She dealt a turn: 10♦️.
"Now what?"
Lance spoke first this time. "Check again. I didn't hit and I missed the flush draw, but there's an open-ended straight. I'm still drawing. And I want them to commit before I do."
Kenji frowned. "Still? Man, I'd throw in like $25 right here. Pressure them."
Rae smirked. "That's a rich boy talking. Scaring your opponent is a tactic, but it's one that doesn't take you far."
Kenji threw up his hands. "Hey—"
She cut him off. "This is lesson one: Discipline beats ego. Top pair, decent kicker? Not always enough. Drawing hands? Don't chase unless the pot or position makes it worth it. Pressure's only good when it's smart. Poker's not about being brave—it's about being right."
Kenji groaned and sank lower into his seat.
Over the next two hours, Rae put them through dozens of hand simulations. Preflop ranges, continuation bets, check-raises, bluff frequencies. She quizzed them relentlessly, never letting either rest on a lazy answer.
She called out every hesitation.
Every false tell.
Every time Kenji played a hand like he was in a movie.
And every time Lance overthought and missed the moment.
"Stop looking at the cards like they're going to whisper the answer to you," she told him. "In the live scene, poker is 20% cards, 80% reading the table. Look at people."
"You're good at breaking people down," Lance said quietly during a pause. "Even off the table."
Rae raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment?"
"It's an observation."
She smiled, not unkindly. "Poker teaches you a lot about people. But it also teaches you who you are when things fall apart."
She grabbed the remote and flicked on the wall-mounted screen. A replay of her tournament hand with Victor appeared—her bluff with K-J against his flopped two pair.
"I was down to thirty blinds," she said, eyes on the screen. "Most people would've slowed down. Played tight. I raised instead. Why?"
Kenji scratched his head. "Because… you had the read?"
Rae nodded. "Because I knew I had the read. Victor likes to pressure after weak flops, but he doesn't like getting pushed back on turns unless he's really strong. I gave him a situation where folding felt safer than being right."
She paused the clip. "Lesson two: Your opponent's story matters more than your hand. Poker's about the gaps in logic. Learn to see them."
Lance leaned forward, studying the freeze frame. Victor's face was unreadable even on replay. "But what if you're wrong?"
"Then you lose," Rae said simply. "But if you never take those shots, you'll always be behind. That's lesson three: Sometimes you don't need perfect cards—just perfect timing."
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then Rae stood, stretched, and wandered to the kitchenette. She poured herself another glass of water and leaned against the counter.
"You've got instincts, both of you," she said. "Him," she tilted her head at Kenji, "is just crazy. But he's not afraid to lose, and that's a strength in itself. You, on the other hand…
"You are playing to survive. In poker, you've got to learn how to win. That means putting ego in a drawer and throwing out what you think you know."
She glanced at the clock. 3:27 a.m.
"I've got five more hours before my flight. Want to keep going?"
Lance and Kenji exchanged a look. Exhausted. Drained.
But also wide awake.
"Hell yeah," Kenji said first. "Hit me with more brain damage."
"If it's not too much of a problem," Lance smiled. "I hope I'll be as good as you someday."
Rae chuckled. She didn't say anything, but something was telling her that this kid was going to go much further than her. Perhaps it's a woman's intuition, perhaps she was just tired… But either way, she was curious about how this kid would progress.
She flicked the deck, snapping it back into her hands with fluid precision.
"Let's start with ranges from the small blind," she said. "We'll get to reading live tells later."
And so they kept going.
Learning not just how to play the cards…
But how to play the player.
And for the first time in a long time, Lance didn't feel like he was just catching up.
He felt like he was getting ahead.
######
6:30 a.m.,
Kenji was out cold—snoring lightly on Rae's bed, one arm flopped dramatically over his face like a Victorian woman struck by tragedy.
"I'm sorry," Lance chuckled, glancing at the sleeping idiot. "We've been grinding online poker for the whole day. He's probably tired."
Rae stood beside him at the balcony doors, a cup of tea in her hand. The soft city lights cast a glow across her face, the kind of quiet intensity Lance had started to associate with serious players. Unshakeable. Observant.
"And you're not tired?" she asked.
"I'm used to working long hours, sometimes until the next morning. So this is nothing for me. What about you, Ms. Johnson? You don't look tired at all."
Rae smirked faintly. "Stamina is one of the things that poker players require. When you are used to playing 12 - 16 hours a day, missing a day or two sleep is normal."
