The meal was nothing short of extravagant. The kind of dinner that would make accountants cry and financial advisors quit in frustration. The restaurant wasn’t just expensive—it was borderline ridiculous. Every detail screamed opulence, from the imported Italian marble floors to the chandelier that probably cost more than Maluck’s car.
The menu wasn’t so much a list of food as it was a declaration of wealth. There was no such thing as just “steak.” No, they served Imperial Wagyu Filet, massaged by hand, serenaded with classical music, and flown in on a private jet. The price? A casual $500 per plate.
Chloe, despite her bad ass exterior, had a soft spot for fancy food. She ordered the Butter-Poached Lobster with Beluga Caviar, a dish so decadent that the menu didn’t even list the price. If you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. The waiter had simply given Maluck a subtle nod, the universal sign for “We both know this is going to hurt, but it’ll look impressive.”
For sides, they didn’t have simple mashed potatoes. No, they had Hand-Whipped Truffle Potato Purée, which sounded fancy but was basically mashed potatoes for people with stock portfolios. The bread? Baked with gold leaf and Himalayan pink salt, because why not? Even the water was served in crystal glasses and had some story about being sourced from a glacier that no longer existed.
As they ate, Chloe looked visibly pleased, even if she made sarcastic remarks between bites. “So, what’s it like to know your bank account is currently hemorrhaging?” she teased, taking another luxurious bite of her lobster.
Maluck smirked, swirling his aged, barrel-fermented whiskey—a glass that cost more than most people’s monthly grocery bill. “I try not to think about it,” he said, taking a sip. Goddamn, that’s smooth. “Besides, I have a plan.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Does it involve selling a kidney?”
“Nah,” he said, setting his glass down. “Just selling a rare comic book and maybe a small trip to the casino. You know, responsible financial planning.”
By the time dessert arrived—a handmade chocolate soufflé with a molten gold center—Maluck was already preparing himself for the moment of financial devastation. The waiter came over with the bill, sliding it onto the table with all the solemnity of a man delivering bad news to a wealthy widow.
Maluck took a deep breath and turned it over.
$1,200.
He could hear his Visex credit card screaming in agony before he even reached for it. He punched in the tip manually, making sure to leave the waiter a solid $400. The man gave him a look of genuine appreciation, a rare thing in a place where most customers probably tipped out of obligation rather than generosity.
Chloe watched with a mix of amusement and admiration. “You really went all in, huh?” she said as they stood up to leave.
Maluck grinned, feeling slightly numb as the system popped up with a notification.
[System Task Complete] Be Arrogantly Wealthy
Valet: No bonus
Hostess: No bonus
Waiter: +20 LP
“At least my System thinks I’m a good tipper,” Maluck muttered under his breath. Chloe shot him a confused look, but he just waved it off.
They walked out of the restaurant, Maluck with significantly less money and Chloe with a smug satisfaction that only an amazing meal could provide.
“Alright, boss,” she said, stretching. “Where to next? Gonna roll your financial future on a craps table?”
Maluck smirked. “Damn right I am.”
***
Maluck walked into the casino feeling like a man with a plan—or at least, a man who was about to roll some dice and pray to whatever higher powers managed probability. But he had an edge. A beautiful, System-given edge.
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He casually touched his Bad Luck Bracelet and rubbed the Probability Charm, feeling its cool surface against his fingertips. A slight tingling sensation ran up his arm, almost like static electricity. It was subtle, but he knew what it meant. His odds had just improved by 10%.
It wasn’t an “instant win” button, but it was damn well close enough.
He cashed in his chips, took a deep breath, and sauntered over to the craps table.
Chloe, ever skeptical, followed behind, arms crossed. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “Your grand plan to financial stability is… gambling?”
“Technically, it's a strategic probability-based financial investment,” Maluck corrected.
She snorted. “Right. And I’m the queen of England.”
Maluck ignored her and placed his first bet. The dealer called for shooters. Maluck picked up the dice, feeling their weight in his hands, and rolled.
Seven. Win.
He blinked. Well, that was nice.
He rolled again.
Another seven.
The dealer gave him a look—half impressed, half suspicious. A few of the other gamblers at the table muttered amongst themselves. Maluck just smiled, stacking his winnings.
Chloe leaned in, whispering, “Okay, even I know that’s kind of weird.”
Maluck shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.”
She gave him a deadpan stare. “You’ve played craps before.”
