Gambling Rhapsody: The Villainess Rises with Fists and Cheating - The Worst 48 Hours, The Best Bet

The tallow lamp's flame cast long, dark shadows across the rough wooden tables of the tavern, *The Rusted Anchor*. Though it was early morning, the air hung heavy, and everyone remained silent. Cassandra Vainford glared at the single sheet of parchment that had been slammed down before her, her burning golden eyes fixed upon it. Her fiery red ponytail swayed faintly with her anger. The cross-shaped scar on her left cheek twitched tautly. "[serious]...So, what does this mean?" Her voice was low and controlled, surprising even herself. The one who slammed a hand on the table was the tavern keeper, Berndt, his gray hair disheveled. His rugged palm, that of a former gladiator, trembled over the parchment. "Viola Desperado submitted a formal document to Nachtring headquarters through proper channels. Before her wager with you all last night." Berndt continued, his face looking as if he had bitten into a bitter bug. "The gist is this: If Cassandra cannot pay off the total remaining debt of 680 chips for Albert's gladiator-slave contract, out of her own pocket, within forty-eight hours—Viola will exercise her right of first purchase. Last night's deal was a conditional withdrawal." The atmosphere in the room froze in an instant. Albert Grayson, who had been leaning against the wall, slowly straightened up. His ash-blonde hair was carelessly disheveled, and the iron chains on his wrists clinked with a lifeless sound. His blue-gray eyes betrayed no emotion. "[sarcastic]Well, well. Six hundred and eighty chips in just forty-eight hours. They've certainly placed a high price on me." The corner of his mouth twisted into a faint smile. Without a word, Cassandra grabbed her leather pouch. She roughly overturned it onto the table. With a pathetic clatter, the octagonal brass coins—the underground currency, chips—scattered across the surface. One, two... a hundred and twenty in total. "[cold]...It's not enough. We're short by five hundred and sixty chips." Her voice trembled. "To earn 560 chips in forty-eight hours, you have no choice but to enter the Colosseum Helga's high-stakes tag-team matches consecutively and win every single one." From the corner of the table, Eris Noir stated this with her usual expressionless face. Beneath her jet-black hair, cut short at the shoulders, her needle-thin green eyes coldly traced the rows of numbers. "...And with only forty-eight hours, you can fight three matches at most. Nachtring will choose all of your opponents." "Meaning the organization is coming to crush us with a serious upset." Albert said this with amusement. "Not a bad betting rate." In that instant, Cassandra's right hand moved sharply. *Thwack!* She grabbed a tankard from the table and slammed it against Albert's head. The cloudy ale inside splashed everywhere. "[angry]Shut your mouth this early in the morning, you good-for-nothing!" "That hurts. Violence is not good." Rubbing his head, Albert was still laughing. "...Time spent fighting is also an asset." At Eris's small murmur, the two of them stopped dead in their tracks. Silence. Then, all three of them let out a deep sigh simultaneously. ◆ In the spectator stands of the Colosseum Helga, the situation took on an even more despairing hue. After Cassandra and Albert finished applying for the tag-team match and returned to *The Rusted Anchor*, Eris was nowhere to be found. A short while later, when the tavern door opened—she stood there, clutching a tattered bundle of parchments. "...What are those?" Eris didn't answer. She just silently spread the parchments out on the table. Stamped upon them, in blood-red sealing wax, was the crest of Nachtring—two intertwined serpents. "Copies of the organization's internal directives." Eris's voice was flatter than ever. "Your undefeated record has completely destabilized the arena's betting rates. Nachtring headquarters will forcibly revoke both of your fighter licenses after tomorrow's grand arena tag-team match concludes." Her small finger pointed to the very bottom line of the text. "Cassandra will be forcibly deported to the surface. Albert will be sold off to another creditor." The tavern fell utterly silent. The distant cheers from the arena felt like events from another world. Just then, Cassandra's gaze became fixed on Eris's arm. Peeking out from her cuff, a thin, red line ran across her wrist. A cut. The blood had already dried, but the skin around the wound was faintly taut. "[cold]...You did it." That was all Cassandra said. Then, she tore the sleeve of her own tunic with a violent *rip*. The sharp sound of tearing fabric echoed through the quiet tavern. "...You're overreacting." Eris murmured quietly, but she didn't shake off her arm. Without a word, Cassandra wrapped the cloth around Eris's wrist. Over and over, tightly. The seeping blood soaked into the fabric, blooming into a red flower. "[serious]When I took the information, one of the members saw my face. That's all." "That's not 'all,' is it?" Still leaning against the wall, Albert's smile vanished for the first time. He looked back and forth between the bandage on Eris's wrist and Cassandra's torn sleeve. Something flickered in his blue-gray eyes. "...Meaning danger is closing in on you as well." "Right now, that's not what matters." Eris tried to steer the conversation back on track in her usual manner. But Cassandra placed a hand on her small shoulder. "[serious]Thank you." Just one word. Eris didn't reply, but for just a brief moment, she closed her eyes. ◆ That evening. It appeared in the spectator stands of the Colosseum Helga, where the three had moved to formulate a plan. A stir ran through the crowd. Everyone held their breath and parted to make way—a white shadow was slowly descending the stairs leading to the VIP box of the grand arena. Her waist-length silver hair was styled in an intricate braided updo. Her eyes were a deep purple, like amethysts. A black