The exchange went down without a hitch. Lance felt a wave of relief wash over him as the bag of cash changed hands—one debt cleared, one weight off their shoulders. It wasn't the end, but it was progress.
As he and Kenji turned to leave the underground poker house, something made them pause. A crowd had formed near one of the tables.
A quiet intensity had settled over the room. People were no longer chatting or mingling—they were watching. All eyes were locked on a single poker table tucked near the velvet-rope section of the house. The buzz of excitement was subtle but electric, like the stillness before a storm.
Lance tilted his head. "What's going on?"
They edged closer, slipping past the cluster of spectators. The moment Lance saw the table, his eyes locked onto the young man seated at the center.
"He looks… Is he even 18 yet?" Lance murmured.
Kenji gave him a are-you-kidding look. "Bro, look at where we are. They don't care about your age."
Messy dark hair. Calm, unreadable eyes. His expression was neutral, almost bored, as if he were waiting for someone to catch up to him. Chips sat in perfect, symmetrical towers in front of him, each stack placed with surgical precision.
The room held its breath as the river card landed: 7♠️.
One of the players at the table groaned and shoved his cards into the muck without even waiting for a showdown.
The young man simply tapped the table and reached forward, dragging in the mountain of chips with a lazy grace. No celebration. No smug grin. Just quiet domination.
Someone in the crowd whispered, awestruck: "That's him. Victor Armstrong."
"Who is he?" Lance asked Kenji in a whisper.
"A poker prodigy. He has already won three APT titles since he turned legal a few months ago. But there are rumors that this kid has been playing in underground poker clubs for a few years at least."
"He must be good," Lance murmured. "The room's scared of him."
Lance watched as Victor riffled a stack of chips one-handed, not even looking down. Every movement was efficient. Quietly rehearsed. Inevitable.
Victor suddenly looked up—right at Lance.
Their eyes met, and for a split second, Lance felt something stir. Not fear. Not intimidation. Something else.
Recognition?
No.
Challenge.
Victor held the stare just long enough to make it clear: he'd seen Lance. Measured him. Then looked away, as if dismissing him entirely.
"Erm…" Kenji looked from Lance to Victor. "Have you guys met before?"
"Not that I can recall…" Lance was annoyed by the glance. What the fuck was that about?
Victor sat calm as ever—chips stacked neatly, fingers resting lightly on the felt. Around him, the table was a storm of bad decisions and boiling egos.
A new player swaggered in, tossing his duffel on the floor like he owned the place.
"Don't think I don't know who you are," he said, grinning as he slid into the seat to Victor's right. "You're the golden boy. Silent type. Card assassin. Time to see what happens when you meet someone who doesn't fold."
Victor said nothing. Just stacked his chips again, calmly.
The newcomer, Tom, and Victor soon found themselves in a heads-up hand.
Tom opened from early position. Victor, on the button, flat-called. Everyone else folded.
Flop:10♣️ 9♠️ 7♠️
Tom immediately leaned forward, tossing out a 10K bet. "Let's see if you're here to play, golden boy."
Victor called. Effortless. No change in expression.
Turn: 2♦️
Tom upped it. "Twenty thousand."
Victor called again. No reaction. Just… clarity.
Lance watched from the rail, eyes narrowing. "Dangerous board," he murmured. "He's either walking into a trap… or setting one."
River: 3♣️
Tom stared at Victor across the table, then leaned in and barked, "Fifty thousand. You want this? Earn it."
The table went still.
Victor… didn't blink. He reached for his stack, counted out 120,000, and slid it forward.
Raise.
Gasps. Phones out. Chairs shifted.
Even Tom looked rattled.
"Wait… what?" he said, blinking rapidly. "You… raised me?"
He leaned back, eyes darting to the pot, then back at Victor's face.
"Buddy, I've got you beat. I'm telling you now. This is a mistake."
Still, Victor said nothing.
After a long pause, Tom huffed and shoved the rest of his chips in.
"Call."
Victor turned over: 8♠️ 6♠️.
Flopped straight.
Tom flipped: 10♠️ 10♦️.
Top set.
Lance's heart skipped a beat.
Turn: 2♦️
River: 3♣️
No help.
Victor's straight held. He calmly pulled the mountain of chips towards him.
Tom kept talking, louder now, trying to reclaim something—respect, ego, anything.
"You don't even react. Is that it? You just stare and hope the cards line up?"
Victor finally looked at him—just for a second. Then said, calm as ever, "You lost the hand when you stopped thinking and started talking."
Tom reached over and tried to make a grab for Victor, but he was pulled back by the guards standing behind the dealer.
"We do not throw tantrums here, sir. Please leave now."
When Tom started to shout profanities, the guards just dragged him out.
He pushed back his chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor. The room was quieter now—Tom's tantrum had sucked the noise out like a vacuum.
Victor glanced around, disappointed. "There's no real challenge here either," he muttered, barely loud enough for anyone but the dealer to hear. "Cash me out."
Just as he was about to leave the table, someone spoke up.
"Let's play."
The voice wasn't loud. But it was clear. Steady.
Victor looked him over. "You want to play against me?"
Lance nodded once. "Yeah."
Kenji grabbed his arm. "Bro, what are you doing? He just wiped the floor with those guys—"
Lance didn't answer. He wasn't watching Victor's chips. He was watching his eyes.
Victor studied him in silence for a long second. When the dealer passed him a voucher for him to cash out, he pocketed it and gave a small, bitter laugh.
It was hollow. Cutting.
"I don't play with weaklings."