The Golden Dragon Parlor smelled like unwashed ambition and stale tobacco.
Shizune Kato wrinkled her nose, adjusting the strap of her kimono. In her arms, Tonton let out a quiet, disgruntled oink, burying her snout into Shizune's sleeve to escape the fumes.
"I know, Tonton," Shizune whispered. "We'll be out soon. We just have to find her."
Shizune moved through the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who had spent fifteen years dragging a legendary Sannin out of dive bars. She scanned the room, looking for the usual signs.
Usually, finding Tsunade Senju was easy. You just looked for the table where the pit boss was shouting, or where a table had been snapped in half, or where a woman with blonde pigtails was loudly demanding a loan.
You looked for the disaster.
But tonight, the parlor was strange.
There was no shouting. No crashing furniture. Instead, there was a hush near the high-stakes dice pit. A circle of spectators had formed, watching something with bated breath.
And then, the sound happened.
CLACK-CLACK. DING!
"She won again!" someone shouted. "Five in a row! I've never seen a streak like this!"
Shizune froze.
The blood drained from her face.
"Oh no," she whispered.
If Tsunade was losing, the world was normal. If Tsunade was losing, it meant the universe was functioning within its standard parameters of misery. Loss was safe. Loss was just money.
But if the Legendary Sucker was winning...
Shizune clutched Tonton tighter and ran.
She pushed through the wall of spectators, ignoring their complaints. She broke through to the inner circle.
There she was.
Tsunade sat at the head of the table. She was wearing her green haori with the Gamble kanji on the back, but she wasn't wearing her usual boisterous grin.
She was staring at the dice in the center of the bowl.
Snake eyes. Double ones.
A mountain of chips sat in front of her. It was a fortune. Enough to pay off their debts in three countries. Enough to buy a small castle.
Tsunade looked at the pile like it was a heap of rotting meat.
Her hands were gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood was beginning to splinter under her fingernails. Her face was pale, beads of sweat collecting on her forehead.
"Lady Tsunade!" the dealer beamed, shoving another stack of chips toward her. "The luck of the gods is with you tonight! Another roll?"
Tsunade didn't answer. She was breathing shallowly, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting the ceiling to collapse.
Shizune stepped up to the table.
"Lady Tsunade," Shizune said softly.
Tsunade flinched. She looked up, her hazel eyes wide and unfocused. For a second, she didn't seem to recognize her apprentice. She looked like a soldier hearing a twig snap in enemy territory.
"Shizune," Tsunade rasped.
"We should go," Shizune urged. "We have enough. Let's cash out."
"Another round!" a spectator cheered. "Let it ride!"
A server materialized at Tsunade's elbow. She was a young girl with a tray.
"Complimentary sake for the winner," the girl chirped, placing a porcelain tokkuri and a cup next to the mountain of chips. "Top shelf. On the house."
Tsunade stared at the bottle.
Usually, this was the part where she cheered. Free alcohol was her favorite thing in the world, second only to gambling itself. It was the balm she used to numb the sharp edges of her memories.
But she didn't reach for it. She stared at the clear liquid like it was poison.
Shizune watched her, her heart aching.
She had read the medical journals. She knew the psychology of the addict. For most people, gambling was about the thrill of the win. The dopamine hit.
But for Tsunade, Shizune suspected it was something darker.
It was a ritual of self-punishment. She gambled to lose. She gambled to confirm that the universe hated her, that she was cursed, that she didn't deserve to hold onto anything valuable. Losing money was a penance. It was a way of paying rent for being alive when everyone else was dead.
When she lost, she felt relieved. The bill was paid.
But when she won...
When she won, it meant the universe wasn't taking her money.
It meant the universe was saving the bill for something else. Something bigger.
"I didn't ask for this," Tsunade whispered.
She reached out, her hand trembling, and picked up the sake cup. She downed it in one swallow, not enjoying the taste, just needing the burn.
"Lady Tsunade," Shizune tried again, reaching for her arm.
Tsunade jerked away.
"One more," Tsunade hissed. Her voice was brittle. "It has to break. The streak has to break. If I lose it all now, it resets. It has to reset."
She grabbed the dice cup.
She slammed it down.
CRACK.
The table shook.
She lifted the cup.
The crowd gasped.
Double sixes. Midnight.
"UNBELIEVABLE!" the dealer screamed. "SIX WINS!"
The crowd roared. People were clapping, cheering, basking in the glow of the impossible.
But Shizune wasn't cheering.
She looked at Tsunade's face.
The Sannin wasn't looking at the dice anymore. She was looking at her own hands.
The hands were shaking.
Tsunade stared at them. They were strong hands. Hands that could shatter bedrock. Hands that could knit flesh back together. Hands that had held a dying brother, a dying lover.
They were hands that lost things.
That was the deal. That was the contract she had signed with fate. She gave up everything she loved, and in exchange, she got to survive.
Money was a proxy. She threw money into the void so the void wouldn't take anything else.
But the void was spitting it back.
The pile of chips in front of her glittered under the harsh parlor lights. It was obscene. It was too much.
Why? Tsunade thought, the panic rising in her throat like bile. Why now?
She felt a cold draft on the back of her neck.
It wasn't the air conditioning. It was a premonition. A shadow falling over the table.
When she won small, she stubbed her toe. When she won big, she got into a fight.
But a streak like this? Six wins in a row?
This wasn't luck. This was a warning.
This was the universe clearing its throat before screaming.
Something is coming, Tsunade realized. The noise of the parlor faded into a dull roar. Something terrible is coming.
She looked at the dice. They looked like little white skulls.
She looked at her hands again.
They felt heavy. They felt stained.
"Shizune," Tsunade whispered, her voice barely audible over the cheering crowd.
"Yes, Lady Tsunade?"
Tsunade didn't look up. She just stared at her open palms, waiting for the blood to start flowing.
"I think," she said, "I'm about to run out of time."