tattoo, mimicking a rose vine, crept from her nape to her collarbone. The Queen of the Arena, Viola Desperado. The same pure white dress she wore last night stood out with an eerie beauty under the dim orange lights of the underground arena. Her purple eyes found the corner of the stands where Cassandra and the other two sat, narrowing with delight. "[excited]Oh my, you're all together. How convenient." Her domineering, theatrical voice echoed through the arena. Cassandra stood up. Every muscle in her body shifted into combat readiness. "[cold]What do you want?" "I have an interesting proposition." Viola fluttered the fingers of her white-gloved hand. "Tonight's tag-team match. If you win all three consecutive fights—" She paused for a dramatic beat. "I'll put in a good word for you at Nachtring headquarters. To have the order revoking your fighter licenses withdrawn." Eris's shoulder twitched. "...Unbelievable." She murmured the words, barely moving her lips. "Of course, it's not for free." Viola's purple eyes slid smoothly. Her gaze pierced into Albert. "If you lose—that man, Albert Grayson, will truly become mine forever this time. That is the condition." A wave of bloodlust shot through the air. From Cassandra's entire body, anger and fighting spirit erupted like flames. "[excited]I accep—" "Wait." Albert's hand grabbed Cassandra's arm. His eyes were more serious than she had ever seen them. "The conditions are unbalanced." He stepped forward, as if to shield Cassandra. "How do we secure a 'guarantee' for your good word? We want solid proof that you won't renege on your promise." Cassandra stopped moving for a moment. (*This guy—he stopped my rampage, from the right direction?*) Viola watched the exchange between the two with genuine, deep amusement. "[laughing]Oh my, oh my. The former fiancé has finally stepped up to protect her. How touching." "[angry]Mind your own business!" "[cold]Please don't make light of this." Their voices overlapped simultaneously. Viola burst out laughing. Her high-pitched laughter echoed through the silent grand arena. "[laughing]You two really are close! Very well. Let's sign a notarized agreement." "...Check the document's date and witness clause." Eris whispered into Cassandra's ear, barely moving her lips. A warped, three-way alliance. For the first time, it was about to mesh together on equal footing. "[excited]Bet it all! Put everything you have on the line right here!" Cassandra's golden eyes blazed with the light of a beast that has found its prey. ◆ The document was signed, and the tag-team match began. The moment she saw their first opponents standing in the sandy fighting area of the Colosseum Helga, Cassandra clicked her tongue. (*I knew they'd pull this.*) One was a giant of a man, clearly enhanced with muscle-boosting drugs—a modified fighter. His muscles were grotesquely swollen, and the veins on his neck pulsed ominously. The other was a tricky martial artist who moved with a light, flitting agility. "...They've issued an elimination order. They're coming to crush you thoroughly." She felt like she could hear Eris's overly calm analysis from the stands. The gong signaling the start of the match rang out with a *BONG*. "—Here they come!" The martial artist launched a feint. Simultaneously, the modified fighter charged. Cassandra blocked the blow—but. *BOOOOM!!!* The overwhelming weight and destructive power blasted her entire body away, right through her guard. She was sent flying. Slammed to the ground, the taste of sand and rusted-iron blood filled her mouth. (*This bastard...!*) Just as she tried to stand up. A hand was silently offered to her. Long, slender fingers. Fingers marked with the fine scars of handling cards and the calluses of a pen. It was Albert's hand. Cassandra hesitated for only a moment, and then—she grabbed it. "—Ngh." The body pulled up was yanked with far more force than she expected. She lost her balance, and the distance between them became zero. Albert's lips stopped just short of touching Cassandra's ear. "[whispers]The one on the left, his right knee. The taping is thick. That's the spot." His breath brushed her neck, sending a shiver down Cassandra's spine. "[cold]...I know. Get away from me." She murmured, but she didn't pull away. A moment of stillness. As if to break it, the two moved simultaneously. Albert completely drew the martial artist's attention with his rhetoric and psychological tactics. In that opening—. Cassandra aimed for the modified fighter's right knee and drove in a blow with every ounce of her strength. *Crunch.* Her fist sank into the old wound. The giant collapsed with a roar of agony. That was the only chance they had. With a heavy *thud*, the massive body sank into the sand. "Winners, Cassandra Vainford, Albert Grayson!" As Cassandra moved to strike the victory pose—the traditional stance of raising a right fist to the crowd—something warm suddenly enveloped her hand. In a perfectly natural motion, Albert grasped her right hand for just a moment. Without a word, just a tight squeeze. Unable to shake him off, or to squeeze back, Cassandra could only turn her face away. The frenzy of the crowd sounded distant. ◆ The infirmary, *Wund-Stube*, was filled with a uniquely heavy atmosphere, a mix of disinfectant and the smell of blood. In the small room with its twelve beds, Cassandra sat with her right shoulder exposed, having bandages wrapped around it. During the final match of the three consecutive tag-team fights, she had taken an opponent's body blow head-on and injured her right shoulder. "Stay quiet for the next three days. Though, I'm sure that's impossible for you." The attending physician, Malte—a blunt, white-haired woman in her sixties and a former military doctor—stated this flatly before promptly leaving the room. Silence. Outside the door, Eris s

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Episode 6

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

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