Gambling Rhapsody: The Villainess Rises with Fists and Cheating - Reunited in Hell, the Worst Partner

The heat of her winning streak showed no signs of cooling. Seven consecutive victories in seven days. The spectators in the Pit Arena no longer shouted Cassandra Vainford's name—they fell silent the moment she simply stepped into the arena. And after that silence came frenzy. She sat on a wooden crate in the waiting room, gazing at her battered right fist. The old scars beneath the bandages mingled with fresh bruises, tracing complex patterns like a map of battle. "[excited]Seven straight wins... Not bad." She murmured to no one in particular, narrowing her golden eyes. Just then, the waiting room door burst open. "...You came." The one who entered was a girl with black hair cut short at the shoulders. Expressionless as always, she waved a piece of parchment in her hand. Eris Noir was Cassandra's partner—a woman of few words, but her information network and knowledge of poisons made her more reliable than anyone. "What is it? Another nuisance from Renate?" "...Tag match. Today, at the Zwei Ring." Eris held out the parchment. It bore the Nachtring crest and the list of today's tag match participants. Cassandra snatched the parchment roughly and ran her eyes over it. "A tag match? I don't have any tag experience yet—" "...Opponents are a former mercenary duo. Blut and Sturm. Brute force and tricky coordination are their specialties." Eris's small finger stopped precisely on the upper part of the parchment—near the wire mesh marking the boundary between the spectator seats and the fighter assembly area. Her green pupils narrowed like needles. "...That." The tone of her voice dropped, just for an instant. Eris rarely showed emotion. That was precisely why that slight change stirred something in Cassandra. "What's wrong?" Eris didn't answer. She simply stared beyond the wire mesh. Cassandra stood and followed Eris's gaze. The Zwei Ring arena. The spectator seats. The wire mesh. Beyond it— She thought her heart had stopped. Beyond the wire mesh, in the fighter assembly area, a man leaned against the wall. Ash-blond hair swept back carelessly, blue-gray eyes gazing up at the ceiling with an air of boredom. Iron chains—the mark of a fighting slave—bound both wrists. A number tag hung from his neck. The vestiges of a man who had once been a noble barely lingered behind his refined bearing. Albert Grayson. The man who had stolen her entire fortune and annulled their engagement. The very person who had cast Cassandra into the depths of high society's scorn now stood in the same underworld, chained as a fighting slave. Every drop of blood in her body boiled. "...Albert." Her voice was so low and trembling, she barely recognized it as her own. "[serious]Wait." Eris's small hand grabbed Cassandra's wrist. But Cassandra's legs were already moving. She shook off Eris's restraint and sprinted along the wire mesh at full speed. —Thud. Her foot caught on a step in the cobblestones. She pitched forward, about to fall. (If I fall here, it'll be the humiliation of a lifetime!) She slammed her right hand against the ground and forcibly righted herself. The scar on her left cheek pulled taut. More than the pain, more than the anger—the relief that she hadn't fallen echoed strangely loud in the corner of her mind. "[angry]...She really didn't fall." From behind, she heard Eris's genuinely relieved voice. Cassandra didn't look back. She glared at the wire mesh. ◆ On the way to the fighter barracks—the Kettenhaus—Eris silently pointed at a sign. —Fighter Management Zone. Authorized Personnel Only. "[cold]...I can see it." Clenching her teeth, Cassandra approached the manager, Jörg. Jörg was an expressionless man in his forties, rumored to be a strict enforcer of the rules. "[serious]I need to speak with that fighter. I want to assess him as a potential partner for the tag match." Jörg stared at Cassandra's face in silence, then dropped his gaze to her scarred fists. "...Five minutes." "Ten." "Five." "[angry]Eight." "...Six. Go." Jörg unlocked the iron grating. Cassandra advanced down the dim corridor. The smoke from tallow lamps stung her nose. The damp air seeped deep into her lungs. Her feet stopped before the cell. Albert Grayson leaned against the iron bars, his mouth twisting as if he had been awaiting an old friend's visit. "[sarcastic]Well, well, Cassandra. That scar on your face has really settled in, hasn't it? It suits you quite nicely." That voice. That inflection. That sardonic smile. Everything was exactly as she remembered. "[angry]How dare you, shamelessly—" "Fancy meeting you here, Cassandra." —Snap. Something broke. Cassandra reached through the iron bars, intent on grabbing Albert by the scruff of his neck. At that moment, the cell lock clicked open. A management error on Jörg's part. Cassandra tumbled straight into the cell and slammed Albert against the wall. The dull thud of his back hitting the stone. "[angry]Don't screw with me!! You—you took everything from me—" Her right fist came down. A blow with all her might. —But that fist was caught in Albert's hot palm. "...Ngh." Albert's hand was far hotter than she had imagined. Even bound in a fighter's chains, power surged through his palm. The smell of sweat and rusted iron. A man who had once smelled only of perfume now reeked of blood and mud. That change sent a strange shock through Cassandra's brain. Albert's blue-gray eyes peered into Cassandra's golden ones from up close. What dwelled within them was—the same gleam of a gambling addict that she herself possessed. "...You really are beautiful, you know. Especially when you're angry." "[angry]Too close! Get away!!" Cassandra instinctively stepped back. The moment she realized her own action, intense regret washed over her. "You're the one who shoved your way in here." Albert wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and flashed a faint grin. "[serious]If you're confirming a potential partner, official procedures are