Chapter 111: Texas Hold'em
The dinner wrapped up naturally.
No one was in a hurry to leave, and no one tried to drag it out either.
The glasses were empty. The pizza was down to a few "ceremonial crusts" pushed to the edge of the plate—no one bothered touching them anymore.
Bobby glanced at the time, his tone casual, like he was asking for a quick duo queue.
"Do you play Texas Hold'em?"
Ethan swallowed his last bite of pizza and looked up. "A little."
"Where'd you learn?"
"Old home games." Ethan thought for a second, then added, "Nothing serious."
That really was a long time ago—before he came to this world.
Bobby nodded.
"Want to play a bit?" he said. "Back when I was just a regular trader, I used to go all the time. Now… not so much."
"Where?"
"Private club." Bobby's tone stayed even. "Poker's not exactly legal—but it's not illegal either."
Ethan paused for a second. Something familiar stirred faintly in his chest.
"Well, it's still early." He smiled. "Let's go."
Manhattan Midtown. An office building you'd completely ignore during the day.
No sign. No crowd. Nothing at the entrance to suggest anything unusual.
The entrance was underground. The club was upstairs.
Card swipe. Fingerprint. Elevator straight to the top floor.
The ride up was silent.
No music—just the faint, steady hum of machinery.
Ethan watched the numbers tick upward and suddenly realized—
Since coming to this world, he hadn't played a single hand of poker.
Back then, poker and World of Warcraft were basically his default lifestyle.
Evenings were either home games… or raid nights.
Simple. Full. Predictable.
Bobby stood beside him, hands in his coat pockets, relaxed—like he was heading to a casual reception.
"You used to play a lot?" Bobby asked.
"Not really. Just with friends."
"That's enough," Bobby said. "No need to explain the rules."
The elevator stopped.
No doorman. No signage.
Just a clean, cold hallway. Thick carpet swallowed every footstep.
At the end—a heavy door.
Another card swipe. Fingerprint. A brief pause.
Then it opened.
The room wasn't big, but it ran deep.
Several tables spaced apart, far enough that no one disturbed anyone else.
Wooden edges. Green felt. Low, focused lighting.
Not bright—but perfectly clear.
Each table had its own overhead light, like a small stage carved out of the dark.
No noise.
Just the soft clink of chips, low voices, the occasional short laugh.
Ethan glanced at the table stakes.
$5/10.
$10/25.
He paused at the $5/10, then looked at the $10/25 table beside it.
"10/25? Shouldn't it be 10/20?"
Bobby smiled. "Tech guys and math types like 10/20."
"But here, 25 works better for buy-ins and bet sizing."
Nearby was a chip exchange table.
No glass. No window. Just a staff member sitting there.
Minimum buy-in: 100 big blinds
Maximum: 1000 big blinds
Cash turned into chips.
No records. No small talk. No questions.
Ethan glanced at the stakes, then at Bobby.
"I'll take $5,000. Two hundred big blinds."
Bobby nodded. "Same."
Stacks of chips were pushed toward them—clean, satisfying.
Ethan ran his fingers across them a couple of times, almost unconsciously.
That familiar feel hadn't changed.
They picked up their stacks and headed straight to the $10/25 table.
As Ethan sat down, a random thought crossed his mind—
Back then, most of the people he knew… he met through poker.
He looked around the table.
His gaze paused briefly on the player across from him.
That guy had the deepest stack—at least $100,000. If max buy-in was the cap, he'd already won $75,000.
The glance was brief.
Still, the other man caught it.
He smiled slightly. Said nothing.
The dealer shuffled with practiced precision, then asked Ethan and Bobby if they wanted to be dealt in immediately.
Ethan hesitated.
After a quick explanation, he understood—new players could either wait for the big blind or post one to join instantly.
"I'll wait," Ethan said. Good chance to observe.
Bobby tossed in $25 without hesitation and jumped in.
Ethan watched a few hands.
Some players were tight, some loose—but everything stayed at surface level.
The moment someone raised, most of the table folded.
A familiar thought surfaced in his mind—
Finally, it was his turn in the big blind.
He put in $25.
First hand.
J♦, J♥.
Solid.
Big blind position. Last to act pre-flop.
Perfect.
Bobby, on his left, acted first. Call.
Everyone else folded.
