My hole card was a six; upcards four, five, eight, all off-suit, lying flat like dull stones on sand.

Tap-tap. I flicked the hidden card with my fingers, a small drumbeat in the heavy air, waiting for the table to choose raise or fold like hawks circling.

Across from me, Alpha wore a breeze-for-blue-skies face, twirling his pale gold hair like a ribbon, flicking his hole card too, weighing the tide before it broke.

His upcards showed five, six, seven—hearts marching in step like a scarlet parade.

“Raven, we each hold one card in shadow,” I said, leading with the tightness in my chest, then the words. “It’s fog right now. Alpha looks ahead of me, but the next upcard will cut the thread.”

I spoke toward Miss Raven’s quiet shore; Alpha didn’t ripple, kept thinking, calm as winter water.

When the sand in the hourglass was almost gone, he tossed his hair back and tapped the table for the dealer, like a bell struck at dawn.

“Raise. Ten chips.”

“Call. Deal on,” I said, flicking a handful of chips like copper leaves.

“See, now the game starts to breathe,” I murmured, heart beating fast like hooves. “Late streets, hotter blood. The last card falls, and the river decides the valley. Then we gamble on what hides in each other’s shadows. That’s the charm—any moment can overturn the boat.”

New card slid down like a snowfall. What was it?

Give me a seven. Give me a seven give me a seven give me a seven—

Ah. A six, falling like a damp leaf.

So my best hand was a pair of sixes, two small moons.

Eh, that’s normal. One in thirteen to hit the wish; a six lets me fool Alpha for a heartbeat, like mist over glass.

“Professor Alpha, my hole card’s a seven.”

“Is it?” he tilted his head, neither sun nor rain, took his final upcard, and flipped it.

Hearts four, a bright berry in the grass.

“Class time again,” he said, voice like chalk on slate. “Raven, can you sketch our odds now?”

“...” Raven finally lifted her eyes, cool as an evening lake, looked at me with clean disdain, then dropped back into her work like a diver slipping under.

“Ahem. If my hole card is seven—of course it’s seven—then I’ve got a straight,” I said, smiling like a fox. “Now we guess Alpha’s hole card: if it’s a heart, I drown; if it’s a seven, we tie; else I sail. Fun, right? Forty-five in fifty-two chances. Don’t you think it’s worth the toss?”

In truth, I only had a pair of sixes. Fifteen in fifty-two, like thin rain.

“On the face, I look bigger,” I said, pushing forward. “So I’d raise, like right now. Ten chips, thanks.”

I signaled the dealer, and my chips flowed away like a small stream into a bucket.

“My turn’s done. Let’s see the teacher’s choice,” I said, tapping the table like a drum.

Alpha’s face set like stone. He tied his hair back into a neat tail and spoke clear as a bell.

“Andor, you’re strong.”

He picked up an equal stack and pressed them down, metal birds on a perch.

“Your grip on flow is firm, and your show of disadvantage is clean.”

“But you still lose to me.”

Clatter—he cast the chips, metal ringing like rain on copper, and his throw had that reckless edge, a blade flashed before a duel.

It was only ten chips.

And the dealer scolded, “Sir, please don’t scatter chips. It’s a pain to sort.”

But the air burned anyway—my teacher, Alpha, fierce as a banner in wind. You’re a worthy foe.

“Show!”

“Show!”

We shouted in unison and turned the shadow cards like reeds parted.

Mine was a six. His was a seven.

Unsuited, but his pair beat mine, like a taller mountain beside a hill.

The dealer patiently raked the chips back from the chaos, while Alpha and I stood together and gripped hands hard, a clean clash between men, steel to steel.

“What a hot match,” he said, breath like steam. “When you said seven, Andor, I almost bought it.”

“Professor Alpha, you’re sharper and luckier,” I said, bowing like a reed. “I concede.”

“Much obliged.”

“Likewise.”

While our spirits sang of collision, Raven upended a bucket of cold water with a look.

“So tell me. Where’s the fun in that?”

She lifted a slim arm, brushed a stray lock off her brow, revealing eyes like a shaded well, then threw us a glance sharp as frost.

