Orphanage Gambler!

The chips stopped spinning, settling firmly on seventeen.

Conrad was the first to place his bet, accurate and without a second of hesitation.

Though the chips amounted to a mere fifty thousand in denomination, he placed them with the momentum of five million, taking a sip of milk from his glass as he did so.

Thirty-to-one odds.

The gamblers glanced at him, but no one followed his lead; most focused their bets on the simple high-low options with one-to-one payouts.

But when the dice cup was lifted, the five, six, and six were clearly visible—seventeen, an eyesore to everyone else.

Conrad tapped his index finger on the table, signaling for the payout; his fifty thousand turned into one point five million in the blink of an eye.

"Just a coincidence." A gambler who had lost his mind betting on low watched the chips change hands, venting his frustration.

Anthony stood by the second-floor railing, peering at the gambling table through a monocular. "Damn it, that multi-handed brat Nico Robin just won't come over. With her skills, she could manipulate the wins and losses easily."

"The Navy is here; it's only natural the girl wouldn't dare approach. After all, she is an eighty-million Beli wanted criminal."

The speaker was shrouded in the shadows of the corner, revealing only a head of red hair and exceptionally long, olive-toned legs.

"If there's any trouble later, I'm counting on you, Baccarat." Anthony lowered the monocular and looked toward the shadows with a doting expression. "My secret treasure."

A soft chuckle came from the shadows, and a pair of long legs stepped out from a black dress slit to the hip, followed by a woman with wavy red hair who sauntered down the stairs, swaying her hips.

She stood over two meters tall, her chest full and straining against her clothes, exuding a mature and seductive charm.

The betting continued at the table. The dealer was an expert who could control the dice using mercury-weighted dice, but beads of sweat were now forming on his forehead.

Because Conrad had hit the number again on his second try.

The one point five million he had just won was multiplied by thirty in an instant, and the chips on the table surged to forty-five million; wealth was achieved in the blink of an eye.

Issho heard the clattering of chips moving toward his side and his hands began to itch. He wanted to join the table, but he gripped his sword hilt tightly, suppressing his gambling addiction.

"Continue. Why did you stop?" Conrad tapped his chips against the table. The surrounding clamor was filtered out by his ears, his entire focus centered on the table before him.

"One moment, I need to take a call." The dealer wiped his sweat, turned his back, and picked up the receiver of the Den Den Mushi.

Anthony's voice came through. "Just proceed as normal. Don't worry about it, I have my own arrangements."

The dealer felt relieved. The wins and losses at the Twin Snake Island casino had always been a secret; they didn't technically cheat, but whenever a critical game occurred, the gamblers would always end up losing everything.

On the third round, he still threw for high, and as if by coincidence, it was seventeen again.

Conrad's bet remained untouched; the forty-five million had become one point three five billion. Chips piled up on the table in front of Conrad until money had become nothing more than a number.

But for the casino, they were already on the verge of being unable to pay out.

Chips could be infinite, but reserve funds had a limit.

The bunny girl delivering the second glass of milk carried her tray and ran into Baccarat at the pickup counter. The woman stood with her right hand on her hip, her high heels making the bunny girl—who had a decent figure herself—look like a child's doll.

Baccarat wore sunglasses like an ordinary gambler, her large gold earrings glinting.

She casually took a complimentary cigar from the tray and, following the bunny girl, puffed on it as she walked toward the dice table.

The third round of dice had already begun. The six chips in Conrad's hand remained unmoved, and he tossed out only a single fifty-thousand chip; even if he lost it all, he still had a chance to start over.

Therefore, he would still bet the entire one point three billion.

The push of such a massive amount of money weighed on the hearts of the other gamblers at the table, making them look at Conrad as if he were a god.

But this time, Conrad's push was not clean; it stopped abruptly, leaving the audience's hearts hanging in their chests.

Because Conrad turned his head to look at the wavy-haired redheaded woman behind him.

Although Baccarat was not facing him but looking at the table, the hand that seemed to be casually pushing through the crowd was about to land on his shoulder.

