Chapter 306: The Gambler

September 10, 2018, 14:03.

The atmosphere inside Vivian Port Mall was lively.

Daros, having just finished a case of beer, stumbled into the restroom, reeking of alcohol, his gaze sweeping over the urinals along the wall.

The men’s urinals were a peculiar public facility: men always stood one stall apart, and if no empty spot was available, they’d rather use a private stall than stand next to another man, avoiding the unspoken competition of size. Daros was no exception.

Seeing no open urinals, Daros staggered into an unlocked private stall, unzipped his pants, and relieved himself.

After finishing, he pulled up his pants, pressed the flush button, listened to the rushing water, stepped out of the stall, and walked to the sink to wash his hands.

Strange—when he’d entered, the restroom had been packed, but in the time it took him to urinate, it was now completely empty. The long row of sinks had only his faucet running.

“Strange… don’t they wash their hands after using the restroom?” Daros muttered, smeared soap on his hands, hummed a tune while washing them clean, then placed them under the dryer.

While waiting for his hands to dry, Daros suddenly felt something was off.

“Why did the music stop?”

The mall was hosting a swimsuit show, and since it was Vivian Port’s final major public event, it had been arranged with great fanfare. Forsoles had spent heavily to bring two famous bands for live performances, making the atmosphere especially electric.

But now, the music had stopped. Daros stood at the sink, straining to listen—not just the music, but even the usual crowd noise from the mall had vanished. Only the whooshing hot air from the dryer filled the silence, making the entire world feel unnervingly still.

The eerie atmosphere made Daros shiver involuntarily; the alcohol vanished from his head. He hurried away from the sink and rushed outside the restroom—long tiled corridors stood utterly empty.

“What… happened?” Daros sprinted down the corridor and stepped outside. The empty street stretched before him.

A cargo tricycle sat parked by the roadside. No staff behind the convenience store’s cash register. At a café by the intersection, half a cup of coffee still steamed on the table, as if someone had just left. Nearby, a pub was littered with empty glasses and plates—his drinking buddies who’d been watching the swimsuit show with him were gone.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap…

In the silent world, footsteps suddenly echoed from behind in the corridor. Daros turned around, overjoyed—but the next second, his joy turned to terror.

Tap. Tap. Tap…

The empty corridor held only one tall, gaunt man, dressed in tattered rags, his skin pale, sickly gray, covered in grotesque sores. A worn, coarse burlap sack was inverted over his head, completely concealing it—no eye holes, yet he moved as if he could see, stepping steadily toward the exit.

“Y-you—who are you?” Daros cried in fear. “Is this some kind of prank? Are you filming a prank video?”

It did not answer, only continued advancing in silence.

“Fuck.” Daros’s anger flared. “This isn’t funny!”

It still said nothing, its steps unceasing. Its broad chest showed no rise or fall—not even a breath. Like a corpse.

Something was wrong. Daros stepped back two paces, raised his hand to block it, shouting: “Stop! Don’t come closer!”

The words seemed to work. The tall figure in the burlap sack halted. Daros exhaled in relief, about to ask more—when it slowly raised its right hand, in a strange gesture, pointing directly at him.

Its index and middle fingers extended outward, the other three curled together—it made a “scissors” sign toward him. Thud. Daros collapsed to the floor.

He was dead.

The street buzzed again with car engines. A tourist was taking photos at the café by the intersection. The band’s music blared through speakers. Several large men sat in the pub, drinking and chatting while watching the swimsuit show on a large screen—they were locals, Vivian Port natives with strong civic awareness; on holidays, they voluntarily avoided popular spots to make room for tourists and boost consumption.

“How long has Daros been gone? Did he drown in the restroom?” a blonde man muttered, belching.

“Maybe he got drunk and wandered into the women’s restroom and got arrested by the cops, hahaha…” The redhead across the table laughed, his lazy gaze quickly drawn to a beautiful mother passing by the door with her child—he whistled lewdly.

The young mother shot the drunken men a disgusted look, hurriedly pulling her child’s hand toward the public restroom—when the child suddenly spoke: “Mom, look, someone’s lying by the restroom door.”

The mother turned her head and saw the man’s corpse lying at the entrance. She screamed—a piercing cry that jolted the drunken men in the pub.

“Ahh—!”

At the backstage exit of Saint Gelia Opera House, a black luxury sedan waited at the end of the red carpet. A cute girl with a doll-like face, dressed in a white dress, was led by a servant across the carpet and into the car. The door slammed shut.

Outside the car, a man of average height with graying hair watched the tear glistening at the girl’s corner through the window, smiling in satisfaction. He bowed to the driver and said: “Take her to my room.”

“Yes, Mr. Dieser.” The driver nodded.

No error in one single piece of content!

Watching the car carrying the girl leave the opera house, the man known as “Mr. Dieser” turned back inside, clicking his tongue in regret: “I haven’t felt this heart-pounding excitement in years. Too bad I have an important meeting this afternoon—I’ll have to savor this delicacy properly tonight…”

He had come to Vivian Port as the representative of the Dieser family. Though the Diesers were a hereditary noble house, compared to the colossal powers hosting this gathering—the Dai family and the Fulemismiret family—they had to remain humble, cautious, and never dare to be disrespectful.

Back inside the opera house, staring at the darkened electronic screen, Dieser thought again of the Persian princess who had made the final appearance. He couldn’t help feeling regretful: “I wonder who in Box 1 was so generous…?”

The guest list for Saint Gelia Opera House was highly confidential and not disclosed to the public. Dieser had no way of knowing who had bid for the final performer.

But the thought of losing such a flawless beauty made his longing unbearable. He paced, hesitated, paced again—finally seeming to make up his mind, he sighed and called over a mid-level staff member of the opera house.

“How may I assist you?” The man in servant’s attire stepped through the curtain, speaking softly.

“Do you know who is in Box 1?” Dieser asked. “I have some questions. I’d like to speak with that gentleman privately.”

The man offered an apologetic smile: “I’m sorry, sir. We cannot disclose client information. It’s policy. If another guest asked us about yours, I’d give the same answer.”

“Understood.” Dieser sighed in resignation, showing no further irritation toward the staff—appearing remarkably reasonable.

After dismissing the servant, he muttered to himself: “So it was Mr. Dai who bought the Persian princess… He’s a client here too… Huh? That’s surprising.”

Leaving the box, Dieser walked through the empty opera corridors to the tea room beside the main entrance. It was deserted. His personal driver, Robin, was nowhere to be found.

“Strange… where’s Robin?”

(End of Chapter)