Raven—current Student Council President of the Hero Academy, a puff-cheek cute girl with fallen noble blood, like a rose found in ruins.

In the future, an alchemy master called the “Maker.” As a member of the Hero Squad, she’ll hunt down Shadow Demon Andor—me, in the original history—and seal my left arm like iron under ice.

For now… I hope to win her heart, like a lantern coaxed to light.

After a chain of messes—Stini the next Hero making trouble, Stini stumbling into trouble, and Stini picking trouble on purpose—we ran into my nemesis, the Demon King’s trueborn daughter, Anna. In that wreck, our archer Catherine went down. She didn’t die, but the night felt colder.

When my companions were lost in fog, I comforted them, pulling our bond tighter like threads woven. Sure, you could say I slipped through a crack into Raven’s heart with a dirty motive while doing sunny things. I won’t repent.

I’ve never thought myself a good man. I’m a results-first villain who sometimes bows to justice so the Hero doesn’t gut me. If people curse me, that’s weather I can take.

We—me and Raven, and me with the rest of the Hero Squad—drew closer like fire in a brazier. We drank together—I paid. We shopped together—for gear and alchemy materials, not dresses. We played together—they out-crazed me every time.

All in all, my campaign to court Raven took a big step, like a bridge pushed farther across a river.

Stini, the next Hero, owes me a mountain since her dad smashed public property. She’s working at my place now to pay it back, sweeping the floor like wind. I want a dual-track romance too, but her mind’s like fog at dawn. I can’t tell how far I’ve gone.

I’ll ask my miracle maid, Vega. Same girl’s insight, different window; she sees angles I can’t.

Work thoughts crowded like sparrows, but I should answer Raven properly. I am a gentleman, at least in the coat I wear.

“The fun is in—”

Hold on. Where is the fun in gambling? It thrills me, but where exactly does it shine?

Words stuck like wet flour. I shot a look at Alpha for help, a lifeline tossed into current.

Alpha put on his teacher face, stern as slate, and said loud enough to crack glass:

“Raven, ‘where’s the fun’ is the wrong question. Gambling isn’t fun. If my living weren’t tight, why would I come to this den of malice and greed?”

Alpha, you traitor! Win and run, is that it?

“No, no,” I cut in, glaring like a cat. “It is fun. You just don’t have the kernel yet, Raven.”

“Heh-heh.”

Seeing Raven’s focus slide back into her alchemy like a needle into cloth, I leaned in and painted the thrill for her:

“Look—gambling tests calculation, mind, luck. Only someone with all three can climb to the peak and win the crown match.”

“Pair of sevens beats pair of sixes. What’s there to brag about?” she said, a flat stone skipping once.

That… can’t refute.

Pair-vs-pair has no thunder. It’s not the four aces. It’s not a straight flush blazing like a comet.

“So, I’ll summarize today,” Raven said, lashes lowered like closed fans. She hugged her alchemy project and stood, free hand smoothing her skirt like wind over silk. “I burned twenty minutes walking out with you. Then I found your two-hour gambling cut your work rate below usual. Then another twenty minutes to walk back.”

She tilted her head, cheeks puffed like steamed buns, and shook her fist at me like a tiny hammer.

“Verdict: we lost big today!”

“Don’t bury yourself in work,” I said, soft first, then the tap on her forehead. “Come play. Look—your dark circles are smudges of ink already. Humans are a short-lived kind. Grind every dawn, and you’ll age like paper in rain.”

I knocked her forehead lightly, then combed the sleep-tangled hair like untangling kelp. I asked the server for a drink and handed it over, wetting her cracked lips like a spring.

“This commission needs three days,” she said, downing it heroically, then scratching her head until her hair burst back into storm. “It’s simple, but the process is layered, and I have to redesign the alchemy structure. If I don’t finish, I don’t eat.”

Her specialty is the Magitech Department. It prints money like a press, but burns it like a furnace. Progress tracks investment like twin shadows—that’s why even after the Tower of Final Stars, with her heavy purse, she still frets over daily bread.

In the original line, she married a prince for funding. Money is a river that feeds the forge.

