Work Text:
⚀
The casino level of Destiny buzzes with life. The sound of chips, dice, and cards blends with the smooth piano playing in the background. Every table is busy, people are chatting, laughing, and enjoying the games. Waiters slip between tables with trays full of drinks in their hands. The air carries a mix of leather, gin, expensive perfume, and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.
As he steps out of the old paternoster lift with his usual steady confidence, Jongho gives the room a measured glance and takes a slow, grounding breath. He always does this; first impressions are everything. Then he makes a mental note to remind maintenance about the filtration system. The ventilation upgrade was his idea, and it is supposedly designed to eliminate all smoke. As the entertainment director, he pays attention to the smallest details, making sure every guest enjoys their stay—whether it is their first or their umpteenth visit to Destiny.
He isn’t alone in being responsible. Along with Mingi, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung, the four of them make a perfect team. Although they oversee all levels, Mingi is fond of the nightclub floors, while Seonghwa and Wooyoung—heads of hospitality and guest experience—enjoy the variety theater and restaurant areas. Jongho’s second home is the casino. It is the perfect place for the Monster of Capitalism, as his friends often refer to him. And it is true: the only thing he loves more than singing is money.
As he starts his rounds, a waiter slows beside him, offering his usual without a word, before moving on with a genuine smile. Long Island Iced Tea: for others, it would be a dangerous choice, and, as someone once said, ‘an act of mixological atrocity favored by college students and wastrels’. But technically, Jongho still qualifies as a college student by age—and he never cared about some random snob’s opinion.
He heads toward the cashier cage—though calling it a cage would be an insult. It’s an elegant, concierge-like counter, smooth and discreet, the kind of place that makes guests forget they’re handling obscene amounts of money.
At Destiny, anyone who steps into the casino is treated like royalty. Visits are booked in advance, and during the reservation, guests choose their drink and buy-in, both of which are delivered table-side the moment they sit down.
There’s a reason Jongho insists on this kind of luxury. Living in security without luxury defined his life: he always had food on the table, but he couldn’t afford to go to a fancy restaurant. He never went on a trip abroad, got designer clothes, or entered a club like Destiny before. He always wanted a little more—and he hated that kind of life enough to make sure he would never go back to it.
The casino is the perfect place to make money.
Technically, Jongho can never play as a guest—no matter how high his position is. He can only play as the house’s representative. He cannot place personal bets, nor win or lose his own money.
But the house’s money is Destiny’s money, and Destiny’s money is also his. The house profits when guests stay longer, spend more, and return—and the casino is always full. The tables never stand empty. Private ones too. Even the VIP room—where control and monitoring are stricter than anywhere else, and the only place Jongho is allowed to play—is often booked too.
Everyone wants to win against Jongho, but rarely anyone ever could. There isn’t a game he doesn’t know. He can read people’s faces and body language well, regardless of how hard they try to conceal it. And the worst part is that he never appears unbeatable. Calm, polite, almost bored—just enough to make people believe they have a chance.
He walks slowly between the tables, finishing his drink—another appears the moment he drains the last drops—politely refusing a few invitations to play, until a loud, drunken man at one of the blackjack tables catches his attention. The mood at the table is visibly off, the kind that makes it clear everyone is just waiting for the round to end so they can leave.
Destiny features the latest generation of an AI-supported security system, which means none of the levels need to be heavily guarded. There is a security team, but they mostly monitor cameras and system alerts, intervening only when absolutely necessary. Guests are meant to feel indulged, not observed.
Jongho touches his in-ear. “Hyung…”
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.
“Yes, I’ll send Mingyu down,” the answer comes immediately. “We’ve got a situation on Mingi’s floor—the tequila night…”
“…wasn’t the best idea?” Jongho supplies.
“Exactly! But he still thinks it was—ow, a lemon wedge just hit my eye. Gotta go, Jonggie!”
“Take care, hyung.”
Jongho smiles and shakes his head as the line cuts. He turns toward the problematic table just as Mingyu appears at his side. Together, they approach the table, and the noise around it starts to thin.
The man doesn’t notice them at first. Only when Jongho rests a hand on his shoulder does he look up.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The man squints at him, a dull spark of recognition crossing his eyes as a crooked smile tugs at his mouth.
“Wha—hey! I know you!” he shouts. “You’re that singer… from the bar! What are you doing here? Wanna play? Come on, let’s play. These people are no fun.”
Jongho is almost impressed by how he manages to keep talking without stopping. Almost.
“Yes, I’m that singer,” Jongho says evenly. “But I’m also responsible for this casino and her guests. And right now, you’re disturbing them. Please let my colleague escort you out.”
Only then does the man seem to notice Mingyu. He pauses, looking up.
