Chapter 44

Inside a prison cell, dim even during the day.

Surrounded by men and women exuding unique, formidable auras, Clemens wore a serious expression as he contemplated which card to discard first.

As someone who had once stood at the heart of a nation’s power, he was well-versed in the art of maneuvering.

Furthermore, as a man who had long harbored great ambition, he was intensely competitive.

He had been told that if he won this match, they would let him escape. Even if it was just the nonsense of prisoners, Clemens had no intention of yielding victory.

‘Fortunately, my hand is full of strong cards. I should be able to win this with ease…’

Staring calmly at his hand, Clemens secretly scanned the faces of those around him.

His opponents were: a former Hero who had fallen after being shunned by the nation’s elite; a giant of a man who looked as if he’d diverted all cognitive function into his muscles; a youth with feminine features; an old man; a boyish young man; and finally, a prostitute.

To Clemens, who had dealt with countless wily adversaries during his time as Prime Minister, they seemed like trivial opponents.

At most, only the soft-spoken old man—who appeared to be of the same breed as Clemens (it felt strange to say, but he knew gentle-looking people usually hid a wretched nature)—and the prostitute with her indescribable pressure were worth wary consideration.

Within seconds, Clemens constructed his strategy and placed his finger on the first card to discard.

Anticipating that the battle would soon escalate into a clash of high-value cards, he decided to keep his face cards and “2”s.

While he considered playing it safe by holding onto a “7”—the weakest in his hand—as a sacrificial pawn, he didn’t know how many turns he would get with so many players.

Rather than holding back, it was better to discard his weak cards as quickly as possible.

Following Heidemarie’s call, he had no doubt it was his turn to start. He moved to lay down the “7,” but—

“Revolution.”

Heidemarie’s voice cut in from the side, and four cards were slammed down simultaneously.

“…Huh?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear me, Clemens? I said Revolution.”

The beautiful prostitute kindly repeated herself, but it still made no sense.

Rather, Clemens stood there agape, completely unable to keep up with the development.

“…No, that’s not it. I thought it was my turn.”

“Oh, my. Don’t tell me you thought you were the dealer?”

He had intended to criticize her, but instead, she treated him like someone with an overinflated ego, causing his cheeks to flush with shame.

Seizing the moment while he was momentarily speechless, Heidemarie flashed a glamorous smile.

“And with that, the strength of all the cards is now reversed. Best of luck.”

“…What did you say!?”

This time, Clemens was genuinely shocked.

“What is the meaning of this…!”

“It is what it is. If you play four cards of the same number, a Revolution occurs, and the rankings flip. It’s a perfectly valid rule—and a technique.”

“Who on earth unleashes such an acrobatic move—one that upends the very foundation of value—on the very first turn!?”

It was a display of violence akin to swinging a hatchet the moment they met.

Faced with Heidemarie’s sheer tyranny, Clemens forgot his usual calm demeanor and screamed in protest.

However, those around him merely shrugged as if they were perfectly used to it.

“Honestly, you really are a woman who loves this kind of attack. No one with a sane mind would trigger a Revolution right from the start.”

The only one to side with Clemens and throw a sarcastic jab was the feminine youth—someone Clemens felt he had met somewhere in the past. However, the youth’s remark seemed driven less by sympathy and more by a competitive spark toward the prostitute.

As the young man shrugged theatrically, Heidemarie tilted her head as if sulking.

“How cruel, Envy. You don’t have to act like I’m the only one who loves a good Revolution.”

She cleared the trick that had been disrupted by the Revolution, kissed the Queen of Hearts, and placed it in the center of the table.

“Even our cute little Elma might be doing something similar right about now—upending the very foundation of things the moment she meets someone.”

Whatever thought had crossed her mind, she chuckled and affectionately flicked the face of the Queen with her finger.

“She’s the child you raised so dearly, after all. She can’t help but provide a ‘stimulus’ to everyone she meets—in a good way, of course.”

“Hmph, rare of you to flatter me. Just so you know, I’m not going to go easy on you just because you’re being nice.”

The youth—Liesel—replied sharply, but his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely displeased.

Possessing a “maternal instinct” stronger than that of an average woman, Liesel couldn’t help but let his guard down when that side of him was acknowledged. Especially when it concerned his pride and joy, his “daughter” Elma.

“Speaking of stimulus, I wonder if that girl is keeping up with her skincare now that she’s living alone. I taught her beauty techniques capable of altering a person’s bone structure and skin quality from the root, but the path of beauty isn’t built in a day. Unless you practice yoga and stretching daily and occasionally flush out toxins with some intensity, you’ll never reach the ‘Sattva’ of beauty.”

“…I’ve always wondered why seekers of beauty so often fall down the rabbit hole of Eastern spiritualism.”

As Liesel knit his brows in worry, Horst immediately interjected with a deadpan look.

Still, none of them seemed to doubt the fact that a mere girl possessed skills capable of altering a person’s entire skeletal structure—a feat that was essentially magic.

Because…

“It’s surgery over yoga, and brainstem operations over meditation. Rather than fussing over spiritual strength, I think you can become ‘beautiful’ much more reliably by taking a scalpel directly to the muscles and nerves.”

He himself was capable of easily altering a human’s skeletal frame by applying medical technology.

Liesel and Horst exchanged a brief glance.

“Be quiet, brat. Human beauty comes from the radiance within.”

“By ‘within,’ do you mean the physical collection of nerves and muscles?”

They clashed over their respective versions of justice.

As if embodying their arguments through the cards, they roughly threw down a Ten of Diamonds and a Seven of Spades.

“Good grief, why don’t you two stop? It’s the spiritual approach of Envy and the physical approach of Greed. There’s no doubt that by absorbing both, Elma was able to become the supreme creator of beauty.”

“Yeah. In the enzyme juice Elma makes, I can feel the fusion of Western scientific methods and the Eastern spirit of ‘medicine and food from the same source’.”

“That stuff is good.”

Morgan soothed them gently, while Gilbert agreed and Isaac nodded with few words. Each of them casually discarded cards like Sixes, Fives, and Fours.

Watching this, Heidemarie let out a soft “Oh.”

“The numbers and suits have been ‘locked’.¹ Clemens, it looks like the only card you can play now is a ‘3’.”

“…What?”

Clemens, who had been left behind by the conversation, looked up in a daze.

The enchanting prostitute fluttered her long eyelashes and tilted her head with a look of mock surprise.

“Oh dear.”

Then, she let out a playful, innocent giggle.

“Don’t tell me you’re already out of cards to play on the very first turn?”

She reached out and brushed Clemens’s cheek as if patting a child’s head.

“What a cute little man.”

It was, without a doubt, a word of pure contempt.