I Suddenly Became Rich, But I Have No Idea How to Spend the Money

I was escorted to the VIP room via a private elevator and was astonished by its opulence.

Surrounded by a bevy of stunning women, I noticed a towering wine cooler the size of a small boat, filled with ice-cold bottles of Dom Pérignon Gold—a name I’d only heard in rumors. The bottles were plunged into the ice with the precariousness of a game of “Pop-Up Pirate.” From this elevated room, the entire casino floor spread out beneath us, offering a breathtaking view.

“I never fancied myself as some British double-O agent, you know.”

I remarked to Daniel, who chuckled and replied, “Then I must be the CIA?”

“I’m just curious—how does a young guy like you, coming from peaceful Japan, manage to have nerves of steel? Tell me your story.”

“Well, back in Japan, I’m a trader moving five hundred million dollars a day. A man whose guts waver at a mere ten million could never survive that kind of gamble daily.”

Kirishima puffed up his chest slightly as he spoke, though in reality, he mostly let his stocks sit untouched.

Daniel visibly gawked. “That sounds like a battlefield every day! I thought Japan was a peaceful country.”

“Japan is the land of ninja and kamikaze, my friend. Our hearts are at war every day.”

Seeing Daniel’s amazement was amusing, so I embellished the tale even further.

“Japan is even deeper than I imagined… The more I learn, the more I love it!

“Hey, Kirishima. Would it be alright if I called you ‘aniki’?”

“You’re older than me, aren’t you, Daniel?

“Let’s go with ‘brothers on equal footing.’ How about we call each other ‘brother’?”

Recalling the yakuza custom of “go-bun no kyoudai”—brothers of equal standing—Kirishima explained it to Daniel.

“Brothers… yet equal… Yakuza… Oh! Japanese mafia!

“So that’s how it works! Japan is incredible!

“There’s so much I still don’t know about Japan!

“Thank you, brother! If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me!”

And so, Daniel and I became sworn brothers. We exchanged contact information, bonded in the VIP room of the Bellagio, and shared a meal together.

A strange sense of camaraderie formed between us, born from the battlefield of the casino. For the first time in a long while, I found myself indulging in heavy drinking, and Daniel did the same.

True to the stereotypical image of a South American man, Daniel was an astonishingly strong drinker.

In Japan, heavy drinkers are called “bottomless,” but Daniel exceeded even that. He was more like a “frame” without a bottom at all.

However, I wasn’t about to lose.

I am, after all, notorious for my love of beer. Not just at the neighborhood uncle level, but to the extent that certain bars in Osaka’s entertainment district have put up “No Kirishima Allowed” signs due to my drinking prowess.

There’s even a rumor that Kirishima and Shimizu once drank so much at an all-you-can-drink bar in three hours that they emptied the entire stock of beer kegs.

Of course, the source of this rumor was Shimizu himself. When questioned by friends at university, he made a bizarre excuse, claiming that he had actually drunk most of it himself.

Even so, Daniel’s drinking ability was enough to impress even me.

By the time we had entered the VIP room, the mountain of Dom Pérignon was long gone. The additional supply of Krug Clos du Mesnil, generously provided to us, had also run dry.

The casino, seemingly hoping we would finally collapse, brought out a large stock of Salon. But instead of surrendering, I was overjoyed. The sight of the Salon bottles sobered me up, and I looked at Daniel with a triumphant expression, as if to say, “Now, what do you think of this?”

Why did I react with such joy when the Salon champagne arrived? And why did casino king Daniel himself look so smug?

The reason lay in the rarity of Salon champagne.

Salon is only produced when the harvest of grapes meets exceptionally high standards, and in the past hundred years, it has only been made thirty-six times. The purchasing channels are limited, and by the time an amateur can get their hands on a bottle, it has passed through multiple dealers, accumulating an astronomical premium.

With my confidence soaring in invincible mode, I gulped down the Salon. At last, Daniel collapsed. His final words before passing out were as cryptic as they were dramatic:

“I knew it… My aniki is a true Japanese samurai…”

As I watched him fall, I drained the remaining champagne from my own glass in one gulp, then polished off the Salon left in Daniel’s.

At that moment, the tension within me snapped, and just like Daniel, I succumbed to intoxication and passed out on the spot.