Conrad avoided the touch, and Baccarat didn't persist; she naturally rested her right hand on the table, one gambler away from him.

"Sir, will you be betting or not?" The dealer held the dice cup.

"You open it." Conrad didn't bet because he hadn't been paying attention, which drew a chorus of boos.

But he had no time to care; he recognized this woman.

Conrad hadn't watched many of the movies, but he had paid close attention to Gold Ship because it was related to gambling.

On that ship—the richest in the world, holding twenty percent of the world's wealth—Baccarat served as a VIP receptionist.

Her performance there was particularly eye-catching, even absurd, because the fruit she had eaten was called the—Luck-Luck Fruit.

A light touch was all it took to drain a person's luck for her own use.

It took time for Conrad to push his chips; the action couldn't be fast. And before the dice cup was opened, if he were touched by Baccarat, his luck would be absorbed.

He would become so unlucky he'd trip on a banana peel out of thin air, let alone win the bet.

The absorption of luck couldn't be proven or exposed, and since the opponent was acting as a tourist, it was even more impossible to prove the casino was cheating.

The dealer shook the dice cup again, and the gamblers placed their bets.

Baccarat placed hers as well, even sighing after she lost, her two "footballs" swaying as she hooked the eyes of the men around her.

Issho said, "You have already won quite a bit, sir. Perhaps you should be cautious and bet less, taking it slow."

He was only one step away from success; as long as he hit the high-low bet once more with that one point three billion, he would have enough for his twenty-billion ransom.

"Keep an eye on my chips; I'm going to get some air." Conrad smiled, turning toward the window ledge.

He looked up. Even though the casino was ablaze with lights and it was broad daylight outside, with the sun hanging high in the vast blue sky, the stars were naturally invisible.

"Young man, you certainly have some talent. Why not come work for me?"

Anthony stood surrounded by his bodyguards. "What's the point of being a Marine? Join the Mafia, and you can enjoy the entire West Blue—money, women, everything you could ever want! Isn't that what living is for?"

"I killed your eldest son," Conrad said, turning his head with a smile.

Anthony's eyes widened at first, but he bit down on his cigar, twirled it with his fingers, and exhaled two streams of smoke through his nose. "I warned him... If he broke the law, then I have nothing to say. That is a separate matter from what we are discussing; there is no need to conflate the two."

"The ceiling of the Mafia is far too low," Conrad said, walking confidently back toward the casino floor. "My eyes have always been set high; I need to see the heavens."

Anthony felt an inexplicable sense of panic and pulled out a nasal spray to treat his nose.

When Conrad returned to the gambling table, he passed by Fujitora and whispered into his ear.

After the dealer shook the dice cup and slammed it onto the table, the gamblers began placing their bets, but Conrad stood still, his hands resting on his stack of chips.

The dealer called for bets to be placed, then called it a second time, just before the final moment to lift the lid.

Conrad suddenly slammed both palms onto his three hundred million in chips, shoving them into the square marked "Big."

Baccarat was quick-witted, tossing her own chips into "Big" at the same time, her hands making contact with Conrad's.

Formless, intangible luck was transferred in that moment of contact.

But.

Bang!

One billion and fifty million berries crashed into the pile of chips, slammed down by gravity into the "Small" section.

Fujitora sheathed his blade an inch, the Supreme Grade sword Gambler's Fireline clicking back into its scabbard.

The words Conrad had whispered to him earlier were:

"I'm pushing three hundred million on Big; you bet one billion on Small. Understand?"

Conrad let out a sudden, ferocious roar, his voice as intimidating as an orca, his throat wide open. "Open it! What are you standing there for!"

The slick-haired dealer was so terrified his eyes nearly popped out; he sat slumped on the floor with his tongue trembling, then pulled the lid away.

Two, two, four—eight points, Small.

The casino fell into a stunned silence.

Conrad was just about to throw his head back and laugh, but his throat suddenly constricted. After coughing three times, he took a half-step back, stepped on a banana peel that had appeared from nowhere, and went flying backward.