They stepped onto the balcony, letting the breeze cut through the stale air of an all-night session. Below, the city was starting to stir. Early joggers, blinking neon signs, the faint rattle of trams in the distance.
"If you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to mentor us? I mean, we just met a few hours ago." Lance asked, finally.
She smiled. Looking at the night city, she said, "Curiosity, I suppose. That, or just boredom."
But it was more than that. She had noticed Victor glance away from the game a couple of times, and each time, he had been looking at Lance. At first, she hadn't thought much of it—some hands were slow, and maybe Victor was just tired of focusing.
But when Lance approached her, Rae felt something deeper stir inside her—a curiosity about this unknown young man who had managed to catch Victor's interest. She wasn't certain, and perhaps it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn that Lance and Victor shared the same look in their eyes.
"My turn." She looked at him and asked, "What made you start?"
Lance told her about the story of how he started to play seriously.
When he was done, Rae was quiet for a moment. Her gaze had shifted—not in judgment, but in understanding. "You are a good friend."
"He's been a great friend to me for a long time," Lance said quietly. "Probably the best I've ever had."
Rae didn't say anything, but her eyes followed his gaze.
"I mean, sure, he's a pain in the ass," Lance added with a faint smirk, "but without him… I wouldn't have had half the chances I've had."
He leaned forward slightly on the balcony rail, fingers tightening just a little. "I got into our school because of my grades. That was mine. But the life I had in that school? The things I got to see, experience, learn? That was because of Kenji."
He shielded me from the rich kids who saw me as a novelty. Pulled me into their world. Gave me access to books, clubs, resources I never would've even known existed. Hell, his dad paid for martial arts classes—thinking it was for his own son.
Rae's expression didn't change much, but the way she shifted her stance said she was listening closely.
Lance's jaw tightened, just for a second. "He got me into trouble, sure. But he also got me out of it. And he never once made me feel small for what I didn't have. Not once. So now, it's my turn to get him out of trouble."
Lance watched the sunrise break over the distant skyline. The light crept slowly across the buildings, washing the city in soft gold and pink.
Rae disappeared into the suite for a moment and returned holding their phones. She handed Lance his and held hers up.
"Add me," she said. "So you can reach me later."
"Huh? Oh—yeah, of course."
They exchanged numbers quickly.
As Lance finished saving her contact, Rae added casually, "And if you ever want to sell a piece of your action, let me know."
He blinked. "Sell a piece of my what now?"
She smirked. "Your stake. I buy a percentage of your buy-in, and in return, I get the same percentage of whatever you win. Risk-sharing."
"Ohhh…" he nodded, processing. "Like an investor?"
"Exactly," she said, slipping her phone into her hoodie pocket. "Only difference is, I know what I'm investing in."
Lance raised a brow. "And what's that?"
She met his gaze, unwavering. "Potential."
######
A few hours later,
Kenji was still snoring when Rae gathered her things. Lance walked her down to the lobby, hands tucked in his pockets, the quiet between them feeling oddly comfortable.
"You sure I can't drive you to the airport?" he offered. "Kenji brought his GTR. I can handle that beast."
Rae laughed softly. "So can I. But my ride's already waiting."
She stepped inside the waiting black car, then paused, one hand on the door. Her expression turned a little more serious when she looked back at him.
"Lance," she said, her voice calm but clear, "the only way to get better is to play. Not for others, but for yourself."
He didn't say anything, but she could tell he was listening.
"The Main Event of the local tourney is in two days. If you really want to challenge Victor... that's your shot."
Lance gave a small nod.
"I hope the next time I see you… it's across the final table."
The door shut with a gentle thud, and the car pulled away, leaving Lance standing alone beneath the soft glow of the morning light—his world already shifting.
######
Back at Kenji's apartment,
Amara was putting the final touches on her art project when her phone buzzed.
It was a photo from Lance—Kenji fast asleep, arms wrapped tightly around him like a clingy teddy bear.
Lance:[Your boyfriend is molesting me. I demand compensation. 💰]
Amara snorted, typing back without missing a beat.
Amara:[Thanks for the image. Do whatever you want with him—pretty sure he's a bot 🍩. Just bring him home in one piece.]
Lance:[🤢 Why can't you react like a normal girlfriend?]
Amara:[Where's the fun in that?]
Lance:[Anyway, just want to give you a heads-up in case Kenji forgot. We are heading back to City A today and will be back late at night.]
Amara: [👌]