“Oh… damn. How did you get so huge, bro?” He laughs. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. But next time you sing, I wanna see it!”
“I’m afraid that won’t happen,” Jongho replies calmly. “We don’t offer second chances to anyone who disturbs Destiny’s peace. You’re permanently banned.”
Mingyu guides the man toward the exit without further resistance.
Jongho turns back to the table.
“My apologies for the inconvenience. Please accept this as a small compensation,” he says, just as a waiter arrives with 10,000 chips for each player, another close behind with a round of drinks.
“Please,” Jongho adds with a small smile. “Enjoy your game.”
He bows his head and turns away when the familiar, sharp pain stabs through his left knee…
⚁
Before the bar, before Destiny, he wanted to be an idol. But a knee injury—followed by an unsuccessful surgery—ended that dream quickly. An idol who couldn’t dance…
After rehabilitation, he started going to the gym. That was where he met San, and the two of them became friends almost immediately. Sometimes they ended up at the bar, drinking and doing karaoke together.
San couldn’t handle alcohol; anything stronger than a light beer knocked him out fast. Jongho always found that funny—he could outdrink almost anyone.
The karaoke nights ended when Hongjoong and Yunho bought the bar—but instead of disappearing, Jongho was asked to stay, as their live singer. San became their security guard.
As Destiny grew, so did the weight on everyone’s shoulders. Jongho sang less and less, but he still insisted on his live night once a month, down on the theatre level.
⚂
He always tries his best not to reveal his weakness to the guests. Instead of reaching for his knee, he slips a hand into his pocket and closes his fingers tight around the pair of dice he always carries with him.
He found them two years ago, when they decided to purchase the remaining levels of the building and convert them into penthouses. They had been hidden in a compartment of an old desk—one he still keeps in his apartment.
The dice are made of black obsidian. Fine cracks run along their surface, and the gold in the pips has faded with time.
Jongho doesn’t believe in magic, but since he found these little rocks, he seems to win more often than before. And he wasn’t losing frequently before that, either. But they aren’t just good luck charms; whenever Jongho touches them, something in him settles, and the pain becomes easier to ignore.
As he wonders whether it’s just a placebo effect or something more, the main door of the casino opens. Seonghwa enters in a stunning evening dress, the dramatic, sparkly train following him as he walks toward Jongho. He’s accompanied by a man who looks insanely wealthy. It’s clear from the way Seonghwa links arms with him—this is their secret sign whenever they have special guests. And as they draw closer, Jongho can see it for himself: the man is in his thirties, and the tailored suit, Swiss luxury watch, and family seal ring make it obvious—he is filthy rich.
“My dear Jongho, this gentleman would like to play, and I believe you are the only one who knows the rules. What was the name again, sir?” Seonghwa asks in his honeyed voice.
“Astragaloi,” the man answers in an incredibly deep baritone.
Jongho tries to keep his expression calm, but fails. His eyes widen in surprise.
“That is a really ancient game, sir, and the rules are…”
“You can explain them later. Only if you’re willing to play, of course,” the man interrupts, eyes cold, but he finishes the sentence with a smile.
“The rules do not allow me to play as an individual, but I’d be happy to hold a demonstration and play in the name of the house, if that suits you, sir.” Jongho returns the smile, followed by a nod.
“When do we start?” the man asks, and Jongho can hear the excitement in his tone.
“I’ll leave you, then. Enjoy the game!” Seonghwa says, leaving with the same elegance with which he arrived.
Jongho knows the rules well. Astragaloi is an ancient dice game, one of the earliest, and its rules are fairly simple—though they vary depending on who is playing and the number of players at the table. Of course, the outcome can also vary, and Jongho hopes the man doesn’t actually want to play all the way to the end.
“Before we enter the VIP room, we have to go through a security check, Mr…?” Jongho asks.
“Lee Hyuksoo,” the deep-voiced man answers.
He’s a gold mine! Soo-hyuk Industries practically owns half the country. Does Seonghwa even know who he brought here?!
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee. My name is Choi Jongho,” Jongho continues. “After we’re done with security check, and all our belongings—except our clothes—must be left in the safes, avoiding any chance of cheating. Since we’re going to play a historic game, may I suggest using these?” He pulls the dice from his pocket. “I haven’t had time to consult an archaeologist, but these dice are quite old; they’d fit perfectly for our game. And of course, before we start, these will be inspected in front of your eyes to make sure they aren’t loaded.” He hands the dice to Mr. Lee, who studies them with visible admiration.
“What an impressive pair! I’ve never seen anything like this before. They seem almost magical. I trust you, Mr. Choi, but sure, let’s make it official.” Mr. Lee says, mesmerized, before handing the dice back to Jongho.