required." Jörg cut in then. His voice brought Cassandra back to her senses. —Right. I'm not here to crush him. I'm here to extract information. But reason and emotion were entirely different creatures. "[angry]...Fine. I'll use this man in today's tag match. Process it that way." It was an impulsive declaration. Eris raised her voice with genuine emotion for the first time. "...Are you insane?" "Completely sane." Wiping the blood from his mouth, Albert laughed with evident amusement. "[laughing]Interesting. I accept your challenge." ◆ On the way to the Zwei Ring—the arena dedicated to tag matches—the two of them didn't close their mouths for a single second. "[angry]I can read your movements. You've always had a habit of dodging to the right." "[sarcastic]You talk as if you know everything. You're the one whose left-foot step gets shallow when you're irritated. You always turned to the right in poker too, didn't you?" "It's a fact." "[angry]Shut up!" As for Eris, she watched the two of them from a slight distance, with the eyes of someone observing laboratory animals. Her small mouth moved faintly. "...Idiots." The match began. The opponents were the former mercenary duo—Blut and Sturm. One was a giant nearly two meters tall, a brute-force warrior with countless scars carved into both arms. The other was small, combining swift movements with a dagger in a tricky fighting style. The spectator stands sweltered with the heat of eight hundred people. The betting odds were even. Right from the start, Blut roared. His massive frame charged like a cannonball. Cassandra stepped forward—to draw his attack. "[angry]Left!" "I know!" From behind, Albert shouted in that theatrical, insolently polite tone of his. "Your partner on the right—the old injury in his knee has flared up again. His right foot when he steps in—yes, 0.3 seconds too slow." Sturm's movement halted for an instant. Cassandra didn't miss that opening. She ran up a nearby wooden crate and drove a sharp kick aimed at Sturm's temple. One blow. A second strike pierced his solar plexus. "[angry]Too slow!!" "Shut up!" Blut grappled with Cassandra, trying to tear her away. Two hundred kilograms of weight bore down to crush her. But—Albert's low voice sounded right by Blut's ear. "...Large men have a high center of gravity." Reacting to those words, Cassandra twisted her body and thrust her fingers toward her opponent's eyes. —In that instant, she locked eyes with Albert for just a moment. It was something entirely different from the gaze of former fiancés. A resonance as warriors—something understood only within the arena. Cassandra kicked Blut away with brute force, and Albert drove the finishing blow into the fallen Blut's joints. The match was decided. Silence. Then, a roar of cheers. "[excited]We won!!" Cassandra thrust her right fist into the air— "That pose of yours has always been embarrassing." "[angry]Keep your unnecessary comments to yourself!!" Mid-victory pose, her fist grazed Albert's head. Explosive laughter erupted from the spectator stands. The tavern owner, Berndt, was doubled over, clutching his stomach. "[laughing]What the hell is that tag team?! The worst and the best!" ◆ After the match—the infirmary, "Wund Stube." As Cassandra received treatment for the bruising on her arm, she glanced sideways at Albert, who leaned against the wall. His left cheek was swollen—the wound from when she had slammed him against the wall earlier. "[cold]...Aren't you going to get treated?" "It can wait." "Are you an idiot?" Cassandra stood, and while the physician Marthe wasn't looking, she silently pressed her own cooling cloth against his cheek. The cool sensation touched the swollen skin. Albert's blue-gray eyes widened slightly. "...This is..." "[cold]This is a loan. Remember it." "I'll remember." Unusually, Albert said it without a trace of sarcasm. At the infirmary entrance, Eris observed the scene with an expressionless face. The moment her eyes met Cassandra's, she murmured quietly. "...Idiot." Then she turned away. Her ears were faintly red. —How many times is that now? Even as Cassandra mentally retorted, she felt a strange restlessness deep in her chest. ◆ Night—the tavern "Rusty Anchor." Seated across the table were Cassandra, Eris, and Albert. Eris directed eyes brimming with overt hostility at Albert and—rather than placing his mug of ale before him—quite clearly slammed it down. "[cold]...Your share." "Much obliged." Unperturbed, Albert ordered three plates of fried whitebait with his own chips. Cassandra let out an exasperated sigh. "Is this supposed to be a reconciliation?" "Hardly." Eris didn't touch her fried fish, just glared fixedly at the plate. "...There's no reason to poison it." "To be lectured on etiquette by a poison user—how far I've fallen." Albert ate a piece of fried whitebait in one bite. Eris looked frustrated—but ultimately, she started on her own fried fish. The crisp crunch of the batter echoed faintly through the quiet tavern. "[confused]...Why are you two getting along?" At Cassandra's bewildered murmur, the two of them opened their mouths simultaneously. "Getting along? We're hardly—" "As if that could ever happen." Their voices overlapped. Cassandra barely resisted the urge to hold her head in her hands. It was then—Albert's voice changed completely. "[serious]Regarding Lord Leonhardt." The atmosphere froze over. Cassandra's hand tightened around the chips she was holding. Eris's green eyes narrowed. "...Go on." "This was before I lost my entire fortune to gambling. When I made contact with Nachtring's loan sharks, I overheard something. The previous head of Vainford—your father—once got his hands on the organization's ledgers. That was the cause of his death." Cassandra's throat made a small, convulsive sound. Her father's death... wasn't an

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Episode 4

Name: Gambling Rhapsody: The Villainess Rises with Fists and Cheating
Author: Novelia

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