[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-four-of-a-kind":3,"chapter-four-of-a-kind-four-of-a-kind-chapter-66":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Four Of A Kind",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1529760,1985,"Chapter 66: [2.39] The Blue Chip of Damocles","four-of-a-kind-chapter-66",66,"\u003Cp>They worked for an hour.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The pattern was brutal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She’d get one right and feel a flash of triumph, a brief moment where the universe made sense. Then she’d get the next three wrong and watch her chip stack shrink like ice cream in July.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Isaiah didn’t gloat. He didn’t say anything mean. He just kept explaining, kept walking her through the steps, kept taking her chips with that same calm, neutral expression.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the visuals told the story.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His pile grew. Red chips stacked into towers. Organized in neat little rows like a general surveying his conquered territory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her pile shrank. Pathetic. Lonely. Like the last survivors of a massacre.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is humiliating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Worse, he started playing with them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d clack his chips together while waiting for her to work through a problem. Stack them into patterns. Roll them across his knuckles like some kind of casino dealer from a heist movie.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Another one for the house.\" He flicked a chip from her side to his after her fourth consecutive wrong answer. The chip spun across the oak surface before settling into his pile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cassidy’s grip on her pencil tightened until the plastic creaked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I will not let this happen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I will NOT let this stupid, handsome, well-dressed scholarship boy beat me at this stupid chip game.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wait. Did she just think handsome?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No. No I did not. That was a typo. A brain typo. Those exist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Focus,\" Isaiah said. \"You’re getting lost in your head.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I’m FINE.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You’ve been staring at that problem for two minutes without writing anything.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Maybe I’m thinking!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"About what? Because it’s definitely not algebra.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her face burned. She looked down at the worksheet. The numbers blurred together. Mocked her. Danced around like little demons specifically designed to ruin her life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Why can’t I DO this? Everyone else can do this. Vivienne can do this. Sabrina can do this. Even Harlow can do this, and she gets distracted by CLOUDS.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What’s wrong with me?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Hey. Look at me.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She didn’t want to look at him. Looking at him meant seeing those dark eyes and that infuriatingly patient face and those forearms that had no business being that distracting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Cassidy.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She looked up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Stop trying to see the whole problem at once,\" he said. \"You’re overwhelming yourself. Just look at the first step. Nothing else exists except the first step.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"That’s stupid advice.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"It’s stupid advice that works.\" He tapped the paper. \"First step. What do you do?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She stared at the equation. 4(x - 3) = 20.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>First step. Distribute the four.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Multiply four by both things inside the parentheses.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Good. Do it.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her pencil scratched across the paper. 4x minus 12 equals 20.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"What’s next?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Add twelve to both sides.\" Her voice came out smaller than she intended. \"4x equals 32.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"And then?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Divide by four.\" The answer materialized on her paper. \"x equals 8.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Isaiah checked his key. His eyebrow rose slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Correct.\" He pushed a chip toward her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cassidy stared at it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just a red chip. Worth one measly point. Barely a drop in the bucket compared to the mountain he’d accumulated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I earned it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They kept going. Problem after problem. Her chip stack remained pathetically small, but it stopped shrinking. She got one right. Then another. Then wrong. Then right again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The pattern wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t even close to good. But it was something.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The last problem of the night sat on the worksheet in front of her. A multi-step equation with fractions and variables and everything she hated about math condensed into a single line of mathematical torture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She’d seen this type three times tonight. Failed it three times tonight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Okay. Think. First step. Don’t look at the whole thing. Just the first step.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her pencil moved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Multiply both sides by the common denominator. Clear the fractions first. That’s what Isaiah said. Fractions are just division. Get rid of them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The numbers stopped swimming. Stayed put long enough for her to wrangle them into submission.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Isolate the variable. Combine like terms. Check your signs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Check your signs. That’s where you keep messing up. The negatives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She went back. Found the error before she made it. Fixed it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her pencil scratched out the final answer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Please be right. Please be right. Please be right.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Twelve,\" she said. Her voice came out steadier than she expected.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Isaiah looked at the answer key.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looked at her paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looked at her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The silence stretched. Cassidy’s heart hammered against her ribs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Correct.\" He reached for something new. A blue chip from a separate pile. \"This one’s worth five reds.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pushed it across the table.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cassidy caught it before it could spin off the edge. The chip was heavier than the red ones. More substantial. It sat in her palm like a tiny trophy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She looked up at Isaiah.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His expression hadn’t changed much. Still calm. Still unreadable. But his eyes...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His eyes were warm. Just a little. Like embers in a fireplace she hadn’t noticed before.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Did he... actually want me to get that right?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Same time tomorrow,\" Isaiah said, gathering the worksheets. \"We’ll work on quadratics.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I hate quadratics.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I know. That’s why we’re doing them.\" He paused, one hand on his poker chips. \"You did good tonight.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cassidy’s brain short-circuited.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I mean, you’re still losing,\" he continued, gesturing at his massive chip pile versus her pathetic handful. \"Badly. Embarrassingly, even. But you’re losing less badly than you were an hour ago. That’s progress.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Okay. There it is. The backhanded compliment. That’s more like him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But she couldn’t quite summon the usual anger. Not when she was still holding a blue chip she’d actually earned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Whatever.\" She pocketed the chip. \"Tomorrow I’m taking all of yours.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Bold statement from someone with six points.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Shut up.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Isaiah stood, tucking the velvet bag into his blazer pocket. The movement made the fabric shift across his shoulders in a way that Cassidy definitely didn’t notice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By the way,\" he said, pausing at the library doors. \"The glasses look good on you.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And then he was gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cassidy sat alone in the cavernous library, her face burning hot enough to start fires.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That doesn’t count as a compliment. That was just. An observation. A neutral observation that anyone would make. About glasses. That I hate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She pulled the blue chip from her pocket and held it up to the lamplight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just a piece of plastic. Worth five imaginary points in a game that ultimately meant nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But she’d earned it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tomorrow I’m going to destroy him.\u003C\u002Fp>",1091,"2026-06-06T06:03:59.990Z",1,"novelbin.me","87a8764ce5b5e9dd3b7389a17b75d81f75252938fbd74949a553282212b33a9d","four-of-a-kind-chapter-67","four-of-a-kind-chapter-65",251,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Ffour-of-a-kind-cover.jpg"]