Small tiger

During the years when I ascended to the pinnacle of gambling, I was enveloped in a world where luck intertwined seamlessly with strategy. The thrill of risk was my constant companion, and every hand dealt was an opportunity to weave a tale of fortune and fate.

In those vibrant nights, the casino lights flickered like stars, each glimmer promising untold possibilities. The air was thick with the scent of anticipation and the intoxicating perfume of ambition. My every decision was calculated, and executed with precision, as I danced with the tides of chance, confident in my ability to bend them to my will.

I became known not only for my remarkable skill but also for a certain charisma that drew others to me. Players regarded me with a mix of admiration and trepidation, for I was not merely a participant in the game—I was its master. The cards whispered secrets to me, and I understood the language of the dice as if they belonged to a realm where I reigned supreme.

Yet, amidst the glamour and glory, this intoxicating world concealed its shadows. The very allure that elevated me to greatness also harboured treachery and deception. I found myself ensnared in a web woven by those who coveted my prowess, eager to see me fall from grace.

In those years, I walked a fine line between triumph and disaster, relishing every victory while remaining ever-vigilant against the unseen perils that lurked in the shadows.

The Years I Was The Gambling God

I grasped the remote and pressed the pause button. 


The blond youth turned to glare at me, his temper flaring: 


“Has your brain been trapped in the doorframe, or are you just plain stupid? Get out of here!” 


To my surprise, the young blond’s disposition was quite irritable. 


“Are you sure you won’t give it to me?” I inquired. 


He elongated his words, eyes blazing with fury. 


But no sooner had he spoken than a series of sharp thuds echoed. 


I seized a handful of his hair and violently slammed his head against the table several times. 


After only a few strikes, his brow blossomed with vivid purple bruises. 


Dazed and disoriented, he groaned repeatedly: 


“Let me go, let me go—I’ll get it for you...” 


Clutching his aching head, he eyed me warily and murmured, 


“It’s in that cabinet, I’ll fetch it for you...” 


Chapter 371: Echoes of the Past