Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

Despite it being late in the night, the bar atmosphere in the bar was hushed and tired.

The bar itself smelled of spilled beer and worn leather, with a hint of something acrid lingering at the edges.

It wasn't a place meant to impress.

It was a place where people came to forget about their lives.

The lights were dim, the tables were scarred, and the music came from a half-broken jukebox that seemed to be playing rock… if it wasn't for all the static.

If I wasn't wrong, it was supposed to be a modern sports bar. Or… well, it would've been modern around ten years ago.

Now this place was just broken, like the rest of the city.

I stepped inside, pausing for a moment to let my eyes adjust.

The space felt small, though it wasn't.

I glanced around slowly.

There weren't many people here, hardly more than seven.

A man at the counter was hunched over a drink, his shoulders curved like he was trying to make himself smaller.

A group of regulars were sitting by the dartboard, laughing too loudly, their voices scraping against the quiet.

The bartender himself moved quickly behind the counter, his hands polishing glasses that would never truly shine and pouring drinks into them.

And there, in the far corner, were the people I was here for.

Three police officers.

The very same ones from earlier yesterday.

They were sitting around a table with cards in their hands and a — what should've been counted as expensive — bottle between them.

One of them — the taller of the three — had a crooked smirk on his face that felt too easy, like he'd practiced it too much in the mirror.

Judging by how smug he looked, it seemed he won the game.

So he casually collected the cards and started shuffling with one hand while the other cradled a cigarette that trailed smoke in lazy spirals.

Next to him sat a younger man, all nervous glances and restless fingers. His nervousness only grew when the game started again.

He leaned forward every time he bet, and his tells were as plain as the sweat on his brow.

The third was a stocky guy. He was sharp-eyed and silent. He sat with his back to the wall and his hand on his drink, watching the room like a cat watches a field. Patient. Observant.

I sat in a quiet corner of the room and watched the trio for a while, leisurely sipping at a glass of cheap whiskey that I had ordered. It burned, but not enough to matter.

The more I watched them, the more invested I became.

It wasn't the game that caught my interest, not really.

It was the way they carried themselves.

They were off-duty, sure, but not far enough.

You could see it in the way they held their cards — tight, cautious.

You could see it in the way the younger one kept glancing at the clock on the wall, as if he wasn't supposed to be here.

They were still wearing their khaki uniform under black coats. Even here. Even now.

I set my glass down and immediately deactivated my Transformation Card.

My appearance turned back to normal — lustrous golden hair instead of dull black, matching golden eyes, a sharp jaw, an appealing face, and an athletic build.

It happened so fast that no one even had a chance to notice anything.

And even if they had, they were far too busy either depressing over their lives or trying to forget they had lives at all.

I stood up and approached the officers.

But I didn't walk toward them. That would've been too much. Instead, I strolled, my steps easy, my posture relaxed.

And by the time I reached their table, two of them had already noticed me.

Placing my hands on the empty fourth chair, I gave them my most charming smile. "Room for one more?"

The taller man looked up, his smirk deepening into something meaner as he only now noticed me. "Who are you, boy?"

"Does it matter?" I titled my head.

"It does if asking you to fuck off can get us suspended," he replied.

"O-Or killed," the younger one added.

Right, even though I was wearing threadbare, cheap clothes I bought off the streets, it wasn't that hard to guess that I was a noble.

For starters, my appearance.

Secondly, my distinct arrogance that only the rich possess.

Thirdly, I noticed that the police in this city were feared by the population. No one in their right mind would approach an officer — let alone three — as casually as I did.

So even if these guys weren't a hundred percent sure, they definitely suspected that I was a noble. Or at least from the elite class.

"Don't worry," I said, taking off my wristwatch and throwing it on the table. "But I don't think you'd wanna ask me to fuck off."

The watch hit the table with a satisfying thunk, its polished golden face catching the dim light like a predator's eye.

The stocky officer, the sharp-eyed one, finally shifted. His gaze flicked to the watch, then to me, his lips thinning.

"That's... not something you pick up from a market stall," he said, voice low and steady.

I shrugged, pulling out the empty chair and sinking into it with a lazy grace that belied the tension in the air. "Depends on the market, I suppose. But yeah, that watch costs more than all three of your yearly income combined."

