Holding the lottery ticket carefully in his hand, Mario entered the building.

  This time, it wasn't as quiet as before.

  Muted noise pressed in from every direction—shoes scraping against stone floors, coins clinking, people crowding around the results board with their eyes locked onto the numbers. Others lined up behind the counters, forming restless, uneven queues that shifted by inches, and never fully still.

  He glanced at the line briefly before walking at a measured pace toward the crowded people at the results board.

  Mario stopped, then looked at the results board.

  'As expected... The winning number is correct.' He thought with the same neutral expression on his face, as if nothing had happened.

  While he was looking at the board, a familiar figure caught the edge of his vision.

  His gaze shifted toward them.

  It was a man standing apart from the crowd.

  Middle-aged. Rugged face. Weathered skin. Deep-etched lines. Strands of white threaded through dark, unkempt hair. His clothes were simple, worn thin at the edges, permanently stained by labor.

  Regret was written across the man's face. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white while he stared at the results board without moving.

  After studying him carefully for a moment, Mario recognized the man. 'It was him...'

  It was the one who was supposed to die after winning the lottery—either at the hands of some gang, as rumors had it, or for some other reason he didn't know.

  Looking at him, Mario thought about the simulation.

  His simulated self hadn't given the incident much thought as it didn't concern him. But now, finding himself in the man's position, he couldn't help but dwell on it.

  Mario's gaze lingered for a long moment before he finally let out a quiet breath, then set the thought aside, and looked away.

  "We'll see…" He muttered and stepped aside to join the line.

  Time passed.

  When his turn came, he took the paper and pen from the counter.

  His fingers moved slowly as he wrote down a random set of numbers, his attention remaining on the people in the hall. 'There are still people around…'

  He handed over the paper, paid, and received his ticket.

  But Mario didn't leave.

  Instead, he stepped away from the counter and drifted back toward the results board, positioning himself where he could watch both exits and catch reflections in the polished surfaces nearby.

  He waited, letting people gradually filter out.

  While he waited, he kept his eyes on the board, brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed thin—as if calculating which numbers might win next.

  ***

  A laptop rested on a polished table.

  The lottery hall was displayed on its screen in clear detail.

  A pair of clear blue eyes watched intently.

  The young man leaned back slightly in his chair, one elbow resting on the armrest, fingers idly twirling a short, round-topped silver piece.

  His expression held relaxed curiosity—as if he were watching something mildly entertaining.

  "He's quite vigilant," Arthur muttered, a faint thread of amusement in his voice. "Don't you think so, Kyle?"

  He turned slightly toward the old man standing beside him.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Yes, Young Master," Kyle replied respectfully.

  Then, almost absently, he added, "I wonder if he's simply lucky… or...?"

  The sentence trailed off.

  Arthur shook his head, setting the thought aside for now, and continued watching.

  ***

  After the hall had emptied, Mario returned to the counter and handed over his winning ticket.

  The woman glanced at it with professional indifference and entered the information into the machine.

  The moment it was confirmed, her fingers paused before she looked at Mario.

  "Sir," she said, with a new note of respect in her voice, "please follow me. Someone would like to meet you."

  Mario wasn't surprised as he had already known this from the simulation.

  What he didn't know was how the meeting with Arthur would unfold, or whether it would follow the same path.

  Still, he followed the woman into an elevator.

  Without explanation, she pressed a button. The doors closed with a soft mechanical sigh, and the elevator began to rise.

  Silence pressed in.

  The hum of machinery filled the enclosed space.

  A few minutes later, a quiet ~ding~ sounded as the doors opened.

  The woman stepped out first while he followed behind her.

  They walked down a long hallway, the carpet muffling their footsteps. The walls were clean, unadorned, deliberately neutral. The woman stopped in front of a door.

  She knocked once.

  Then stepped aside.

  "Enter."

  The voice from inside was calm.

  She opened the door, bowed slightly toward the occupant, and gestured for Mario to step in.

  Mario entered.

  The room was familiar, and so was the faint, expensive fragrance lingering in the air.

  His gaze drifted briefly across the room before settling at the far end.

  Arthur sat there.

  His brown hair was neatly styled. Clear blue eyes, sharp and observant. He wore expensive blue-and-white clothing that fit him perfectly—the kind that announced status without shouting it.

  A laptop rested on the table in front of him, its screen still glowing.

  Beside him stood an old man in a formal suit.

  His posture was rigid, straight-backed, hands clasped behind him. Despite the suit, the physique beneath it showed no signs of softening with age. He stood not merely as a servant, but as a barrier.

  'This person...?' Mario's brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at the unfamiliar old man. '...Is this because of the difference in timeline?'

  Then he shook his head and set the thoughts aside after seeing Arthur shifting his posture.

  Arthur rested his chin on his hand as he smiled and spoke. "I'm Arthur."

  "And you are?"

  The tone was easy, unhurried.

  Mario was slightly surprised hearing the tone.

  In the simulation, Arthur's voice had been cold, emotionless. But now, curiosity was visible in those clear blue eyes.