The big stack across the table raised to $125.
Fold, fold, fold—
Action came back to Ethan.
He thought for a moment, then raised to $500.
Bobby folded.
The big stack looked at Ethan—clearly not wanting to get pushed around on the first hand—and re-raised to $1200.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
"All in."
The table instantly woke up.
Even Bobby leaned in slightly, curious.
Ethan's face didn't change. No tells.
A few minutes passed.
The other player folded.
Ethan dragged the pot.
The opponent flipped his cards—A♥, 10♥.
He clearly wanted to see Ethan's hand.
Ethan didn't show.
If you want to see my cards, you pay for it.
Next few hands—
2♣, 7♦ offsuit.
Fold.
Someone raised to $75, took the blinds.
The table stayed cautious.
Ethan played cautiously after that first hand—most of the time he either folded or ended things pre-flop with a raise.
He did, however, notice one of Bobby's hands.
From pre-flop all the way to the river, Bobby kept applying pressure.
Board: Q♣, J♦, 3♦ | 8♠ | 9♠
The moment the river fell, Bobby shoved all in.
His opponent hesitated for a long time… then folded.
Cards revealed.
Opponent: K♦, Q♦
Bobby: A♦, K♥
Clean. Direct. Ruthless.
He'd pushed the other guy off the hand completely.
A new hand.
Ethan picked up J♣, 10♣—not premium, but full of potential.
An early-position player raised to $75. Ethan called.
Flop: Q♦, 9♣, 4♥
Straight draw.
Everyone checked.
Turn: 8♣
Ethan completed his straight—and it was the nuts.
His breathing paused ever so slightly.
There was even a remote chance to hit a straight flush.
An opponent bet $100.
There was something there—but against Ethan's nuts, it was just bad luck.
Ethan didn't act immediately.
He suddenly remembered those old home games—this would be the moment people started chatting, cracking jokes, keeping things light.
Here, there was nothing but silence.
He glanced at Bobby.
Bobby wasn't looking at him—only at the board.
Ethan didn't raise. Just called.
River: 2♦. A blank.
The opponent bet again. $250.
Ethan still held the best hand.
He paused briefly, then raised—to $500.
Almost instantly, the opponent shoved all in. About $2300.
Ethan snap-called.
The other man looked frustrated, spreading his cards on the table—
A♣, K♣. Nothing.
Ethan's straight held.
The chips were pushed his way.
The opponent stood up and left the table.
Only then did Ethan realize—
Here, even when you win, it feels like nothing happened.
Back then, there would've been tipping the dealer—who was usually just another player rotating the deal.
There would've been discussions, breakdowns, people analyzing hands… even mocking your "bluff."
Here—
Nothing.
Drinks were refreshed.
Finally, someone spoke.
"First time here?"
"Yes."
"How does it feel?"
Ethan thought for a moment. "Quieter than I expected."
The man smiled. "That means you came to the right place."
"Most people here," another added, "aren't here to win. They're here to think."
"Losing doesn't matter."
Ethan nodded.
He wasn't sure if he fully understood—but it felt like… people came here to spend money, not make it.
The table fell silent again.
Cards kept moving.
Bobby played aggressively almost every time he entered a pot.
Bet. Raise. Pressure.
Most opponents couldn't hold on, so he rarely had to show his cards.
Sometimes he chose to reveal them himself—and every time, it was a monster hand.
Someone shook his head and joked, "Bobby, you're still the same."
Bobby stacked his chips calmly. "I give you all a chance—guess when I'm bluffing, and when I've got it."
Only once did someone push back.
After Bobby raised, the opponent shoved all in.
Bobby called instantly.
Pocket Aces.
No suspense.
A few hours later, Bobby and Ethan cashed out and left the room.
As the elevator descended, Ethan suddenly noticed the warmth on his back—not nerves, but intense focus finally fading.
"You play well," Bobby said.
"Been a while," Ethan replied. His gaze still slightly distant, not fully out of that mental space yet.
Bobby smiled. "At least you're up."
The floor numbers kept ticking down.
A thought surfaced in Ethan's mind—
Some people play to win.
Others play to see their opponent's cards… to understand the person behind them.
And only then did he realize—
While he had been focused entirely on the game…
Bobby Ax had been watching him the whole time.