cards with the same precise, mechanical movements. But Ren felt the shift instantly.
Yamamoto wasn't relaxed anymore.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't throwing insults out of habit.
He sat straight now. Shoulders slightly forward. Eyes fixed on the table—not on the chips, but on the people.
Something changed, Ren thought.He's not playing the bored rich kid anymore.He's… focused.
Ren glanced at his cards and folded without hesitation.
"Fold."
Haruto immediately turned toward him, grinning carefree as ever.
"Haha, I told you I'd follow you, Ren. If you fold, I fold too. Besides, with a hand like that, I wouldn't even get a night with Misha."
Ren frowned dramatically.
Seriously?That's what he's thinking about right now?
"You're an idiot, Haruto," Ren said out loud—but there was no malice in his voice.
Haruto burst out laughing.
For the first time at the table, Ren smiled.
He hadn't smiled at poker in a long time. Back in high school, he had always been quiet, focused, calculating. But now… now he was laughing. In a place where people died for mistakes.
Strange…At a table full of lunatics and monsters, I feel closer to someone than I ever have.
Only Yamamoto and Hiroki remained in the hand.
Ren leaned back slightly, but his attention was tight as a drawn bow.
Hiroki…I can see your gestures, but I don't understand them yet.Yamamoto… you're not the same person anymore.
The flop fell.
King of diamonds.Queen of diamonds.Eight of clubs.
Hiroki acted first.
A faint smile crossed his lips.
Huh… idiots.I'm getting tired of pretending.
He placed his cards on the table, still hidden, then lifted his gaze and scanned everyone—Ren, Haruto, Yamamoto… even the dealer. His fingers moved slowly, gently stroking the ring on his finger, almost affectionately.
"Let's play, Yama," he said calmly. "You look more confident today. Haha."
Yamamoto didn't answer right away.
His eyes slid across the table, then lingered a fraction too long on Hiroki.
What's with this guy?Why can't I read him?
Haruto checked, unsure, almost absent-minded.
Yamamoto pushed his chips forward.
"Raise."
His voice was low. Not triumphant. Not mocking.
Serious.
Ren felt a chill.
This is bad.Very bad.
The turn card fell.
Ace of spades.
For a split second, Yamamoto looked at his cards.
And right then—right then—his eyes betrayed him.
Ren saw it.
A tiny tremor. A tightening of the jaw. An emotion that hadn't been there before.
And like a curse, flashbacks flooded Yamamoto's mind.
Luxury homes.A life without lack.Poker played out of boredom in high school.Nights with Tsuna. With other women.Different faces. The same moans. The same emptiness.
The white envelope.The token.The invitation.
No…I won't go back to that life.
His voice slipped out of control.
"No! No, no, no!"
He stood up abruptly.
"I WON'T GO BACK TO THAT LIFE!"
The room froze.
"I WANT TO PLAY!" he shouted. "I WANT TO FEEL ALIVE!"
He shoved all his chips forward.
"ALL IN!"
Ren felt his stomach tighten.
Your emotions won.You lost control, Yamamoto.
Hiroki looked at him briefly. A short, clean analysis.
His fingers slid over the ring once more.
"I call, idiot."
Yamamoto looked at him.
For the first time—
Without arrogance.Without superiority.
Only fear.
The cards were revealed.
Yamamoto: a pair of Aces, weak kicker.Hiroki: a pair of Kings, even weaker kicker.
I won.Finally.
Yamamoto's heart exploded with satisfaction.
A real pot.A real victory.
Hiroki remained calm.
Too calm.
The river fell.
King of diamonds.
Hiroki smiled faintly.
Exactly as expected.
Ren watched the light leave Yamamoto's eyes.
His knees buckled. He collapsed.
A tear slid down his cheek.
Ren remained still.
So that's how this game makes you feel…No.It's not just a game.
His gaze hardened.
Poker isn't a game.It's a mirror.
The mirror didn't lie.
Yamamoto saw himself reflected in it, shattered.
On his knees, the cold floor pressing into his legs, he could barely breathe. The sounds around him faded into a distant hum, replaced by the roar inside his own skull.
No…This isn't happening.This isn't how it ends.
His mind clawed backward, desperate.
He remembered the warmth of his childhood home. His father's voice, calm and indulgent.
You don't need to worry about money. Ever.
He remembered the first time he won at poker. Not because he was good—but because it didn't matter if he lost. Money had never been a boundary for him. It was a cushion. A shield.
Laughter from classmates.
Eyes filled with envy.
Girls clinging to him because his name carried weight.
Tsuna's body beneath him.
Her moans.
Her trembling hands.
And afterward—nothing.
No satisfaction.
No triumph.
Just silence.
He had thought poker was the same. A toy. A way to assert superiority without effort.
But now—
Now poker had taken everything he used to hide behind and stripped it away.
I lost…
Not the hand.
Myself.
The humiliation burned deeper than any loss of money ever could. It wasn't that Hiroki beat him.
It was that Ren had seen him.
Seen the cracks.
Seen the weakness.
Seen the emptiness.
Yamamoto's fingers dug into the floor.
I'll kill him.
I swear I will.
I'll pay someone. I'll do it myself if I have to.
The thought didn't even frighten him.
It felt natural.
Across the table, Ren watched silently.
He didn't celebrate.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't feel victorious.
What he felt instead was something heavier.
So this is what happens when someone who's never been tested finally meets resistance, Ren thought.
He saw the child Yamamoto must have been—raised without limits, without consequences. A boy who never learned how to lose, because losing had never cost him anything.
Until now.
Ren felt a chill crawl up his spine.
If I hadn't grown up scraping for every yen…If I hadn't watched my mother fade behind hospital machines…Would I have ended up like him?
The realization unsettled him.
Poker didn't corrupt Yamamoto.
It revealed the rot that had always been there.
Ren exhaled slowly.
This game doesn't just break people.
It chooses who survives the truth.
His gaze shifted briefly to Hiroki.
Then back to Yamamoto.
Ren understood now.
This table wasn't about skill alone.
It was about who could face themselves—
And who would shatter the moment the mirror looked back.