The words fell heavily on the table.
Not like a sudden blow.Not like a slap.
But like a weight slowly settling on the chest, refusing to leave.
"I won't follow you anymore. I'll have to eliminate you."
Ren was still looking at Haruto.
But he no longer saw the smiling boy from earlier.
The jokes were gone.
The stupid comments about girls had vanished. Even that relaxed laughter—the one that made everything feel unserious, almost casual—had disappeared.
The air between them changed temperature.
Something had shifted long before Yamamoto fell.
Something that had nothing to do with this table.
What happened to you, Haruto? Ren thought.
For a brief second, his mind tried to connect the dots.
Was it Yamamoto's elimination?The guards?The atmosphere?The masked organizer?
No.
That wasn't it.
This wasn't a reaction.
This was revelation.
Ren tightened his jaw.
No. Don't empathize.If I start looking for reasons, I'll start hesitating.
And hesitation gets you cut open here.
But memory didn't ask permission.
It came anyway.
High School
Haruto Kuroda had been, without question, the dream of every high school boy.
Popular.Good-looking.Athletic.
Not the top of the class. Never the academic type.
But none of that mattered.
He didn't need grades.
He had presence.
On the soccer field, he moved like someone who understood momentum instinctively. Not the strongest player. Not the most technical.
But when it mattered—
The ball somehow found him.
Teachers tolerated him because he wasn't disruptive.Students admired him because he wasn't arrogant.Girls gravitated toward him because he didn't chase them.
Ren remembered one moment clearly.
A long hallway. Fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. The sharp scent of cleaning solution lingering after afternoon maintenance.
He had been walking toward the stairwell when he overheard two girls whispering.
"God, that night with Haruto… the three of us… it was insane."
"Shut up, don't say it so loud! But yeah… I still can't believe we did it."
Laughter.
Nervous. Excited.
Haruto had walked past them with his hands in his pockets, smile faint, posture relaxed. Not bragging. Not acknowledging.
As if the world simply arranged itself around him.
He was the dream, Ren thought now.
No money.Bad grades.Uncertain future.
But at that age, none of that mattered.
Charisma was currency.
And Haruto was rich.
The House
But what happened when the door closed?
"Haruto! Wake up! You'll be late!"
His mother's voice—Aiko Kuroda—pounded against his bedroom door.
"Haruto, please, wake up!"
"Moooom…"
"I don't want to go today…"
His voice was lazy. Almost childish.
But when the door opened—
The laziness vanished.
Aiko stepped inside, slightly out of breath. She was dressed simply. Too simply. Clothes worn but clean. Her hands rougher than they should have been.
Her eyes were tired.
But gentle.
Haruto stood in front of the mirror.
Adjusting his hair.
Every movement deliberate.
He practiced the smile without realizing he was practicing.
It had to be effortless.
It had to look natural.
"Haha, I'm joking, Mom. I'm leaving now."
Aiko stopped.
She looked at him a second longer than usual.
He's a good boy.
She believed that completely.
Haruto leaned forward and kissed her forehead lightly.
"Take care, okay?"
"Always," he replied with that same perfect smile.
He grabbed his backpack and went downstairs.
And there—
Reality.
Masaru Kuroda lay sprawled across the living room floor.
Mouth open.A faint trail of drool.Empty bottles scattered everywhere.
The smell hit first.
Then the sound.
Snoring.
Loud enough to vibrate through the thin walls.
Haruto's jaw tightened.
His fist clenched slowly.
Again.
Again like this.
A bottle rolled when he stepped forward. It hit the table leg and shattered.
Masaru stirred, muttered something incoherent, then went still again.
Aiko appeared at the doorway behind him.
For half a second, her face hardened.
Then she smiled.
"Go to school, Haruto. We love you."
Her voice trembled just enough to be noticeable.
Haruto didn't respond immediately.
How do you endure this, Mom?
How can you smile every day?
He didn't ask.
He never asked.
He left.
Outside
Cold air hit his lungs sharply.
He lit a cigarette.
Inhaled deeply.
Held it longer than necessary.
I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.
