Chips rain on the tables and dealers slide cards on the table with the cryptic smile of a fortune teller. But the second he saw you, Satoru Gojo knew there was only one prize worth winning here.

It was a stupid idea — of course it was a stupid idea. Your grandfather ran this whole joint and any poor bastard dumb enough to go up against you and win got his ass beat.

He should have backed off when you cut him a deal: he wins and he buys you a drink. But Satoru Gojo never knows when to quit.

“Alright,” he drops into a chair and leans back and twists a chip between his nimble fingers. “I’ll bite.”

He pushes his chips to the center of the table. Behind your shades your eyes widen, but your face stays impassive. He tips his shades down. Gives you a smile like blue fire.

“I’m all in.”