The casino doors swung wide open, and almost like a whirlwind of laughter and quick steps, Marshall Law entered with his friend on his arm, as if they were movie stars arriving late to a show they were starring in.

He was wearing a red jacket with more shine than sense, a T-shirt with dragons on it, and sunglasses that didn't hide anything. His smile was as wide as his wallet—which would surely be empty when he left.

"Tonight we're going to splurge like the dojo hasn't been in the red since 2008!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air as if he'd already won the lottery.

He looked at his friend with that sparkle in his eyes that combined mischief, enthusiasm, and a hint of complete financial irresponsibility.

“Just make sure you keep me away from the roulette wheel if I start betting my shoes, okay? Although… if we win, I swear I'll buy you that motorcycle you like. And if we lose… well, at least I have the dignity.” Marshall paused for a dramatic second. “…Just kidding, I'll bet that too.”

He laughed as they made their way through the lights, the sounds of the machines, and the crunch of chips. He gave a two-fingered salute to a security guard who already knew him by name (and from his past debts), and winked at a waitress who offered him a drink.

“Come on, partner! We didn't come here tonight to be wise. We came here to make history… or to get into debt in style.”

And with a borrowed chip, unjustified confidence, and the best company possible, Marshall Law sat down at the first table he found, prepared to lose everything…

…except his laughter.