The taller man leaned back, his mean smirk twisting into something more calculated.

He picked up his cigarette, took a slow drag, and exhaled smoke in my direction. "Alright, kid. You have got our attention. Now, why don't you tell us what you're really after?"

I collected the cards and gave them a quick shuffle.

"What I'm after?" I said while indifferently dealing the first hand. "Not much. Just a game. A little company. I'm far from home, and I figured you guys might make for decent entertainment."

They watched me in silence, either skepticism or suspicion etched into every line of their faces.

But after a moment, they began fishing thick wads of cash from their pockets, tossing them onto the table with a mix of casual arrogance and unspoken challenge.

"Fine, rich boy," the taller one sneered, leaning forward as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "But if I catch you cheating, not even your father will save you from me. Unless he's the damn Overlord himself."

•••

By the time the bartender had made his last call and walked out the door, the bar had changed.

Gone was the hushed, tired atmosphere.

The atmosphere now was something raw and untamed.

The whole place was filled with drunken laughter, the sound of slurred stories, and the noise of cards sliding against the wood.

The bar was empty now, save for the four of us.

The bartender had given us the keys to the place and asked us to lock up the doors whenever we decided to leave.

The trio of officers lounged in their chairs like kings surveying a conquered field.

The taller one, who I now knew was named Lyle, grinned from ear to ear, his face flushed from whiskey and victory.
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His crooked smirk had long since softened into something friendlier, though no less cocky.

The younger one, Mark, had finally stopped glancing at the clock. He slouched in his seat with a contented grin, absently swirling his drink.

And the stocky one — Jones — leaned back with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes dulled slightly by the drink but no less keen.

He watched me with an amused glint, like a cat watching a mouse that had willingly climbed into its mouth.

As for me? Well, I had seen better days.

I sat at the table in nothing but my undergarments. Everything I owned was scattered across the table. I lost it all in bets.

My shirt, jacket, and even my shoes had been claimed by Lyle, who wore my watch like a trophy.

Mark had my belt slung over his chair, and Jones had taken a particular liking to my cloak, draping it over his shoulders like some absurd badge of honor.

"Kid," Lyle said, shaking his head as he dealt the next hand. "I gotta hand it to you. I've seen men lose fortunes, titles, and even their wives at this table, but I ain't ever seen someone lose everything and keep smiling about it."

I raised the chipped glass of whiskey in my hand. "What can I say? I'm a man of simple pleasures. And besides, I'm not smiling because I'm losing."

"Oh?" Jones leaned forward, his voice thick with curiosity. "Then what's got you grinning like a damn fool?"

I leaned back in my chair and gestured toward the empty bar with a flourish. "This. All of this. The drinks. The company. The fact that I'm sitting here with the only three officers in this city who know how to bluff better than they enforce the law."

Mark nearly choked on his drink, coughing and laughing at the same time. Lyle's smirk twitched into a full grin, while Jones let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright," Lyle said, throwing his cards down. "Enough flattery, rich boy. Let's see if you've got anything left to wager."

I set my glass down. Slowly, deliberately, I reached into the pocket of my discarded pants on the table and pulled out my communicator device.

After tapping on it a few times, I placed it on the table. My bank account was opened on its screen, showing my current balance.

One-hundred thousand Credits.

The laughter died down, replaced by a different kind of silence.

It wasn't a lot of money for nobles, but it was more than what most people had seen in this region.

I grinned. "How about this? One final hand. Winner takes all."

Lyle's grin faded, replaced by something harder, sharper. Mark shifted uneasily, glancing at Jones, who remained perfectly still, his eyes locked on the screen of the device.

They had no way to match my bet, the best they could do was go all in by putting everything they had won and hope to win again.

Because if they lost, they'd owe me the amount they couldn't repay even after working their whole lives.

It shouldn't be a tough decision. After all, I had lost every hand I had played until now.

They should be confident enough to win against me one more time.

"You're either the bravest bastard I've ever met," Lyle said finally, "or the dumbest."

"Can't I be both?" I replied, picking my drink up again

The three officers exchanged glances, their earlier camaraderie tempered now by the weight of what I had just offered.

And so the game began anew. And the stakes were higher than ever.

At least for them.