The bet

Takeshi Miyamoto sat in the corner of a dimly lit gambling hall, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the sound of clinking chips. Around him, fortunes were being made and destroyed in equal measure. For Takeshi, it was another night in the underbelly of Tokyo—a city that thrived on risk and reward.

The year was 2056, and in Japan, gambling was no longer just a vice. It was a way of life, a spectacle that captivated the nation. From local halls like this one to the grand stages of televised tournaments, gambling had become the heartbeat of society. But Takeshi wasn’t here for entertainment; he was here for survival.

“Raise,” he said, pushing a stack of chips into the center of the table. His voice was calm, but inside, his nerves were taut as a drawn wire. Across from him sat Kenzo Adror, the infamous leader of a powerful gambling syndicate. Kenzo’s reputation was as large as his frame, and his grin showed that he was enjoying the game far more than Takeshi was.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Kenzo chuckled, tossing in his own chips. “But guts don’t win games. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The dealer revealed the final card. Takeshi’s heart sank. Kenzo’s hand was unbeatable—a royal flush. The crowd erupted in cheers as Kenzo leaned back, laughing. “Tough luck, Miyamoto,” he said. “But don’t feel too bad. You gave me a good run.”

Takeshi stared at the empty space where his chips had been. Months of effort, gone in a single hand. He rose from his seat, trying to ignore the murmurs and pitiful glances from the crowd. As he walked out of the hall, the neon lights of Tokyo seemed dimmer than usual.

The next day, Takeshi sat alone in his cramped apartment. The echoes of last night’s loss replayed in his mind. He needed a way out, a second chance. That’s when the knock came.

Three sharp raps on the door. Takeshi frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. When he opened the door, he was greeted by two figures dressed in red jumpsuits. Their faces were obscured by masks, but their presence was menacing.

“Takeshi Miyamoto?” one of them asked.

“Who’s asking?” Takeshi replied, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.

Before he could react, the figures lunged. A sharp pain shot through his neck, and the world went dark.

When Takeshi woke, he found himself in an enormous, open field surrounded by high walls. Around him were hundreds of others, all wearing the same bewildered expression. In the distance, red-jumpsuited guards stood watch, their faces hidden behind identical masks.

A voice boomed from unseen speakers. “Welcome, participants. You have been chosen to compete in the Ultimate Gamble. The rules are simple: win every game, and you will walk away with five billion yen. Fail, and you face elimination.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Takeshi clenched his fists. Five billion yen? The amount was staggering, enough to change anyone’s life. But the word “elimination” hung heavy in the air, unspoken but understood. This wasn’t a game. It was life or death.

“Your first game begins now,” the voice announced. “Follow the instructions, and remember: only the strongest survive.”

As the guards began herding the participants into smaller groups, Takeshi felt a cold determination settle over him. He didn’t know who had brought him here or why, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to lose again.

He couldn’t afford to.