SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Chapter 292: Chapter 292: Chips, Smiles, and Hidden Knives

There was still daylight left when Trafalgar stepped out of the motel. Not much, but enough.

The narrow street behind him felt stagnant—dim lanterns, worn stone, the faint smell of damp wood and old fabric. Functional. Forgettable. Exactly the kind of place you slept in because it made sense, not because you wanted to.

And right now, he didn’t want to.

’I’m not tired,’ he told himself, adjusting the strap of his bag. ’And I’m definitely not in the mood to stare at a cracked ceiling.’

He had grown used to comfort in this world. Maybe too used to it. Wide rooms, clean sheets, good food. The motel was practical, yes—but it wasn’t where information flowed. It wasn’t where people talked when they had something to lose.

Trafalgar lifted his gaze.

Across the street—literally across from him—the Hotel Grandioso rose like a polished monument to excess. Stone polished to a shine, tall windows reflecting the fading daylight, banners gently swaying in the breeze. The main entrance was on the opposite side, where carriages, escorts, and well-dressed patrons came and went without pause.

Luxury and noise. Money and mouths that couldn’t stay shut.

He crossed the street at an unhurried pace, blending naturally into the flow of pedestrians.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Warm light washed over marble floors. Soft music hummed beneath layered conversations. The scent of alcohol, polished wood, and faint mana enhancements filled the air. Laughter echoed from deeper within the building.

The casino floor lay just beyond a wide set of doors.

Trafalgar passed through without pause.

Tables were already crowded. Dice clattered. Cards slid smoothly across felt. Roulette wheels spun under watchful eyes. Dealers in tailored uniforms moved with trained precision, expressions neutral and practiced.

’Hotspot confirmed,’ he thought calmly.

Places like this attracted people who talked. People who listened. People who knew things before they reached official channels.

And people who underestimated a quiet young man sitting at their table.

His fingers brushed the coin pouch at his side.

’If my family gave me money,’ he thought calmly, ’I might as well use it properly. To play... I mean, investigate.’

He scanned the room once more, eyes sharp but unassuming.

Poker tables sat slightly apart from the louder games. Faces there were attentive, calculating.

Perfect.

Trafalgar approached one of the mid-stakes tables and took an empty seat without ceremony.

Four other players were already there. Two humans. One beastkin. And one empty chair still waiting to be filled.

The dealer—a human man in a fitted black suit, brown hair slicked neatly back—nodded politely as Trafalgar placed his buy-in.

Cards were dealt.

Trafalgar leaned back slightly, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded.

’Let’s call this... reconnaissance.’

The fifth chair scraped softly against the floor.

A short, broad figure climbed into it, presence immediately noticeable despite the height difference. Thick arms. A heavy build. A beard woven into tight, deliberate braids.

Trafalgar glanced sideways—and paused.

Borin au Dvergar.

Well.

That made things interesting.

Borin turned his head at the same moment.

For half a second, the dwarf simply stared—thick brows lifting beneath the weight of his braided beard. Then a low, amused huff escaped him.

”...Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, lips curling into a crooked grin. ”Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Trafalgar blinked once.

”Likewise,” he replied evenly, studying the familiar face. ”Didn’t think you were the gambling type, Borin.”

Borin au Dvergar chuckled under his breath as the dealer finished distributing the cards. ”I’m not. But places like this have a habit of attracting the right kind of trouble.” He glanced down at his hand. ”And the right kind of people.”

Trafalgar’s eyes flicked briefly to the chips in front of him, then back to Borin.

”So,” he said, tone casual, ”what brings a Dvergar heir to Carac?”

Borin snorted. ”Same thing as you, I’d wager.” He leaned back in his chair, chair creaking faintly under his weight. ”Watching. Listening. Making sure the world doesn’t collapse without us noticing.”

That earned a faint exhale from Trafalgar—almost a laugh.

”Fair enough.”

The dealer cleared his throat softly. ”Gentlemen.”

Bets were placed.

The game began.

Only after the first round, when the rhythm of the table settled and the other players relaxed into their own calculations, did Borin speak again—lower this time.

”By the way,” Trafalgar said, voice calm as he checked his hand, ”your arrival wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Borin let out a low chuckle, beard shifting as he leaned back in his chair.

”Subtle?” he repeated. ”Aye, I suppose that depends on perspective.”

”When I came in,” Trafalgar continued evenly, ”the difference was obvious. Our ship takes a single platform. Yours took two.”

