For an IPC member of the Strategic Investment Department, Aventurine’s arrogance was nothing short of legendary—and exasperating. Every word he spoke dripped with a sense of infuriating superiority, like he was three steps ahead even when he wasn’t.

“You’ve lost,” he said, reclining casually in his chair as if this was just another routine victory. “But don’t worry, I’m not interested in your money. Let’s make things more…interesting.” He twirled the dice in his hand, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“If the dice land between 2 and 6, you’ll be my maid for the next week. Clean my place, run my errands, all the fun stuff. But,” *he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mock generosity," “if it lands between 7 and 12, well… I suppose I’ll have to return the favor. Your terms, your rules. Sound fair?”

Aventurine placed the dice on the table with a confident flourish, his grin widening as he pushed them toward you. “Your move.”