The money he won from small poker games at school barely mattered.
A few thousand yen here and there.
Enough for snacks.
Not enough for change.
Mom can't carry everything alone.
And that bastard…
He exhaled smoke slowly.
Drinks. Sleeps. Yells.
That's all.
He wasn't angry.
Not explosive.
Just tired.
Tired of pretending.
"Harutoooo!"
A voice shattered his thoughts.
He turned instinctively—body already tensed for confrontation.
"What—?!"
"Hiiii!"
Anika.
Long reddish hair. Bright eyes. Always organized. Always prepared.
Top of the class.
The kind of girl teachers praised publicly.
The kind of girl who shouldn't have been interested in someone like him.
"How long have you been waiting?" he asked.
"Long enough," she smiled. "Let's skip first period."
He frowned slightly.
"Anika… is everything okay?"
"My parents are gone," she said quietly. "We have two hours."
Her tone carried something beneath it.
Need.
Expectation.
"We haven't seen each other in so long…"
Haruto hesitated.
He did want to say no.
He knew he should.
"I don't know if—"
She bent down suddenly.
Short skirt shifting.
"Ah… I dropped my phone."
He closed his eyes briefly.
Exhaled.
"…Okay. Let's go."
The Apartment
The door barely had time to close.
Anika kissed him urgently.
Hands moving quickly.
Breathing uneven.
She wasn't the calm, composed student here.
She was something else.
Chaotic.
Hungry.
Clinging.
Her fingers tightened against his shirt as if anchoring herself. Her breathing broke into short gasps. She whispered his name too many times.
For her, everything was intensity.
Release.
Validation.
For him—
It felt distant.
Muted.
He responded.Moved.Touched.
But it felt like watching someone else do it.
Her reactions reached him like sound through water.
Distorted.
Far away.
When it ended, Haruto lay on his back staring at the ceiling.
Blank.
Anika pressed close, smiling softly.
"That was… really amazing," she whispered. "Let's go again."
He turned his head slightly.
"Anika… do you feel something for me?"
She froze.
"I—I…"
Her mind scrambled.
Do I?
Do I like him?
Or do I like being wanted by him?
He watched her struggle.
"Or do you just like sneaking around?" he asked quietly."Bathrooms. Empty classrooms. Your place."
Her cheeks flushed.
Silence.
He understood.
I see.
He stood up.
Dressed.
"Haruto, wait—"
"No."
No anger.
No sadness.
Just absence.
He left.
And that day—
He didn't go back to school.
Not the next day either.
Not the next week.
Haruto disappeared.
That's what everyone said.
A ghost.
Present
Now—
Ren looked at him sitting across the table.
Back straight.
Eyes steady.
No smile.
No mask.
He wasn't hollow.
He was deliberate.
So that's it, Ren thought.
You smiled so much that you burned it away.
Haruto met his gaze.
No hostility.
No warmth either.
Just clarity.
"Let's play," he said calmly. "This time… for real."
Ren felt a shiver move down his spine.
Not fear.
Respect.
Because now he understood something crucial.
Haruto's old "luck" hadn't been randomness.
It had been detachment.
He never chased the result.
He never needed the outcome.
That made him dangerous.
Poker isn't just a game, Ren realized.
For some people, it's the only place where emotions are clean.
Where winning means something measurable.
Where reading someone isn't manipulation—it's survival.
Haruto leaned forward slightly.
His fingers rested calmly on the table.
No twitching.
No fidgeting.
The easygoing idiot was gone.
In his place—
Someone who had decided to stop pretending.
Ren inhaled slowly.
This isn't about nostalgia anymore.
This isn't about high school.
This is about who we became after.
The dealer shuffled.
The sound was crisp.
Final.
Ren's pulse steadied.
Alright.
No more memory.
No more empathy.
Only clarity.
When the cards would turn—
They wouldn't just be hands.
They would be declarations.
Of who survives.
Of who changes.
Of who was always stronger beneath the mask.
And for the first time since sitting down at this table—
Ren wasn't trying to control Haruto.
He was trying to understand him.
And that made the duel infinitely more dangerous.