  He set the thought aside and considered for a moment.

  Gradually, he kept his expression calm while deliberately letting a small tell slip—his fingers fidgeted faintly, restless, the kind of thing someone did when trying too hard to appear composed.

  'This should do...' He thought while he swallowed. '...Too smooth might invite unnecessary suspicion and even his curiosity.'

  Then he opened his mouth and answered. "M-Mario."

  As if noticing his voice stutter, Mario immediately composed himself before his eyes drifted again across the room.

  ***

  From the moment Mario had entered the lottery building to his office, Arthur had already been watching him carefully.

  Now facing Mario face to face, Arthur noticed everything.

  Mario's face was calm while his breathing remained steady.

  And yet his eyes wandered the room without settling, and his fingers kept moving.

  'Acting composed?' Realizing that, Arthur found the smile on his face deepening. '…How amusing.'

  For a moment he stopped twirling the silver pawn piece between his fingers.

  Then he heard Mario speak.

  "M-Mario."

  A stutter slipped out before Mario caught himself, smoothing it over as if nothing had happened. His gaze continued to roam, avoiding Arthur's eyes.

  'Can't maintain the act?' Arthur inwardly shook his head. '...Amateur.'

  Still, it was interesting—more interesting than the board games he played with unknown players and Zenith.

  "Mario, huh?" He repeated the name softly before adjusting his posture again.

  His left hand rose, placing the silver piece on the table before it joined his right hand and supported his chin.

  He leaned toward Mario and noticed him flinching slightly, almost on the verge of stepping back, before Mario stopped himself.

  Despite this, Arthur didn't mind as he lifted his head and locked eyes with Mario.

  Then he spoke. "Alright, Mario,"

  He shifted his gaze and looked above Mario's head before continuing. "How about we make a trade?"

  Mario responded with the same stutter. "W-what kind of trade?"

  Arthur let out a quiet breath. "I don't know if you're aware of unique skills—"

  While speaking, his clear blue eyes, which were focused above Mario's head, lit up with golden light as if searching for something unseen.

  Then he saw it.

  '...Is that white or silver...?' Arthur was taken aback at what he saw, and it made him cut his sentence off. '...This is—'

  Before he could continue his thoughts, Arthur felt all of his hair standing on end.

  His head snapped away from Mario's head as both of his hands flew up to cover his eyes.

  "Urgh—!"

  A faint voice resounded in his mind, making his heart beat faster.

  "I'll spare you just this once."

  Despite the pain in his eyes, he heard the voice clearly. The tone was emotionless, as if such an action were trivial.

  ***

  Seeing that, Mario was caught off guard and for a fraction of a second his fake composure was broken, replaced by his brows furrowing in confusion.

  'What happened to him?' He thought, but before he could continue the thought,

  the old man beside Arthur stepped forward in a single fluid motion, placing himself squarely between Arthur and Mario.

  The air seemed to compress before a crushing pressure descended.

  In that moment, even without understanding why, Mario knew instinctively: one wrong movement would end him.

  He shifted his eyes away from Arthur toward the old man.

  And then he saw an emotion he had never seen once in his life, nor in the simulation.

  —Hostility mixed with deep malice.

  Mario didn't move. He stood perfectly still—but his body trembled, unconsciously and uncontrollably, as if it registered the danger before he did.

  This time, he wasn't acting.

  Then he noticed that the old man was shifting his posture as if preparing something.

  Before the old man could complete what he was planning to do—

  "...Please wait, Sir Kyle." A voice stopped him.

  It was Arthur's voice, strained and almost forced.

  The old man halted instantly.

  He held Mario in his gaze a moment longer before turning and moving quickly to Arthur's side.

  Seeing that, Mario unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.

  Still, he didn't move nor dared to run out of the door, and could only wait.

  "What is it, Young Master? Are you alright?" The old man's words came in quick succession, with obvious worry tingeing his tone.

  "Hand me a handkerchief first, Kyle," Arthur said, extending one hand without looking up.

  Mario then noticed that tears were streaming from Arthur's eyes. Not a few—they poured freely.

  The old man produced a white handkerchief immediately.

  Arthur pressed it to his eyes. The cloth darkened almost at once. His breathing was uneven, held together with visible effort.

  Minutes passed.

  Arthur wiped his eyes slowly, methodically, as if grounding himself one motion at a time.

  When Arthur finally lowered the handkerchief and opened his eyes,

  Mario saw the edges of Arthur's clear blue pupils were tinged red.

  Arthur didn't look at him. Instead, he leaned toward Kyle and said something quietly into the old man's ear.

  Afterward, Mario saw the old man look at him again, but this time his eyes did not contain hostility and malice, but something else entirely.

  Assessment.

  Then the old man walked past Mario and opened the door behind him, exchanging a few quiet words with the woman waiting outside.

  Unaware of what had transpired inside, the woman turned to Mario and said politely, "Sir, please follow me."

  Mario, still uncertain of what had just happened, didn't linger. He stepped out of the room, leaving the two of them behind.

  The door closed.

  He followed the woman into the elevator.