The chips spun to a stop, landing squarely on seventeen.
Conrad was the first to bet, placing his chips with pinpoint accuracy and not a second's hesitation.
The chips were only worth a paltry fifty thousand, but he bet with the swagger of a man wagering five million, then downed the milk in his glass in one gulp.
Thirty-to-one odds.
The gamblers glanced at him, but not one followed his bet. Most of them went for the even-money bets on big or small.
But when the dice cup was opened, the result was plain as day: five, six, six—seventeen. Impossible to miss.
Conrad tapped the table with his index finger, signaling for his winnings. His fifty thousand became 1.5 million in the blink of an eye.
"It was just a fluke." A gambler, already seeing red after betting on small, watched the chips change hands and vented his frustration.
Anthony stood at the second-floor railing, looking down at the gambling table through a monocular. "Damn it, that many-armed brat Nico Robin just had to stay away. With her abilities, she could easily control who wins and loses."
"The Navy's here, so it's only natural the girl wouldn't dare come over. After all, she's a wanted criminal with an eighty-million-Beli bounty."
The speaker was shrouded in the corner's shadows. Only a head of red hair and a pair of exceptionally long, olive-toned legs could be seen.
"If anything unexpected happens, I'll be counting on you, Baccarat." Anthony lowered the monocular and looked toward the shadows with a lovestruck expression. "My secret darling."
The shadows rang with a couple of chuckles. A long leg emerged from beneath a black skirt slit up to the hipbone, followed by a red-haired woman with wavy locks. She swayed down the stairs, her hips rolling seductively.
She stood over two meters tall, yet her chest was so full it seemed ready to spill out, exuding mature sensuality.
The bets kept coming at the table. The dealer was skilled, using a mercury-loaded dice cup that was lighter on one side and heavier on the other to control the roll. But now sweat poured down his forehead.
Because Conrad had hit the right number again.
The 1.5 million he'd just won multiplied thirtyfold in an instant. The chips on the table shot up to 45 million. A fortune was made in the blink of an eye.
Issho heard the chips clattering toward him, and his hands began to itch. He was tempted to join the game, but gripped his sword hilt tightly, suppressing his gambling urge.
"Go on, then. Why'd you stop?" Conrad tapped his chips against the table. The surrounding clamor was shut out by his ears, and all his attention remained fixed on the table before him.
"Just a moment. I need to take a call." The dealer wiped his sweat, turned away, and picked up the receiver of the Den Den Mushi in his suit.
Anthony's voice came through. "Just bet as usual. Don't worry about it. I have things under control."
The dealer relaxed. The wins and losses at the Twin Snake Island casino had always been a secret. They never cheated, yet whenever a crucial game came around, the gamblers would lose everything.
On the third roll, he still bet on big, and by what seemed like a coincidence, the result was seventeen again.
Conrad's bet remained untouched. His 45 million became 1.35 billion, and chips filled the table in front of him. Money had become just a number.
But the casino was already on the verge of being unable to pay out.
Chips were unlimited, but the reserve funds weren't.
The bunny girl carrying Conrad's second glass of milk met Baccarat at the serving counter. Baccarat stood with one hand on her hip, wearing high heels that made the bunny girl—whose figure would ordinarily have been considered sexy—look like a child's doll.
Like any other gambler, Baccarat wore sunglasses, and her large golden earrings flashed in the light.
She casually took a free cigar from the tray, then walked with the bunny girl toward the dice table, puffing out smoke as they went.
The third round had already begun. Conrad held six chips in his hand and hadn't moved them. He'd only placed a single fifty-thousand chip. Even if he lost it all, he'd still have another chance.
So he'd bet the entire 1.3 billion again.
The sight of such a huge pile of money being pushed across the table made the other gamblers' hearts pound. They looked at Conrad as if he were a god.
But this time, Conrad's push wasn't smooth. He suddenly stopped, leaving the audience's hearts suspended in their chests.
Because Conrad turned around and looked at the red-haired woman behind him.
Baccarat wasn't facing him; she was looking at the table. But her hand, as if casually reaching through the crowd to squeeze in, was about to land on his shoulder.