They head toward the VIP area. It is a secluded part of the casino. Only three kinds of people can enter: executive members, those who are invited by Jongho, or those who are brave enough to play against the house.
Inside they empty their pockets and remove everything but their clothes. They pass through the security gate, and an employee places their belongings into separate safes. Jongho places the dice on a tray, and they enter the room.
The room adapts easily to whatever game is chosen; by the time they finish the security check, everything is already in place. Only the safety system remains unchanged—every movement logged, every rule enforced without exception.
They choose not to invite any spectators; only the staff remains. This time, there are no physical chips. Mr. Lee’s account is linked directly to the system, and every transaction is logged in real time. When the game ends—whether he wins or loses—the appropriate amount will automatically be transferred or deducted.
A custom gaming table waits at the center of the room, flanked by comfortable armchairs. Nearby, a smaller table holds an inspection machine. Jongho and Mr. Lee take their seats across from each other as three employees enter with them: a bartender, moving behind the bar, a waiter carrying the dice on a tray, and a table supervisor, who takes position without a word and places the dice into the machine.
“Until my colleague finishes inspecting the dice, I’ll explain the rules of the game,” Jongho says. “But before that, I must go over the rules of the casino.”
His voice is firm.
“I am playing strictly in the name of the house. I can’t place a buy-in, make a personal bet, win or lose my own money. If I win, the house wins. If I lose, the house takes the loss. Do you accept these conditions, Mr. Lee?”
“I accept,” Mr. Lee replies. “But since we’re about to play, may I suggest being less formal? Just call me Hyuk.” The warmth in his tone is unexpected.
“Very well, Hyuk,” Jongho says, allowing a small smile. “Then, please, call me Jongho.”
He continues with the rules of the game. By the time he finishes, their drinks are placed beside them, and the inspection machine emits a soft chime.
“Everything is in order, Mr. Choi,” the table supervisor says, placing the dice on the felt as he takes a seat. “You may begin.”
Hyuk’s fingers move over the tablet in front of him, and Jongho’s eyes widen as he sees the opening stake appear on the screen above them.
It’s not shock that hits him—Jongho has seen obscene sums before.
It’s recognition.
Something inside him tightens, then steadies, like a lock clicking shut.
This could be all ours, he thinks. If I play well.
Hyuk takes the dice.
“My first guess is… eight.”
They clatter across the polished table, stopping near Jongho’s end.
Seven.
“Almost,” Jongho says lightly. “Nice start.”
Not enough.
“My guess is twelve.”
He rolls.
The dice spin, settle near Hyuk’s end.
Twelve.
Yes. Easy.
“Oh?” Hyuk smiles. “Maybe luck will be on my side next time. Eight again,” he says, raising the stake even higher than before.
Is this just toy money for him? Jongho wonders, lifting his glass as the numbers rise.
The game continues.
Every missed guess from Hyuk, every roll, every sharp clatter of dice sends a thrill through Jongho he can’t explain. The cubes feel warm in his hands now, urging him to hurry.
He wants Hyuk to raise the stakes.
He wants more.
When the first quarter ends, Jongho reminds Hyuk, “You can stop or continue. The choice is yours.”
“Let’s continue.” Hyuk leans forward, smirking. “Even if I’m losing—it’s exciting, isn’t it?”
The stakes climb again.
Jongho swallows. His mouth is dry. The room feels… wrong. Too warm. Impossible—the temperature in Destiny is always perfect.
He drains his glass. His tenth tonight, and still he feels nothing except one thing:
He wants Hyuk to bet more. He wants it all.
The numbers rise, the stakes skyrocket. Jongho swallows hard; he feels his hands are slightly shaking.
He’s about to roll again when the door swings open with a crash of laughter. Mingi waltzes in, eyes bright and wild. “Jongho! You’ve gotta come up—the tequila night is lit! People are—” He stops abruptly, catching Jongho’s glare. If looks could kill…
“Mingi, how many times have I told you? You can’t just barge in when I’m playing in the VIP, especially during a closed event! Go back to the party—I don’t want to get a lemon wedge in my eye, as San did!” Jongho scolds.
“But—” Mingi starts, but it’s futile.
“No. Just go!” Jongho snaps, turning back to the table.
“Fine, you’re uninvited from the next party!” Mingi pouts, then storms out.
“My apologies,” Jongho says, followed by a facepalm. He looks at Hyuk. “Shall we continue?”
“Of course!” Hyuk smiles. “Maybe after the game,” he takes a long sip of his drink, “we can check out that so-called tequila night—if your friend lets us in.” He chuckles, tilting his hand slightly toward Jongho, signaling him to continue.
By the third quarter, Jongho knows something isn’t right.
He loves money. He always has. But never like this.
And Hyuk—Hyuk is unraveling.
