Black Widow smiled slightly and said, "This is basic training in our line of work. Fury and Hill can do it too, and they're not bad at it."
Lock turned his head. Fury and Hill both gave small nods.
Hill added, "In our business, many clients frequent casinos. It's considered a required course for us."
The casino manager, standing close, pricked up his ears. What line of work are they in?
Instinctively, he thought these stunning women must be escorts, professionals who charmed men at gambling halls. But their aura—Natasha, Hill, Daisy—all stronger than most men in the room. Not the kind who sold themselves.
Lock said calmly: "In that case, it'll be easier next time."
Easier for him, yes. For the manager, it was a nightmare.
Every coin Lock dropped into a slot machine pulled the jackpot. Then, after a pause, the second coin always lost, dead spin. Jackpot, miss. Jackpot, miss. Over and over.
By the time all thirty-four coins were gone, the gold tray had stacked millions in winnings.
The manager was sweating buckets. This wasn't luck. This was wrong.
But he couldn't see how.
Dice games, card tricks—you could manipulate. Skilled hands, hidden cheats. But slot machines? Pure probability. No skill in the world could control them like this.
Casinos had faced so-called "gods of gambling" before. If a problem couldn't be solved at the table, it was solved off the table. But never—never—had he seen something like this.
Behind the casino, higher eyes were starting to take notice.
Lock, meanwhile, was unmoved.
Machines gave him glimpses of luck's interference, but the flashes were too quick, too faint. He couldn't yet grasp the mechanism.
So—if not machines, then people.
He scanned the floor and walked to a dice table.
The crowd parted immediately.
The young, glamorous dealer stepped aside with a quick bow, blouse dipping, then vanished. In her place came a middle-aged man, round-bellied, greasy, straining his shirt.
The dealer uncle bowed. "Sir, may I have your name?"
"Lock."
"Mr. Lock, welcome. It's been some time since we've had a true master here. How would you like to play?"
"I don't know dice very well. How do people usually play?"
The uncle blinked. Is he mocking me? This man had just broken machines for millions, and now claimed ignorance of dice?
Natasha leaned in, patient. "The simplest is big or small. Place chips in either zone—fifty-fifty chance."
Lock glanced down. Two large areas on the felt, for big and small. Easy odds, popular with most gamblers.
She went on, "A harder way is to bet exact points. Three dice give totals from 3 to 18. You can pick a number. Odds are higher, but the chance is low."
Lock nodded. Hard indeed—one out of sixteen. The table was marked for it, though.
Natasha added, "And then there's dice fighting."
Lock's eyes lit. "Difficult? Then I'll try that. How?"
The uncle stared. He chooses the hardest option so casually?
He explained, "Two methods. First, each of us shakes the dice and compares results. I'm the banker—if totals tie, house wins.
Second, I shake, and you guess the result. Higher odds, higher risk."
Dice fighting was a gambler's duel.
Legends said true masters could stack dice perfectly to show three ones—triple one. Even more impossible, balance three dice upright, top die on a corner, showing no number at all—zero point.
Anyone who could roll triple one was called a master.
Anyone who rolled zero points was called the God of Gamblers.
But even against gods, the casino's rule stood: ties go to the house.
Lock didn't want to roll himself. If he did, his own manipulation might drown out fortune's interference.
So he said, "You shake. I'll guess."
A wave of regret rippled through the crowd.
Guessing the banker's dice was suicide. Dealers could shift results in a thousand tiny ways—fingers, timing, airflow—just at the moment of reveal.
The uncle's eyes gleamed. "Odds are one to twenty. Place your bet."
Lock dropped a black-gold chip.
The uncle's greasy face hardened into focus. Dice cup in hand, he shook—smooth, practiced, no tricks. Then set it down.
"What number?"
Lock drew in breath. Luck stirred like a tide. I want zero points.
"Zero," he said.
The table exploded.
The uncle froze. "What did you say? Zero?"
The gamblers stared like he was insane. Betting on zero wasn't just foolish—it was suicidal. Even if the dealer had managed the impossible, zero was unstable. Any airflow when lifting the cup could topple it.
Lock knew it wasn't zero inside. That wasn't the point. He wanted to see if fortune itself would bend reality.
"That's right. Zero. Open it."
The uncle's gut twisted with unease. He was confident in his stack; he knew the dice inside. But the way this man said it—calm, absolute—made his heart falter.
He lifted the cup.
Clatter.
Gasps.
Three dice stood balanced, each on a single corner, leaning together in a triangle. Not one number showed.
Zero points.
The most impossible roll.
The uncle's jaw dropped. He looked up at the manager, eyes wide, silently screaming: I didn't shake this. I couldn't shake this.
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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