“Intermediate beginner’s luck.”
She sighed, leaning back and watching as he kept rolling like a man possessed.
Eight. Win.
Nine. Win.
Another seven. Win.
The stack of chips in front of him grew larger and larger, and Maluck could feel that thrill of momentum. The Probability Charm wasn’t a guaranteed win, but it nudged the odds in his favor just enough that he was winning way more than losing.
By the time he was up $10,000, the pit boss had started hovering nearby.
Chloe nudged him. “Hey, uh… casino security is giving you that look.”
Maluck glanced up, catching sight of the suit-wearing overseers whispering to each other while side-eyeing him like he’d just counted cards in blackjack or hacked a slot machine.
“Yeah, I see them,” he muttered. “Don’t worry. It’s not illegal to be lucky.”
“Maybe, but there’s ‘lucky’ and then there’s whatever the hell you’re doing.”
The pit boss finally walked over, all polite smiles and barely veiled suspicion. “Sir, you’ve had quite the streak. May I ask if you’d like to cash out or perhaps enjoy a complimentary drink in our VIP lounge?”
Maluck knew exactly what that meant.
It was polite casino-speak for:
“We can’t prove you’re cheating, but we’d really like you to leave before you bankrupt us.”
He considered pushing his luck a little further, but his System-trained instincts told him it was time to walk away while he was ahead.
Chloe let out a low whistle as he cashed out a cool $15,000 and stuffed the neatly bundled cash into his pockets.
“You actually pulled it off,” she said. “I’m equal parts impressed and surprised.”
Maluck grinned. “Well, when you’ve got the right kind of luck, anything’s possible.”
Maluck decided it was time to call it a night. He had hit his $15,000 goal, and that was good enough for him.
[System Task Complete!] You hit $15,000, barely, and then got kicked out. It was polite, but still, you were kicked out.
Bonus: +5 LP
That 5 LP was a nice bonus because using the Probability Charm had cost him. Every roll of the dice had cost him LP regardless of the outcome. He had used 25 LPs in total. So with the task bonus it only cost him 20 LP for the night.
Maluck and Chloe slid into a couple of high-backed bar stools at the casino’s ritzy lounge, the kind of place where drinks came in glasses so polished they looked illegal to touch. The bar itself was a sleek, glowing masterpiece, stocked with bottles of alcohol that probably cost more than his first car.
Before Maluck could even wave down a bartender, a sharply dressed pit boss approached them with the kind of grin that only came from watching a high roller bleed money at the tables.
“Mr. Maluck, congratulations on your win tonight,” the pit boss said smoothly, nodding toward the stack of fresh bills in Maluck’s pocket. “We’d love to offer you and your lovely companion a voucher for $50 on the house. You can use it for anything on the menu. A small token of our appreciation for choosing to play here.”
Maluck smirked. Of course, they were comping his drinks. The casino knew the game—get the winners just tipsy enough to think they were invincible, then watch them march right back to the tables to lose everything.
“Well, who am I to turn down free drinks?” Maluck said, throwing a wink at Chloe.
Chloe crossed her arms. “Oh, so now you’re a VIP, huh? One hot streak and they’re rolling out the red carpet.”
“Hey, don’t be jealous,” Maluck teased. “Besides, I fully intend to enjoy my VIP privileges before they figure out I’m taking them for a ride.”
The bartender, a guy with the kind of slicked-back hair that screamed I make more in tips than a doctor, set down two extravagant cocktails in front of them. Maluck’s was some kind of bourbon-laced concoction, complete with a single oversized ice cube and an orange peel twisted into a perfect spiral. Chloe’s was a deep red drink in a crystal glass, garnished with a blackberry on a silver skewer.
She eyed it suspiciously. “This better not taste like cough syrup.”
Maluck lifted his own glass and clinked it against hers. “To absurd amounts of luck and even more absurd amounts of spending.”
Chloe smirked and took a sip. Her eyes widened slightly, and she grudgingly admitted, “Alright, that’s actually really good.”
“See? Even the universe wants me to enjoy myself tonight,” Maluck said, swirling his drink before downing a sip. Smooth. Expensive. Tasted like winning.
Chloe leaned against the bar, tapping her nails against her glass. “So, now that you’re loaded again, what’s the plan? Gonna invest in something sensible, or are we about to blow this on an even dumber adventure?”
Maluck grinned. “Oh, definitely the second option.”
***
