#685 Six Hundred and Fifty-Six Beam Jumping Clown

Renly's instincts were on high alert—there were ghosts in this game.

But he couldn't put his finger on the trick. The time was limited, and the game unfamiliar. Beer pong was a favorite among American college students, and there were similar party games in Britain. But Renly had only just met Valentino, and they had yet to figure each other out.

A party is a party, though, and the antics that came with it were predictable. Tricks, if any, would likely be simple pranks.

"Jessica," Renly called out, "Could you referee for us? Stand on the other side of the table and witness the game?"

Renly was trying to steer the attention away from the unknown tricks, and by involving Jessica, he hoped to draw everyone in. He spread his hands, scanning the crowd. "I hope Jessica will be my goddess of victory and not Valentino's—otherwise, I might be in trouble today."

Renly understood the party dynamic perfectly and threw out the perfect bait—the goddess of victory.

"Hoohoho," the crowd began chanting, "Jessica! Jessica! Jessica!"

Jessica, clearly taken aback, glared at Renly as if to ask, What are you doing? But she didn't refuse. With a flourish, she spun around, her skirt billowing out, revealing her small, delicate ankles, prompting even louder cheers.

After a brief pause, Jessica turned to Valentino. "I'm not sure if this gentleman will mind? Maybe I'll give victory to that smooth talker behind him instead?"

"Jessica!" The crowd erupted, loving the drama. The cheers grew louder.

Valentino, with a grin, feigned generosity. "Who knows? Maybe Miss Chastain will become my muse after all?"

The words were crude, but Valentino attempted to mask his disrespect with a false sense of elegance. Jessica, unfazed, responded with a bright smile, "Better to obey than to refuse." She turned toward Renly and mouthed, "Ow me once." Renly chuckled in response.

Jessica took her place on the other side of the table, fully assuming her role as the "Goddess of Victory." Her voice rang out, "Let the game begin. Who's going first?" Her gaze moved between Renly and Valentino.

With his plan thwarted, Valentino gritted his teeth, frustrated, but determined. "I'll go first!" he declared.

Valentino was slightly taller than Renly by about two inches (5 centimeters), and with his imposing frame, he took a step forward, flashing a set of white, gleaming teeth. "Would you mind?"

His eyes were filled with disdain, his expression one of superiority. It was clear he was trying to reclaim his confidence after losing face earlier by getting upset over Paul. But Renly wasn't the one to back down.

Renly didn't respond immediately but instead extended his hand in a polite gesture of invitation, showing the elegance of a true host. The calm, graceful smile that followed defused all of Valentino's aggression, leaving his anger dissipating into nothingness.

Valentino was left speechless for a moment, his chest tightening with frustration. But he quickly recovered, glaring at Renly with fire in his eyes. "Get ready to drown in whisky!" he threatened, his tone full of venom. His eyes, like copper bells, seemed to slam into Renly like a fist.

Before Renly could respond, Valentino turned around and approached the ping pong table, as if stepping into a boxing ring. He raised his hands high, rallying the crowd, as if the match was already won.

Renly wasn't surprised by Valentino's foul words—he was used to people who lost their composure quickly—but he was surprised by Valentino's impulsive behavior. He didn't give Renly a chance to engage, but had already thrown himself into the game.

Renly began pondering: was Valentino just naïve enough to be friends with Van, and might they be truly close? A quick mental check of Van's Hollywood connections didn't reveal any close friends—aside from the "Fast and Furious" crew, and even then, their friendship seemed more like a mutual publicity stunt.

Renly quickly refocused. Whatever Valentino's situation was, his best chance lay in his own three shots.

Valentino's earlier bravado had been a mask, but now, standing at the ping pong table, he had settled into a serious focus. It was clear that this was no casual game to him—he was treating it like an NBA final.

Valentino picked up his first ball and tossed it into the air. It landed in the cup, only to bounce right back out. A collective gasp swept across the room.

The crowd began howling with disappointment, but Valentino remained focused, ignoring the noise around him. His muscles tensed, and his face showed the signs of inner anxiety.

A teasing voice from Paul broke through his concentration. "Seems like you guys aren't having much luck today. Everything we sink just pops right out."

An idea sparked in Renly's mind. Beer pong wasn't just about precision—it was about the right balance of power. The cups were shallow, making it easy for the ball to bounce out if it didn't hit the sweet spot. He watched intently, thinking that both Paul and Valentino might have been too tense, affecting their throws.

"Paul, how many did you make in three rounds?" Renly called out, trying to confirm his theory.

"Five," Paul replied with a chuckle. "Out of thirty tries, that's pretty bad. Today's just not our day."

The tension in the room built. Valentino grabbed his second ball and took aim. He threw it—and it landed perfectly in the cup. Before the cheers could rise, though, the ball bounced out, rolling into the pool.

Disappointment rippled through the crowd. They were expecting drama, not a premature end to the game. Valentino's frustration was palpable.

His hand gripped his hair in vexation, pulling at the strands in frustration. His hairstyle, a stiff mass of hairspray, didn't budge, and the sight only added to the absurdity of the moment.

Renly couldn't help but think of Astro Boy in that moment.

"Renly, feeling confident?" Paul clapped him on the shoulder with a smile. "Don't worry, if you lose, I'll drink half of it for you."

Renly chuckled but shook his head. "You'd better not get too cocky. Don't end up in the pool before the game's even over."

Valentino, now back to his cocky self, stepped aside, his chin held high as if victory was already in his grasp. After all, Renly only had three shots—slim odds for a comeback.

The odds were stacked against Renly, but he wasn't fazed. He looked at Valentino, maintaining his calm composure. "Looks like I'm in a tough spot. But isn't that the beauty of sports? The outcome is never certain until the very last second. How about this—what if I double the stakes? Wouldn't that make things more interesting?"

Valentino's first thought was that Renly had lost his mind. Renly's calm demeanor made him feel small in comparison. The weight of the situation settled on Valentino's shoulders, and for the first time, he felt the pressure of Renly's gaze.

The crowd was buzzing with excitement, and Jessica, watching in disbelief, was caught between amusement and worry.

Valentino hesitated, realizing the challenge before him. "Forget it," he muttered, his voice softer than expected. "Paul's had too much to drink already. If we double the stakes, someone might end up in an ambulance."

The crowd erupted in boos, mocking Valentino's retreat. His companions also cast judgmental glances his way.

But only Valentino knew the true weight of the pressure he was feeling under Renly's steady gaze. If only Fan were here, he thought, feeling utterly outmatched.