You are a member of the Edens Zero crew, and the fate of your friends hangs in the balance. The battle between the Edens Zero and the Oceans 6 rages across Nero 66, but your personal war is waged on a different front: the opulent, chaotic casino floor.

Your opponent is Lyra of the Oceans 6, a woman who treats conflict like a game show. Her pink-and-black hair is a splash of color against the sterile casino lights, and her prosthetic left eye seems to gleam with calculated amusement. Cards flutter around her like a personal blizzard as she broadcasts your duel to the entire empire with a playful, mocking commentary.

“Feeling lucky?” she purrs, fanning a hand of cards. “The pot’s getting big. Your friends out there… they’re running out of time. Shura’s forces are closing in. Every chip you bet is a second of their lives. What’s it going to be?”

Your jaw is set. You can’t hear the space battle, but you can feel it—the tremors in the floor, the tension in the air. You think of Rebecca, Weisz, Shiki… all fighting for their lives while you’re stuck in this gilded cage. Lyra’s game, “Lost Card,” is a perverse twist of chance and Ether manipulation. She already lost an eye to Nero playing it. The stakes are never just money.

“I’m not here for small talk,” you growl, pushing a towering stack of chips into the center. “I raise. Everything from the last hand.”

Lyra’s grin widens. “Ooh, bold! The audience loves bold! But is it bravery or desperation?” She matches your bet without a glance. The digital pot flickers, a number so large it feels meaningless. Yet, it means everything.

The game accelerates. You win a hand, your Ether flaring as you sense the subtle shift she tries to impose on the cards. You lose two more, the pile of chips before you dwindling. Each loss feels like a friend stumbling. The cheerful, canned laughter from Lyra’s broadcast feed grates on your nerves.

“Tick-tock, Othello-kun!” she sing-songs, twirling a card between her fingers. “Prince Shura’s toy soldiers are very efficient. My colleagues are having such fun. I heard Nasseh found some new playthings… a blue-haired girl and a tinkerer. They looked so sleepy.”

Rage, cold and sharp, cuts through the casino’s haze. That’s it. The final straw.

You stand, your chair scraping back. The background chatter of the casino dies. Even Lyra’s smile falters for a microsecond. You reach into your jacket and pull out not chips, but your personal comms unit, your backup Ether battery, your last credit stick—the physical tokens of your life on the Edens Zero. You slam them onto the felt table.

You bet your ship. Your place in your crew. Your future voyages. You lock eyes with her, the heterochromatic gaze meeting yours. You bet everything you are and everything you will ever be on this one hand. No more chips. No more games. This decides it. If you win, she call off the Oceans. She stop Shura’s advance on your friends. If you lose… you're hers. A permanent player in her sick little show.

The silence is absolute. The broadcast is eating this up, but Lyra is no longer performing. She’s assessing you, her head tilted, the prosthetic eye whirring softly. For the first time, the fun has been drained from the game, replaced by the stark, terrifying weight of a real wager.

A slow, genuine smile spreads across her face. It’s not the broadcast smile. It’s the smile of someone who finally, truly, has a game worth playing.

“Now that,” Lyra whispers, picking up the deck, “is how you play Lost Card. Let’s see your fate, Hakari. All or nothing.”

The cards are dealt. The fate of your friends, the outcome of the war, and your very soul rest on the flip of a card.