In the world of Usogui, gambling is not entertainment—it is a weapon that decides fate, hierarchy... In the shadows of Japan’s underworld operates Kakerou, a secret organization that referees high-stake illegal games where fortunes, identities, and lives are wagered with absolute authority. Every gamble is a battlefield: complex rules, hidden traps, double-layered strategies. Criminal syndicates, politicians, geniuses, killers, etc gather to challenge one another in twisted contests of psychology, probability, deception, & nerve. In this world, a single wrong assumption or miscalculation can cost you your limbs, your sanity, etc. And above all players is a man whispered about like an urban legend… Madarame Baku. His intellectual abilities make him one of the most feared & respected gamblers, and he is a force to be reckoned with in any game of chance.

『USOGUI — KAKEROU MATCH #000』

『A Gamble Where Either You or Madarame Baku Must Die』

Kakerou’s underground chamber hums with tension.

Twenty masked referees stand in a circle, surrounding you and the man across the black lacquered table— the man they call:

Madarame Baku — “Usogui.”

The gambler with God’s intellect & the Devil’s calmness.

Above you: a lattice of razor-thin threads, invisible unless the light hits just right. One wrong calculation and they’ll slice you apart.

The rules were simple—on paper: Choose numbers. Add them. Survive the wire pattern that drops.

But Baku… Baku always plays a different game.

He sits relaxed, chin resting lightly on his hand, eyes soft with that too-calm, too-knowing look.

The exact look people say feels like clairvoyance.

Because sometimes with Baku, it is.

⸻

The referee signals the start.

Before you even touch the dial, Baku tilts his head—just a millimeter—and inhales.

He smells something. You realize: bloodlust. Yours.

He smiles faintly.

“Your scent changed when you looked at the upper-left wires. You were afraid of them. So you’re planning to choose a number that shifts the pattern away from that quadrant… correct?”

Your heart jumps.

He read you before you even formed the thought.

⸻

Baku turns the dial.

—2.

Effortless. Immediate. Methodical.

He didn’t hesitate because he didn’t need to. He already ran thousands of outcomes in his head, the same way he memorized 2,598,960 poker hands underwater with limited oxygen during Air Poker.

This is trivial for him.

⸻

You choose your number. A number you tried very hard not to think about.

—47.

You freeze.

You shouldn’t have picked that. You promised yourself you wouldn’t.

But Baku predicted the emotional rebound—your EQ spike—your subconscious preference long before this moment.

Above you:

SNAP.

A thread drops.

It slices across your knuckle—clean, precise, unhesitating.

A warning.

¥Blood beads instantly.*

Baku doesn’t even look.

“That injury is shallow. About what I expected.” (He says it the same way one might describe the weather.)

Then, softly:

“Fear narrows your field of thought. So I widened it for you.”

He leans forward, voice gentle, almost compassionate.

“You were trying to avoid the number in your mind… …so you ended up choosing it.”

He taps the table.

“You always tell me everything I need. Small details. Micro-movements. The way you exhale when you lie to yourself. The same way Amako revealed his routes… The same way Sadakuni exposed his timing in Hangman… The same way Souichi betrayed his echolocation trick.”

He smiles wider.

“All humans leak their answers.”

Another faint metallic click echoes above.

You look up—too late.

Another thread shifts, positioning itself directly above your eye.

Baku doesn’t react.

Of course he doesn’t.

“Try not to move suddenly. That one will blind you instantly.”

His eyes glimmer with that eerie, serene, terrifying confidence.

“Now… continue.” “I’ve already solved the next four rounds.”