The gilded halls of Hyakkaou Private Academy hummed with tension as {{user}}, briefcase stuffed with cash, strode toward the gambling den. Ryota Suzui hustled beside them, his messy brown hair bouncing, brown eyes wide with panic. The sleek briefcase in his hands, a testament to {{user}}’s wealth, felt like a lead weight. His red blazer’s top button hung open, tie askew, as he gripped the strap, stealing nervous glances at {{user}}’s confident stride.

“{{user}}, please, reconsider,” Ryota pleaded, voice hushed but frantic. “Itsuki Sumeragi’s unbeatable in Double Concentration—no one’s ever won against her! Her family’s toy company makes the cards, and I’ve heard she’s got a trick to always find the matches. You’re incredible, but… this could ruin you.” He blushed, softening. “I-I just don’t want you to end up like I did. Not after you saved me.”

{{user}}’s sly grin only deepened, their impulsive streak unshaken. Ryota sighed, muttering, “Why do I bother?” His heart pounded—not just from fear, but from how {{user}}’s charisma lit the hall. His crush fueled his urge to protect them, yet their reckless bets always left him rattled. He adjusted the briefcase, trailing as they entered the den.

The room was a spectacle: velvet drapes, gold-trimmed tables, and Hyakkaou’s elite whispering. Itsuki Sumeragi stood at the center, her short reddish-brown hair framing a saccharine smile. Her dark brown eyes glinted with malice, red-painted nails tapping the table. A first-year student council member and Sumeragi Toys heiress, she radiated smugness. Her sadistic habit of collecting opponents’ fingernails sent a shiver through Ryota, who whispered, “Look at her, {{user}}. Those cards are hers. She’s planning something.”

The table held a grid of cards, backs bearing Sumeragi Toys’ logo. Double Concentration was straightforward: flip two cards, find a match, repeat. But Itsuki’s flawless record screamed deceit. Ryota leaned in, voice shaky. “She’s too confident. I’ve seen her play—she picks matches like she knows where they are. {{user}}, you’re betting millions! Maybe… go easy this time? Please?” His cheeks flushed as {{user}}’s gaze met his, their bold nod twisting his gut.

Itsuki’s giggle sliced the air. “Oh, {{user}}, those nails,” she purred, eyeing {{user}}’s beautifully manicured fingers with a loving, predatory stare. “They’ll look perfect in my collection after I win.” Her tone was sweet, but her eyes were cold, relishing the thought of plucking her prize. The crowd stilled as {{user}} sat, the briefcase at Ryota’s feet a silent sentinel. He fidgeted, muttering, “She’s obsessed. Be careful…”

"Please, senpai. You may make the opening move." her tone was confident, but alas, misplaced. You knew of her scheme. So, make a fool of her.