Chapter 93:

As they arrived at the lucky kid's machine, the air was thick with the heady scent of sweat and the low murmur of chatter. Bodies pressed in, a swarm of humanity drawn to the flashing lights and ringing bells of the slot machine's siren song.

The young man at the center of attention stood, unremarkable in appearance, with an expression like weathered wood as he gazed unseeing at the machine before him. Both of his hands were locked on the handle, only occasionally moving to feed the ravenous slot with coin after coin.

"Tsk, tsk," someone muttered, their eyes flicking to the numbers spinning in the machine's window. "His luck's better than a rabbit's foot. Just look at all those wins."

Another voice chimed in, "See? This is how you do it. Keep plugging in coins, no big score but a steady stream of little wins."

A man nearby cursed under his breath, "Hell, that's more than I make in a year. Luck's a cruel mistress, favoring the foolish and the few."

A hushed suspicion rippled through the crowd, "Think he's cheating? Those black-suited hooligans were just here. And yet, this guy's haul's bigger than theirs."

"Ha! Don't be ridiculous," came the scoffing retort. "Look over there. Folks have won even more than him."

The conversation swirled around them, a symphony of speculation and envy as people jostled for a better view. Wataru leaned in for a closer inspection of the young man's hands. They rested open, no sign of any sleight of hand or mechanical mischief.

"Got a tech to take a look?" Wataru asked, puzzled. "Can't see anything wrong with the machine. Hands are exposed, no way to hide anything."

"They came, they looked. The machine's fine. They tested it this morning." Sato replied softly.

Yet, despite his initial good fortune, the young man's luck seemed to wane as more people joined the fray. The stream of coins became a flood, an unrelenting tide of chance, and still, the jackpot eluded him.

"Son, it's time to cut your losses," a good-natured, round-bellied man said. "Your luck's run dry. Time to cash out and move on."

The young man remained deaf to the world around him, lost in the rhythm of coins clinking into the hungry slot machine. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred - the game continued in a feverish haze, as the onlookers watched with bated breath.

"Looks like his luck's run out," someone sneered, relishing the turn of fortune.

"Tsk, shush. Let's see how far he'll go," came the hushed reply. Though the sentiment was shared by all, no one dared speak it aloud.

Behind the throng, Wataru and Sato breathed a silent sigh of relief. If the young man failed to break through the ten thousand coin mark, then the matter could be laid to rest.

As the coins kept pouring in, the jackpot remained elusive, taunting the young man with each passing moment. Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred - it was as if the machine had drained every last drop of luck from him. Finally, he gave up, defeated.

In the game corner, the staff swapped his remaining coins for a game card, the only tangible thing to show for his efforts.

As he left, envious gazes followed him like a cloak, the game card clutched tightly in his hand. He headed straight for the exchange office, driven by the hope of turning his virtual winnings into a tangible prize.

And in the wake of his departure, the console he'd abandoned suddenly became the center of attention. Among the veteran players, whispers circulated that there was more to his success than mere luck. Perhaps, they speculated, the console itself was glitched or malfunctioning in some way.

Some whispered that the young man's success was due to some cunning method, a hidden strategy that others had yet to discover. And so, they scrambled to imitate him, heedless of the risks.

But for every glimmer of hope, there was an equal measure of danger. Some, in their haste to mimic the young man's playstyle, risked losing everything they had earned. It was a precarious game, a dance with fate.

Meanwhile, the 'slow-witted' young man sat before the computer, struggling to navigate the virtual marketplace. He was no computer whiz, that much was clear.

After five minutes of fumbling, he finally managed to add his chosen items to the cart. With a swipe of his card, he paid in game coins, translating his digital riches into something more tangible.

He exchanged most of his winnings for TMs, carefully selecting each one with a sense of wonder and awe. But even as he reveled in his newfound wealth, he couldn't ignore the stares of two young men, Wataru and Sato, who watched him with thinly-veiled resentment.

As he waited for his items to arrive, the tension in the air grew palpable. And when a middle-aged man finally emerged from behind the counter, carrying a box, Wataru pushed it towards the young man with a sour look.

"Here's your items, along with an anonymous bank card. There's three hundred and seventy-five thousand on it. Check it if you want," he grumbled.

But even as he spoke, the envy and jealousy in his heart could not be concealed. After all, the young man had earned more in a single day than they could in years.

The young man, Cain, nodded silently as he picked up the box, ignoring the hostile stares that followed him out of the game corner. A group of tattooed men eyed him with ill intent, whispering among themselves as he made his escape.

As he stepped out into the late afternoon sun, a smile played at the corners of his lips. This slow-witted young man was no fool. In his previous life, he'd navigated the game corners with ease, mastering the art of gaming the system.

Using the A.I. system to subtly manipulate the internal programming of the game console was child's play to him. But he knew that he couldn't win too fast, lest he attract unwanted attention. There had to be a balance between wins and losses, with the total amount of coins earned surpassing those lost.

And so, he'd bided his time, steadily accumulating his digital fortune. He knew that as long as he didn't exceed a million Pokédollars in winnings, he could avoid the scrutiny of the game corner's higher-ups. After all, this was a gambling den, a place where fortunes ebbed and flowed like the tides.

The higher-ups had their own bottom line to consider, and a few days of lower earnings were just a minor blip on their radar. As for the employees, well, they'd just have to take a hit to their bonuses.

Cain knew that he had to be careful, especially when he was nearing the million-Pokédollar threshold. To avoid attracting unwanted attention, he'd purposefully lost a few rounds, consoling the employees and leaving with a handful of TMs.

In a place like this, earning a bit of extra cash was nothing out of the ordinary. But if he treated it like an ATM and showed up every day, he'd be asking for trouble. No matter how cleverly he disguised himself, his height and build would give him away in the end.

And so, Cain was treating the game corner as nothing more than a source of supplementary income, with plans to only return after a long time.

But as he made his way out, he couldn't help but shake his head at the envious gazes that followed him. He knew that his newfound wealth would draw attention, and that some would be tempted to take risks to claim it for themselves. But he hadn't expected them to be so brazen, so quick to act.

Even before he'd left the game corner, a group of hooligans had their eyes on him, tracking him with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants.