In the simplest and most crude way, Yoren became a general under Richie.
As the saying goes, you eat a meal one bite at a time, and walk a road step by step. You can't rush hot tofu.
But Yoren obviously didn't have time to grind tofu. He understood the sentiment, sure, but in his eyes, Richie wasn't even the main course—at best, he was an appetizer.
The next morning, Yoren arrived on the fifth floor of the casino.
As planned, Richie's right-hand man Reddy would be showing him the ropes today.
Reddy was a Liboli, like Helmer and his second uncle—a Gugu beast. Though officially just Richie's assistant, in practice, he was Richie's stand-in.
He managed all the Frido Chamber of Commerce's businesses in Hapi City, including their partnership with the Leaf family's light manganese mine. He was known as a capable and pragmatic man.
At dinner last night, Richie had casually mentioned recent shifts in the manganese cooperation with the Leaf family. Yoren suspected this was directly related to him blowing up Tang De's chemical plant. Without the third plant, the entire operation was short a key piece, drastically reducing the output of finished light manganese ore.
Smuggling light manganese ore was like maintaining a big river. Every force involved worked hard to keep the riverbed intact so they could harvest profit when the time came. Everyone stood by the shore with fishing rods in hand, waiting for the fish. And now? Someone had blown a hole in the river.
With the source disrupted, the entire chain—transport, storage, export—was on hold. Everyone was scrambling: when would the water flow again? Should personnel be reassigned? Should prices be raised to cover losses?
Yoren knew all this was thanks to his actions. But officially, the manganese business had nothing to do with him.
In a private office on the fifth floor, Reddy walked Yoren through the casino's operations.
It was simple, just as Yoren had expected. A casino of this size didn't rely on petty tricks or cheating. In fact, cheating was strictly forbidden, whether by the house or the guests. Anyone caught would vanish without a trace.
Reputation and rules were everything. From penny slot machines to million-dollar tables, the casino, as the banker, always profited. It was all about probability.
Yoren didn't grasp all the formulas, but he got the gist. It was like flipping a coin. Sure, you might get a streak of heads or tails, but the more you flip, the closer you get to a perfect 50/50 balance.
Gamblers see variables; the casino creates constants within those variables.
The lower the chance of winning, the higher the payout. But no matter what, the house never lets odds tip above 50% in the player's favor.
Sure, someone might walk in with 200 chips and walk out with 200,000. It happens. But the house doesn't sweat it. Because if that person keeps playing, the odds always return to the house's favor.
It sounded cruel, maybe, but the casino never gambles. As long as people keep playing, the casino always profits.
By the end of Reddy's explanation, Yoren was nearly asleep. His mother had warned him against gambling since he was a kid, and frankly, he found the whole business boring.
There were departments for everything: probability analysis, new game development, dealers, props, chips, service staff, finance, security—each with its own team. Complicated? Maybe on the surface. But Yoren saw it like running a barbecue joint.
With enough staff and clear roles, all a boss needed to do was lean back and collect the money. Some people weren't even the boss but worked harder than one; others were the boss but more hands-on than their employees. That was just wrong.
Boss or not, Yoren figured that if Richie had handed him the reins, he might as well be the most relaxed boss in the building.
By the time Reddy finished his rundown, it was nearly noon. One last thing remained—the part Yoren cared about most:
How much money did the casino actually make? More specifically, how much of that would end up in his pocket?
Despite being the biggest casino in Hapi City, its scale wasn't jaw-dropping. It had flash, sure, but its earnings came down to traffic and local economy. Hapi wasn't exactly Las Vegas.
After flipping through recent account records, Yoren found the numbers about what he expected.
The casino brought in a monthly gross of 4 to 8 million. That was the official figure, excluding special games. From this, salaries, manager shares, and the 20% cut for Frido HQ in Notting City were all deducted. What remained went to Richie.
Now that Yoren was in charge, Richie had granted him 30% of the net profit after all expenses. So if the casino netted 10 million in a year, Yoren stood to make 3 million—assuming everything went smoothly.
He didn't fully understand the fine print, but he knew Richie played by the book. He didn't doubt the terms. What really bugged him was that this path wasn't quite what he had envisioned.
And it wasn't even about the money.
At noon, Reddy took him out for lunch with a group of suited officials from Hapi City, all somehow tied to the casino business.
Yoren didn't care for them. He only bothered remembering the security bureau director and the mayor's secretary. The rest blurred together.
Back at the casino office in the afternoon, Reddy handed him two things.
An envelope and a car key.
"This is a red envelope from Boss Richie. Two hundred grand in it. Also, you can use this car for now."
Yoren beamed at the sight of cash.
"Now that's what I'm talking about. Getting paid before even clocking in. Boss Richie really knows how to treat a man."
Reddy clapped him on the shoulder.
"Work hard. There's plenty more where that came from."
After everything was settled, Reddy said to Yoren before leaving.
"If you need help in the future, just ask Bowen."
"Got it."
"Oh, and don't wander off tonight. Boss Rich is hosting a private party at his place. I'll send someone to pick you up."
"Alright."
With that, Reddy left.
Whether it was becoming the head of a casino or attending a gang's private gathering, these were firsts for Yoren. He looked like he had it all figured out, moving with ease, but in truth, he was feeling his way forward, step by uncertain step.
