IC C10

Chapter 10

“It wasn’t.”

A blatant lie slipped from Siwon’s lips, but Lei Jun didn’t look convinced.

It wasn’t hard to see why. Anyone watching could have noticed how odd it was. Siwon had been bold the entire time, pushing hard with aggressive bets—yet suddenly he backed off. It was the kind of choice that screamed intention. In a game where one could very well win by going all in until the end, folding at that moment was suspicious at best.

“Why’d you do it?”

“…”

“Didn’t you care at all about those 300,000 patacas?”¹

“It wasn’t my money to begin with. And even if it were, it’s not like we’re allowed to take money from guests anyway. Why even ask that?”

“Hm…”

Lei Jun fixed his gaze upon him, his eyes foxlike—sharp enough to feel as though they saw right through him. Siwon ignored that stare completely, acting natural as he rinsed his hands at the sink, fetched water from the fridge, and drank.

Even as he loosed buttons on his stifling shirt, Lei Jun’s eyes didn’t waver. The constant, unabashed observation gnawed at him. Finally he spun around.

“What are you staring at?”

“Thinking you’re oddly… self‑restrained.”

“Self‑restrained, my ass. I just don’t want to mess around with some creep.”

He snapped back curtly, stripping the last of his work clothes. Lei Jun’s eyes lingered still, but Siwon couldn’t care less.

“That pervert with his twisted tastes… hitting on another guy with the same parts… disgusting…”

The irritation rose again mid‑sentence. He dragged his arms harshly into his loungewear.

“By the way, Xiao Wei… poker wasn’t really your first game, was it?”

Lei Jun had caught his excuse. Siwon fell silent. Beginning mid‑game, he himself had stopped trying to look like a clueless beginner anyway. Someone claiming ignorance of rules had no business beating Peng Tao repeatedly—even luck wouldn’t explain it.

“Where’d you learn?”

“…Just picked it up, watching others.”

“You play way too well for that.”

“I was lucky.”

“Really? Just luck?”

He probed openly, but Siwon had no energy left to humor him. He had done enough today—and still more loomed.

“You not eating dinner?”

“I will. Why, want to eat together?”

“No. I need to rest.”

It wasn’t an invitation but a request for space, if not an outright demand: stop staring, leave him alone. As roommates, Lei Jun had every right to remain, but he simply turned away.

“Alright. Good work today, Xiao Wei. Rest easy.”

“…You too.”

Perhaps he’d been too brusque. Lei Jun had worked just as hard today. But then, Lei Jun had thrown those uncomfortable questions at him too, so they were even.

Siwon collapsed onto his bed and pulled out his phone.

It was time for his regular Baeksa‑pa report. He had even checked transaction records more carefully than usual today, making certain of details. As per Director Park’s orders, he had to identify any patrons exchanging 10,000‑denomination chips more than a hundred times.

Four individuals fit the criteria. He memorized their names, totals, and times, later inputting it all from memory.

Taking notes was impossible. Too many eyes. CCTV everywhere. This crude method was the only safe one.

“Haa…”

The moment he hit ‘send,’ all strength drained from him. He set the phone aside, limbs slack.

Even during ten‑hour days in a kitchen’s battleground, this hadn’t happened. Yet lately he felt as heavy as wet cotton. He wasn’t aging—not at twenty‑three. It could only be stress, the root of all ailments.

Either way—the long day was finally over. Time to rest.

When he opened his eyes again, a day had already passed. He’d meant only to nap—but slipped into deep, dead sleep. Precious evening hours vanished, and he sat there blank.

“Oh, you’re awake?”

The bedroom door cracked. Lei Jun peeked in, already dressed for work, face sharp and bright as always.

“I was wondering if I needed to wake you. You sleep like a rock.”

“…Mm.”

Still dazed, Siwon sat up. It felt like he had only just come home, and yet—it was time to leave again? Utterly unfair. Worse, his head throbbed even after such a long sleep.

“Get ready, let’s head in together. I’m on evening shift too.”

“You can go ahead.”

“No need. We’re headed the same way anyway.”

Lei Jun smiled easily, his usual sociable self. But today, Siwon had no patience to mingle.

“Go on. I’ll shower. I’ll be late. You don’t want to risk being late too.”

“Guess not, then.”

Lei Jun accepted smoothly and walked out. At least he didn’t seem offended. Siwon quietly sighed before rising.

After washing, he found the room empty. Lei Jun had already gone. He dressed quickly himself, stepping into the corridor.

He wasn’t late exactly—but lacked much cushion. Normally he would have hurried. Today, he couldn’t even muster the will. So he walked at his own pace, half‑resentful: fire me if you want. He still arrived on time.

“You’re here, Xie Wei? Time for your shift?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not much today.”

His colleague handed off duty. Siwon prepared for work, then moved into place before the exchange counter. The view of the casino spread before him.

Just as his coworker said, nothing stood out. Guests gambled in garish light, the atmosphere bright yet curiously dry, just like always.

Then—a familiar face. At a table, resting between games, sat Lei Jun.

Lei Jun noticed him too. His smile curved clear as water, luminously fresh. For Siwon, it felt almost like stepping into a forest glade.

The kindness—after Siwon’s earlier brusqueness—pricked him with guilt. He raised a hand sheepishly in greeting.

Lei Jun waved slowly back. Heat flickered awkwardly at Siwon’s nape.

He looked unusually cheerful. Had he scored a big win off some patron?

Not that wins or losses mattered for a dealer. For them, what counted was how much and how long patrons played.

So maybe it was simply a good day. But just as Siwon considered this, a shadow fell over his counter.

“Hello.”

“I need chips. Twenty‑five tens.”

“Yes, please provide your ID.”

The man—Zhang Yuren—handed over his card. The exchange was word‑for‑word the same as always. Taking his cash and exchanging it for the chips, Siwon felt trapped in a loop of repeated time.

He had done 250,000 into tens yesterday. And the day before. And five days before. Always demanding tens.

Perhaps just a personal habit. Yet with Baeksa‑pa’s orders in mind, the pattern gnawed at him. His instincts whispered there was something dirty beneath it.

“Here is 250,000 patacas, exchanged into twenty‑five 10,000 chips. Please verify.”

He presented the chips politely. Zhang gathered them carelessly and left. Siwon’s eyes clung to his back.

The man paused as if pondering, glanced around, then moved toward Lei Jun’s table.

Siwon saw him rise to meet the patron. Though obstacles hid his face, Siwon could picture it clearly—that faint smile Lei Jun always wore.

They sat together. Cards spread. The game began—perhaps poker again, perhaps baccarat.

Siwon’s gaze narrowed. But before he could observe further, another guest approached his counter.

“Exchange. 100,000 patacas.”

“Yes, may I have your ID?”

He shelved all else, resuming work. Yet in the spaces between, his eyes still flickered—back toward Lei Jun and Zhang Yuren.

Footnotes

1. 300,000 patacas: About 36,000 USD. For scale, this was nearly unimaginable money for Siwon, who measured it against his working‑class wages in Korea.