There’s madness in his eyes now. His hands tremble. Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt. Still, he doesn’t stop. Not once, even when the opportunity is offered at the end of each quarter.
“Mr. Lee,” the table supervisor says carefully, breaking his silence at last. “Would you like some water?”
He turns to Jongho. “Mr. Choi, you look pale. Are you feeling well?”
Neither answers.
Jongho lifts his glass. His hand is shaking.
In the dark surface, he catches his reflection—pale skin, wide eyes, dark circles, the same unhinged stare Hyuk wears.
We should stop.
He knows it. He feels it.
He looks at Hyuk. The man has lost a fortune so far. There’s a faint glimpse of fear in his eyes.
“We… should stop,” Hyuk says, yet raises his hand, entering the numbers again.
His expression sharpens as he grabs the dice.
“Eleven.”
The roll is rough. Desperate. The dice strike the felt and tumble toward Jongho.
And suddenly—
The dice.
The realization cuts through him.
It’s the dice.
But the final quarter has begun. They can’t stop now.
He doesn’t want to touch them.
His hands close around them anyway.
Why are you fighting?
You want this.
You want all of it—and you can have it.
Just a few more rounds, says a voice in his head.
A voice that isn’t his own.
The dice move faster now. No pauses. No commentary. Numbers flashing across the screen—the highest bids Jongho has ever seen in his life. But he barely registers when it happens. His hand moves, rolls, and retrieves. Again. Again.
Hyuk stops smiling.
He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t protest. He only watches the dice with a hollow focus, pupils wide, breath shallow. Sweat gathers at his temples, darkening his collar further. The glass beside him remains untouched.
A line of text appears in the middle of the screen:
MAXIMUM MONETARY ESCALATION APPROACHING.
Jongho barely glances at it.
Hyuk’s tablet flashes red for a moment. The stakes can still rise, but not much. Not enough.
Not enough.
Jongho’s fingers hover above the table, like he could raise the stake himself.
A thought settles into his mind with terrifying ease.
He looks up.
Hyuk meets his gaze.
There is fear there. Real fear. Not the thrill of risk, not the rush of loss. Something raw, prey-like.
They both know they should stop.
“Let’s raise it,” Hyuk says, voice shaking.
The system does not respond.
“Gentlemen,” the table supervisor interrupts, voice unsteady. “The fourth quarter has ended. Mr. Lee, I’m afraid, you reached the maximum; you can not raise any more. The next round is the final one. You may stop now—or roll once more and win or lose everything you’ve staked.”
Everything.
“Every—Everything?” Hyuk asks, his voice cracks.
Jongho tilts his head slightly, considering. The dice in his hands feel almost hot, like they urge him to roll once more.
Tell him! He’s going to agree. He wants it too! the voice in his head demands.
“There’s a way,” Jongho starts slowly. The dice burn in his hands.
“The original rules allow you to bet not just money…” The dice clack softly as he turns them.
“Not just money…”
clack
“Fortune…”
clack
“Estate…”
clack
“Not money,” Hyuk whispers.
clack
Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath.
clack
Hyuk swallows. “What—”
clack
JUST SAY IT!
Jongho squeezes the dice.
“Your life.”
The words land softly.
Then—
“Fine,” Hyuk breathes. “Roll it.”
Every light in the room goes dark at once.
The text changes on the screen:
SYSTEM BREACH DETECTED.
The table supervisor stands abruptly. “Mr. Choi—”
The lights turn back on, a cold, white light; it hurts the eyes.
⚃
A few levels above, the screen in Hongjoong’s office flares red.
He doesn’t raise his voice.
He doesn’t have to.
“Emergency meeting,” he says, touching his in-ear. “In my office. Now.”
⚄
The door opens without a sound.
Yeosang steps inside, taking in everything in a single glance—the locked system, the frightened employees.
Hyuk’s pallor.
Jongho’s maddened face, almost demonic eyes.
He approaches the table.
“Jongho,” Yeosang says gently, touching his shoulder.
Jongho looks at him, slow and unfocused, as if the name barely reaches him, then turns back to the table.
“Hongjoong called an emergency meeting,” Yeosang continues, “He wants us there. Now.”
For a moment, Jongho doesn’t move.
The dice sit between his hands.
Still burning hot.
Waiting.
Then—slowly—his eyes start to flutter.
He takes a deep breath like it’s his first.
His gaze clears, breath shaking. He stands up, and on his way toward the door, he presses the dice into Yeosang’s palm without a word.
Yeosang jumps; the cubes turn immediately cold from burning hot. It creeps him out, but he puts them into his pocket and rushes out after Jongho. He glances over his shoulder to see the disbelief on the staff members’ faces, and the wrecked billionaire quietly sobbing at the table.
⚅