Truth be told, he preferred relaxing in a rocking chair, sipping tea while watching Ifrit Kebab do her fire-spitting performances. But he knew all too well that those so-called peaceful days might look simple, yet the road to reach them was anything but.
He understood what he wanted. The trouble was, the path toward it ran right through chaos. You might not want to deal with trouble, but trouble doesn't ask for your opinion.
It's like a rabbit trying to sunbathe when there's a nest of eagles perched in the tree above its burrow. Even if they never lock eyes, just existing in the same space means there's no peace.
That afternoon, Yoren wandered out of the office and made a casual circuit of the casino floor.
Clearly, word had gotten around. Every staff member seemed to recognize him instantly. Some had probably stared at his photo dozens of times. Every person he passed greeted him with a nervous, respectful "Yoren."
Not knowing what else to do, Yoren finally gestured at a passing cleaner.
"This section's a bit dirty. Get a mop and clean it up."
"Yes, Yoren!"
He then summoned the entire casino security team.
While Yoren was the official head of the casino, in practice, his real responsibility was just one department: security. In other words, he was only expected to fight.
Soon, around thirty people gathered in the fourth-floor lobby. Normally, the security team numbered over sixty, but many were still recovering. Some wore gauze around their heads; others had blackened eyes or swollen cheeks.
Yoren didn't need to ask how they got injured. He already knew.
Among the group, a lanky young man stood with his head lowered. Yoren recognized him instantly—the first stair guard he'd taken down that night. A Guang had called him Brother Qiang.
Yoren waved at him.
"Come here!"
The young man stepped forward, head still hanging.
"Hello, Yoren."
"What's your name?"
"Just call me A-Qiang."
Yoren nodded. "That head wound of yours okay now?"
"It's fine. Your body's... uh... really tough."
"Glad to hear it. So, who usually runs this team?"
A-Qiang looked a little hesitant.
"That would be Brother Ji. He was the one I called over the walkie-talkie that night. But he's still in the hospital—pretty badly hurt."
Yoren remembered the guy. A wild man with a broken axe, screaming in the parking lot. He had grabbed his hair and kicked him so hard that his hairstyle—and probably his back—would never be the same.
Looking at the bruised faces before him, Yoren scratched his head awkwardly.
"So... no one else in charge right now?"
"We do have someone." A-Qiang glanced around. "You, Yoren."
Fair enough. Still, Yoren didn't plan on micromanaging this department. Besides, the security crew had another less glamorous duty: debt collection. Gamblers often borrowed from the casino to keep playing, and someone had to make sure those loans were repaid—forcefully, if necessary.
Yoren thought for a moment.
"I'll be too busy. I need someone to manage this team for me."
He took out his phone and made a call. The voice on the other end answered immediately.
"Hey, Yoren!"
"Where are you?"
"Collecting protection fees."
"Drop it. Come to the Golden Buddha Casino. Right now."
"Got it. Want me to bring the boys?"
"Just yourself."
Ten minutes later, A Guang showed up, still wearing his motorcycle helmet and gripping a metal bat.
"Yoren! Who are we hitting?"
"Whoever you want."
"Wait, you called me to fight, right?"
Yoren rolled his eyes. "Do I really need to call you just to fight someone?"
"Good point."
After spending the day walking the floors, Yoren had a clear picture of the casino's operations. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't what he wanted. Richie had basically handed him a retirement home.
Everything here ran smoothly. No one stirred trouble. Even in peak season, departments ran like a well-oiled machine.
Yoren understood Richie's game. This was a test—a chance to see how he handled power, how well he could play by the rules. Taming, plain and simple.
But Yoren didn't have time for this.
There were five days left in his critical window with the Black-and-White Twins. If he missed this chance, he'd have to wait another thirty days. And in thirty days, anything could happen.
This casino wasn't big enough for the moves he wanted to make. But since it had already been handed to him, he couldn't just toss it aside. Like Richie, he needed a stand-in. Someone reliable.
Yoren clapped A Guang on the shoulder.
"You're done collecting fees. Starting now, you're head of security."
A Guang blinked. "Huh?! Are you serious?"
"You think I'd joke about this? These guys will report to you from now on. And bring your crew over too—we're short-staffed."
The security team shouted in unison:
"Hello, Brother Guang!"
A-Qiang hurriedly pulled out a cigarette. "Brother Guang, looking forward to working with you."
Yoren noticed it was one of the smokes A Guang had handed out that night.
Later, back in his fifth-floor office, Yoren lounged with his feet on the desk, sipping tea.
Richie thought he could trap him here, grind him down into a proper subordinate. But no.
Yoren needed to understand everything that made Hapi City's underground world tick. Because his goal wasn't just the Qingmeng Mine. It wasn't even Hapi City.
His target was Victoria. The entire South Florida Chamber of Commerce.
He wasn't studying a casino.
He was studying the entire ecosystem of the Frido Chamber of Commerce.
He needed to know why something that looked like a gang was called a "Chamber of Commerce."
Evening
The phone on Yoren's desk rang.
"Yoren, someone's downstairs to take you to the party."
"Got it. On my way."
He stretched lazily.
"I love parties."