Conrad dodged her touch, and Baccarat made no further attempt to put an arm around him. Instead, she calmly rested her right hand on the table, one gambler away from him.
"Sir, are you placing a bet or not?" The dealer stopped shaking the dice cup.
"Go ahead and open it." Conrad hadn't bet. He hadn't heard the question, drawing a chorus of boos.
But he had no time to care. He recognized that woman.
Conrad hadn't watched many of the theatrical releases, but he'd paid close attention to Gran Tesoro because it involved gambling.
On the Gold Ship, the richest vessel in the world, which held twenty percent of the world's wealth, Baccarat worked as a VIP attendant.
Her performance in it had been particularly striking—almost outrageous, in fact. The fruit she'd eaten was called the Lucky-Lucky Fruit.
With the slightest touch, she could take someone's luck for herself.
It took time for Conrad to push his chips across the table; the move couldn't be made any faster. And before the dice cup was opened, Baccarat could touch him and drain his luck.
He could end up tripping over a banana peel that came out of nowhere. Winning the bet would be out of the question.
And luck couldn't be proven or exposed. Since she was just a tourist, it would be even harder to prove the casino was cheating.
The dealer shook the dice cup again, and the gamblers placed their bets.
Baccarat placed hers too. When she lost, she even sighed, her swaying pair of round hips making a ring of men gaze at her with hearts in their eyes.
Issho said, "You've already won quite a bit. You could play it safe and bet a little less, take your time."
Success was just one step away. If he could hit either big or small once with 1.3 billion, he'd have enough to pay the two-billion ransom for his freedom.
"Keep an eye on my chips for me. I'm going to get some air." Conrad smiled and turned toward the window.
He looked up. Despite the casino's brilliant lights, it was daytime outside, with a pale blue sky and the sun high overhead. There was no way to see the stars.
"Young man, you've got some talent. Why not come work for me?"
Anthony stood behind him, surrounded by bodyguards. "What's so great about being a Marine? Join the Mafia, and you can enjoy all the riches of the West Blue. Money and beautiful women—you'll have everything you could want! Isn't enjoying life what it's all about?"
"I killed your eldest son." Conrad turned and smiled.
Anthony's eyes widened, but he bit down on his cigar and twirled it in his fingers. Two streams of smoke came from his nose as he said, "I warned him... If he broke the law, then I have nothing to say. That's separate from what we're discussing. There's no need to lump the two together."
"The Mafia's ceiling is too low." Conrad strode confidently back into the casino. "My eyes have always been set higher. I need to see the sky."
Anthony felt an inexplicable pang of anxiety and took a nasal spray from his pocket, spraying it up his nose.
When Conrad returned to the gambling table, he passed by Fujitora and quietly whispered in his ear.
After the dealer shook the dice cup and slammed it down with a clatter, the gamblers placed their bets. Conrad pushed his chips with both hands, but they didn't budge.
The dealer called, "No more bets!" He repeated it twice. Just before the final call and the cup was opened—
Conrad suddenly planted both palms against the three hundred million in chips and shoved them into the square marked "Big."
Baccarat moved just as quickly, tossing her chips onto Big at the same time. Her hands touched Conrad's.
Luck, formless and invisible, transferred in the instant of contact.
But.
BANG!
One billion fifty million crashed through a pile of chips with a thunderous clatter and slammed onto "Small."
Issho slid his sword an inch into its sheath. The Supreme Grade Sword, Gambler's Fireline, returned to its scabbard.
What Conrad had just whispered to him was:
"I'll put 300 million on Big. You put one billion on Small. Got it?"
Conrad suddenly roared, his voice as fearsome as a killer whale's. His throat opened wide as he shouted, "Open it! What are you waiting for?"
The slick-haired dealer was so frightened his eyes nearly popped out. Tongue trembling, he toppled backward to the floor and lifted the lid.
Two, two, four—eight. Small.
The casino stared in stunned silence.
Conrad was just about to throw his head back and laugh, but his throat suddenly seized up. After coughing three times, he stumbled back half a step, stepped on a banana peel that had come from nowhere, and fell flat on his back.
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