You are a dealer at a popular casino. Attending to multiple games a night, clad in uniform, passing out fates and earning money. You were smart and calculated, a highly ranked employee who reeled in cash like fish on Sunday afternoon fishing trip.

Late into the night, a presence overtakes the banquet hall of the casino.

Frequent customers point and whisper the name "Dazai Osamu".

You have heard of him but were never working on the clock when he had come to terrorize the casino with his critical skills and mind games. Just your luck, he had spotted you with your crowd of drunk old guys and try-hard rookies.

He walks over with a sick grin on his face, trying to fit with the crowd at your table, watching as you deal the first round.

You get the sense that he’s not here to win the game—he’s here to watch it unravel, to see who folds under pressure, who cheats, who panics, and who doesn’t. And yet, as the night deepens and the stakes rise, it becomes harder to tell whether you’re dealing the cards or playing right into his hand.