Borin’s grin widened, clearly amused.

”A small, pretty vessel,” he said casually, as if talking about a fishing boat rather than a floating fortress. ”Hard to miss.”

Trafalgar huffed softly through his nose, eyes returning to the table.

”Calling that small is an insult to half the sky.”

Borin laughed openly this time, the sound deep and genuine.

”That’s Dvergar craftsmanship for you. If we’re going to build something, we might as well do it properly.”

Borin glanced at Trafalgar’s chips, then back to his face, eyes sharp beneath thick brows.

”So,” he said, tapping the edge of the table with one finger, ”when did you arrive in Carac?”

”A few hours ago,” Trafalgar replied, tone casual. ”Just in time to watch everyone pretend this city isn’t sitting next to a battlefield.”

Borin snorted. ”Aye. Neutral cities always pretend harder than most.”

The dealer called the next round. Cards slid across the felt with practiced ease. Trafalgar checked his hand without changing expression, then placed a modest bet. Borin matched it without hesitation.

Before the next card dropped, Borin spoke again.

”Before I arrived,” he said, lowering his voice just enough, ”the Nocthar vessel was already docked.”

Trafalgar’s gaze lifted slightly. ”Already?”

”Aye. Seems they sent Selendra au Nocthar.”

Trafalgar paused for half a second—barely noticeable—then nodded once. ”Is that so.”

Borin studied him, amused. ”You met her at the last Council, didn’t you?”

”I did,” Trafalgar replied. ”Didn’t strike me as particularly dangerous.”

Borin’s laugh was quieter this time. Knowing. ”That’s because danger doesn’t always bark. Sometimes it smiles and lets you think you’re safe.”

Trafalgar tilted his head. ”Should I take that as advice?”

”You should,” Borin said easily. ”Anyone from the Eight deserves caution. Same goes for me.”

Trafalgar’s lips curved faintly. ”Then I suppose I should be careful sitting at this table.”

Borin waved a hand. ”Not with me. I told you last time—we think alike. Similar ambitions. That’s why I like you.”

The turn and river cards fell one after the other, smooth and indifferent.

For a brief moment, the table went quiet.

Not the awkward kind—this was the silence of people doing math in their heads, weighing odds, reading faces, pretending not to read faces. Chips were stacked neatly. Eyes flicked between hands and the center of the table.

Borin looked down at his cards.

Then he smiled.

Not wide. Not loud. Just a slow, knowing curve of his lips beneath the heavy braids of his beard.

”Hm,” he rumbled, fingers tapping once against the table. ”Now that’s interesting.”

He lifted his gaze, eyes briefly meeting Trafalgar’s.

Without hesitation, Borin pushed his entire stack forward.

”All in.”

The sound of chips sliding together was heavy.

One of the humans at the table sucked in a sharp breath. The beastkin player shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even the dealer’s hands paused for half a second before continuing his practiced motion.

All eyes turned to Trafalgar.

He didn’t react immediately.

He looked at the board once more. Then at Borin. Then back at his own cards.

His expression didn’t change—but something settled behind his eyes.

”So that’s how you want to play it,” he said calmly.

Trafalgar reached forward and pushed his own stack in, matching Borin’s without flourish.

”Call.”

A ripple went through the table. One player folded instantly. Another hesitated, then followed. The last shook his head and leaned back, conceding.

It was down to the two of them.

The dealer cleared the remaining cards with precise efficiency.

”Showdown.”

One by one, hands were revealed.

A pair. Two pair. A straight—earning a low murmur of appreciation.

Then Borin laid his cards down.

Strong. Very strong.

A few eyebrows lifted.

But Trafalgar was already moving.

He placed his cards on the felt.

A full house.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then the dealer nodded once.

”Full house. Winner.”

Chips slid toward Trafalgar in a steady cascade, the sound crisp and unmistakable.

Borin stared at the table for a second.

Then he burst out laughing.

A deep, booming laugh that drew glances from nearby tables.

”Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, shaking his head. ”All in—and I still walked straight into a wall.”

Trafalgar gathered the chips calmly, stacking them with practiced ease. He glanced up at Borin.

”Looks like the rounds are on me tonight.”

Borin’s grin widened.

”Aye?” he said, amused. ”Careful. You say that to a dwarf, and we’ll take it seriously.”

Trafalgar allowed himself a faint smirk.

”Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”