My SSS-Rank Kingdom-Building System

Leon sat at the blackjack table, fingers drumming lightly on the edge of his stack of chips. This was it. The final hand. He could feel the weight of every decision. The flicker of neon lights from the casino flickered in his peripheral vision, but all he saw was the table, the dealer's hands moving, the cards slipping out of the deck with smooth precision. The hum of the casino felt distant now—nothing but white noise in his ears.

"All in," he muttered, his voice barely louder than the shuffle of cards, as he pushed the last of his chips into the center of the table.

The dealer didn't flinch. No emotion, just mechanical. He dealt the cards with practiced grace, his movements as cold as the polished surface of the table. Leon's eyes locked on his hand as the cards flipped over: a pair of 10s. Twenty. Perfect. He leaned back slightly, confidence settling into his chest. This was it. The dealer couldn't beat that.

The dealer flipped over his card. A 7. Leon's stomach tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. Not yet. He still had the edge. He glanced at the dealer's second card—a 5. Twelve. The dealer would have to draw again. This was his chance. He was going to win.

The dealer's hand quivered slightly as another card was drawn. A 9. The dealer's total was 21.

Leon stared blankly at the table, watching his chips disappear as the dealer stacked them up with a cold, clinical detachment. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak for a moment. The dealer didn't even look at him as he said, "Better luck next time."

The words didn't land. Leon's mind was already in freefall, calculating, re-calculating, wondering where it all went wrong. Everything he had. Gone.

"No..." His voice barely made it out. The weight of loss hit him slow, like a tide rising to drown him, but it wasn't there yet. He couldn't feel it fully. Not yet.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the tile as he pushed it back. His hands felt numb as he stuffed them into his jacket pockets, his thoughts swirling in a haze. It was like the air around him had frozen, but the cold didn't register. His focus was still on the table, the last remnants of his money slipping away.

The night outside hit him like a wall. The streetlights cast sharp shadows against the alleyways, and the chill of the wind cut through him, but he didn't feel it. His mind was still caught on the game. The loss. It was only a matter of time before it sank in.

That's when he saw her.

Emily.

She was walking fast, her head down, steps too quick. Her back was stiff. The way she carried herself didn't feel right. Something was off.

Leon narrowed his eyes. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stop looking at her. Then, just as his thoughts sharpened, he saw them. Two men. Not too close, but trailing her. The way they moved—too deliberate, too much tension.

He looked back at her. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, something shifted. Recognition. And then, almost imperceptibly, anxiety.

"Leon?" she said, slowing her pace, stepping toward him. There was hesitation in her voice.

Leon stepped forward instinctively, his gaze flicking to the men. They paused, not saying a word but making their intentions clear. The taller one, his face rough with stubble, sized Leon up, then stepped forward.

"Hey, Emily," Leon said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "You alright?"

She glanced at the two men, her posture tightening. "I'm fine. It's nothing," she said quickly, her voice tinged with unease.

Leon's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't look like nothing."

The taller man took a step forward, his hand twitching to his belt. Without a word, he pulled a knife from his waistband, flicking it open with a soft, metallic click. Leon's pulse barely quickened.

"You really wanna make this your business?" the man growled, eyes hard and calculating.

Leon didn't flinch. His gaze stayed locked on the knife for a long moment before meeting the man's eyes. "Move that knife," he said, his voice low but steady, "or you're going to have a bigger problem."