I, meanwhile, put the Tower of Final Stars loot to work, let my accounts flow like water. I asked my adorable little sister, Kadula—the Son of the Demon King with a head for numbers—to keep the books clean. Now I can spend loudly and leave no cracks.

“I’ll buy you dinner. Don’t worry.”

“No.”

Raven rejected me straight as a blade.

“Otherwise, why did I refuse my family’s money all these years?” she murmured, lips pouty like cherry, voice small as moth wings.

“How about this,” I said, offering mischief like a coin. “You gamble once. If you win, it’s yours.”

“I don’t gamble. What if I lose?” she said, fear flickering like a candle.

“I’ll stake the money. You flip the card. My luck’s bad lately—lend me your hand. If we lose, it’s on me; if we win, we split.”

“...”

She hesitated, a bird on a rail. Guess my favor bar is high; if we were strangers, she’d cut me off.

“Come on, sit here,” I coaxed, like pulling a kite into wind.

“I… maybe I should—”

I gently steered her into the chair. She resisted a little, like a willow springing back, but sat, unwilling and sweet.

Phew. Courting girls is sweat and gears.

The dealer saw Raven settled, Alpha back in place, and me with hands lightly on her shoulders like a guardrail. She began her prep, professional as a metronome.

“Hold up. Mind adding me?” a broad voice cut in, like a drumroll.

A noble boy strode over in formalwear, not the work overalls Raven favored. Fabric glittered like moonlight; he outshone the dim lamps.

His bow was elegant, and his cyan-blue hair glowed even in low light, like a wave under a lantern.

Worse, his formalwear was the Hero Academy uniform.

He was our classmate, though I didn’t know his year. Water from the same well.

“Then, everyone, let’s have a delightful game,” he said, arrogance thick as perfume, command flowing like oil. Manners full marks; attitude, zero.

Alpha still watched the dealer’s shoe like nothing else existed, a mountain not moved by sparrows. Raven snapped upright like a cat hit by static. I had the strength to hold her down, but I won’t trade charm for force.

Also, the moment I saw him, my feet wanted the door like wind through a gap.

He carried something that felt like me—pose and polish, flair sharpened on purpose. I glanced around the table—two girls only. If he wasn’t here for the dealer, he was here for Raven. The air of men told me his aim was her.

“Uh, Andor, I’ve got things,” Raven said, voice tight as a string. She bolted for the door like a hare.

I grabbed my coat, slid it on, ready to chase her, but the boy’s voice snagged me like a hook.

“Wait. Raven finds gambling shameful,” he said, smile like sugar over steel. “Seeing a classmate, she ran. But you—won’t you play a round?”

“If my partner’s gone, what’s the joy?” I said, letting warmth lead. “And leaving a girl to walk alone is too cold.”

“I mean a wager between men, for a lady,” he said, eyes like polished stone. “Do you lack the courage to face me, Andor?”

Alpha kept staring at the cards like a monk at scripture. Some teacher—no thought to smooth this clash.

I remembered who he was. Vega’s notes had him filed under “the type who might show up as a supporting role in the Hero’s legend.”

Abigail? Beatrice.

Second in line to Queen Beatrice of the Azure Wind Kingdom, he and his brother were the Twin Prodigies—two blades in the blue wind.

A lousy personality, yet sharp with governance; a standout in the Destruction track, with ruin flickering at his fingertips.

Back when Andor attacked the Azure Wind Kingdom, he and his brother boxed him in and almost drove him back to the Demon Realm.

He’s a full-spectrum talent, ink and steel both, the quill and the blade in one hand.

I shrug on my coat; my step toward the door pauses like a held breath.

I leave him a frosted glance, then keep after Raven.

“Are you out of your mind?”

That line burns most for someone like Abigail, proud as a tower.

It’s like a boxing bout: gloves on, mouthguard clenched, he’s ready, then the opponent texts, “Bad mood today, fine, you win.”

Guys like him hate being belittled or ignored more than they hate losing.

Well, as my rival in love—the one who married Raven in the original timeline—this greeting is sharp enough, a small blade slipped under the ribs.

I think that as neon breathes over the casino doors, and I catch Raven’s fleeing hand like a startled bird.