The boys ran out of the club and only stopped once they were sure that no one was following them.
"Ha! That was fun! You should see the looks on those motherf-"
Kenji's words were caught in his throat when he felt a deadly aura coming from the person next to him. "Erm… Lance?" he gently poked Lance's arm. "Are… you angry?"
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Lance growled as he grabbed Kenji's shirt. "Gambling in such a sketchy den?! Have you completely lost your mind?! "And what the fuck possessed you to bring Amara with you?!"
"I… I didn't think I'd lose that much. They kept riling me!"
Lance slammed him against a brick wall. Hard. "That doesn't mean that it's cool to bring your girlfriend to this kind of place!"
Unrepentant, Kenji smirked, "You forget—Amara's strong enough to handle herself. Honestly, if they hadn't pulled a gun on me, she would've kicked all their asses."
Lance looked at his best friend and wondered whether all the head blows this guy received in taekwondo classes had destroyed his rationality. But that didn't stop the headbutt.
BAM!
He headbutted Kenji. It hurt like hell, but he figured if he used his fists, Kenji might actually end up in the hospital.
"OUCH! What is your head made of? METAL?!" Kenji groaned, rubbing his head forehead.
Lance released him with a shove. "Did it ever cross your mind what could've happened if they'd kept Amara? Do you know how scared she was when she showed up at my place, shaking and barely holding it together?"
Kenji paused. Then, with a hopeful grin. "Did she cry? For me? She cried for me? Really?"
Lance raised a fist, and Kenji flinched. With a scoff, Lance turned on his heel and stormed off.
Kenji jogged to catch up, slinging an arm around Lance's shoulders like nothing had happened. Lance shrugged him off with a sharp, annoyed shove.
"Come on, Lance, I wouldn't have let anything happen to her. She's my favorite girlfriend so far."
"You're nuts. Seriously, how is she even into you?"
"I'm ridiculously good-looking." Kenji smirked.
"And what if we lose the game? What are you going to do?"
Kenji laughed. "No, we would never lose. You always manage to bail me out of trouble, and I know you will bail me out of this too."
He laced his hands behind his head, strolling alongside Lance with a lazy grin. "Relax. Worst case, you just whip out all those skills you picked up from the classes I was supposed to take."
Lance sighed. If it's not for all the benefits he had gained from being his best friend all these years, he would have let the guy rot many years ago.
He still remembered the fallout from that one time they got caught. He had been taking Kenji's classes for him for more than 5 years when the latter's old man suddenly decided to attend "Kenji's" 7th Dan exam.
Mr. Zehnder had gone on a furious tirade, then decided to cram ten years' worth of training into one. Martial arts. Weapons. Strategy. And since Kenji hated going alone, Lance got dragged into every single class.
"If the reason my son can't protect himself is because of you, then you'll use your life to protect him," Mr. Zehnder had told Lance when he was 15.
Lance suddenly stopped and turned to look at Kenji. "Have you ever brought Mila to that place?"
"Never!" Kenji snapped, his voice quick and defensive. "I'd never take her where I'm going."
Lance gave a curt nod, but his eyes narrowed. "I want you to promise me something. Promise you'll never gamble in those underground dens again."
Kenji hesitated, a moment of cold dread creeping up his spine. His gaze shifted, not meeting Lance's. "Erm…" He hesitated again, his voice faltering. "I... can't."
Lance's brow furrowed. "Why?"
Kenji bit his lip, trying to find an excuse that wouldn't feel like a lie. "I owe some people money."
Lance's eyes darkened. "How much?"
Kenji's smile was awkward, almost painful. "I can settle it myself."
"Kenji. How. Much?"
Kenji's shoulders slumped. He covered his face with his arms, avoiding Lance's glare. "About… $300,000."
"$3… $300,000?!" Lance's voice shot out like a crack of thunder, drawing startled glances from the people around them. "How the hell…?"
"They know who my dad is, what he's worth," Kenji muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He grimaced, feeling a fresh wave of shame. "One thing led to another…"
The same night,
Lance lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he mulled over ways to get Kenji out of trouble without alerting Mr. Zehnder. If Kenji got disinherited, it wouldn't help anyone—and knowing that guy, Lance would be stuck as his full-time caretaker. The man could barely make a cup of coffee without whining!
With a groan, Lance looked at the UNO cards scattered on his bed and picked up a WILD card. His fingers toyed with it absently, memories flickering like static on an old screen. He didn't remember much about his childhood, and even less about the father who left them buried in debt.
What memory he had of the man all related to gambling. His first exposure to maths was via BlackJack, and he could faintly recall the man saying, "Cards are cards… Who cares if it's a pack of educational cards or a pack of poker cards?"
Lance's mother had disapproved of him playing with poker cards, even when he was just using them as shuriken. UNO was safe. Harmless. Fun.
Even thinking about poker as a solution made his stomach twist. But this wasn't about fun or addiction—it was about saving Kenji from a disaster.
"Tournaments…" Lance took out his phone and opened the Natural8 app again. He'd been playing freerolls on the sly, even won a couple. But $300,000? Even with every cent of Kenji's allowance, it would take at least 3 years. Could they really keep this hidden from Mr. Zehnder that long?
Kenji had suggested they play some online tournaments to try and win some money. Said they were harder to rig—less incentive for manipulation, at least on reputable sites. It was a long shot. But maybe their only shot.
A few days later, Lance invited Mila, Kenji, and Amara to his room.
"So," Mila said, flopping onto his bed, "we're really doing this? I mean, we're okay with it—but you? Your mum hates the idea of you gambling."
Lance nodded. "Let's keep her out of it for now. We don't have much time. Those guys gave Kenji 6 months – if we don't do anything, they will inform your father."
Kenji, rubbing his swollen lips, said, "Since we're playing online, she won't even notice you're gone."
Lance shot a glance at Kenji's bruised face before turning to Amara. "You did this?"
"We had a sparring session yesterday," Amara shrugged. "I was just teaching him a few… important lessons."
Lance and Mila exchanged a look. They both knew what kind of lessons those were—ones about responsibility, and consequences. But they also agreed: better Amara than Mr. Zehnder.
"We need to form a team," Lance suggested. "Higher probability of us hitting the final table."
"We can use my allowance…" Mila volunteered. "He's my brother after all."
"Aww…" Kenji beamed. "You are the best younger sister ever!"
"I'll collect the debt later on, dearest brother," Mila replied sweetly—though her eyes told a very different story.
Mila turned to Lance. "We don't need to win that much. I've got some savings set aside. With that, and both Kenji's and my allowances for the next six months, we can cover around $200,000."
Lance didn't even blink. He was used to the financial gap between himself and the siblings.
"So that leaves us with just $100,000 to win."
"I have about $10,000 saved up," Amara said. "I know that money's tight on your side, Lance, so we can use that for the buy-ins."
"Amara?" Kenji blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to chip in, not after the lecture—and the bruises.
"I might beat you halfway to hell, but you are still my boyfriend," she huffed. "This is a loan, not a gift. And if I find out that you are gambling in underground dens again, I will break all your limbs. Personally. One by one."
Kenji gulped and nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "Crystal clear…"
There was a pause. Then Mila leaned in and whispered to Lance, "Remind me never to piss her off."
"Noted," Lance muttered back, lips twitching into a grin.
They were playing for Kenji's future, for their friendship, and maybe—just maybe—for something bigger than any of them could put into words yet.
With that, Team Gambit was born.