Taka and Makoto sat wordlessly in their chairs, a defeated air hanging around their shoulders like a gloomy fog. A pack of smokes sat empty on the table next to their scattered cards, the final cigarette clutched despondently between Taka’s trembling thumb and index finger. The smoke it gave off was pungent, drifting high in the air to mix with the murky atmosphere of the parlor. That smoke, combined as it was with the fumes of everyone else smoking in the building, sat heavily on Phil's lungs. It pressed down, like a very large man was attempting to suffocate him but wasn’t putting a whole lot of effort into doing the job. The lines of age on Taka’s face looked all the more apparent as he stared down at the table like there were deep crevices gouged into his cheeks and forehead.

  A flicker of purple appeared on the table as Jean moved an arm forward to sweep the small pile of black chips away from the center of the table. For the briefest of seconds, Makoto’s skinny arms flinched, as if he was of half a mind to block Jean’s efforts, but ultimately the man stayed still, other than to drain the last dregs of whiskey in his glass. As the glass was lifted, Phil was able to see the man’s eyes clearly for what felt like the first time since the duel began. Makoto’s eyes were like mirrors reflecting Phil’s face back at him, but that did little to hide the sheer emptiness contained within them. There was no emotion, neither sorrow nor joy, to be seen in those glassy eyes. Not even apathy was present if that was possible. The skinny Japanese man in the blue floral Hawaiian shirt simply had the eyes of a dead man about him.

  Once the drained glass settled on the table once more, Makoto got up without a word, soon followed by Taka. However, after taking a few steps away from the table, the pair’s pathways split. Makoto made a beeline toward the bar, where he declined to take a seat on one of the plush black stools in favor of leaning against the polished marble surface. The man held up two fingers to the scarred bartender. Apparently extracting some sort of meaning from the gesture that was alien to Phil, the bartender put aside the glass he was polishing with a rag to slide across two full bottles (not glasses, even, but bottles) of what looked to be vodka to Makoto. Makoto twisted off one of the caps with trembling fingers and then downed a full quarter of the first bottle in one smooth motion.

  Taka walked straight to the doors separating the smoke-filled inside of the parlor from the snowy outside world. His arms hung loosely at his side, but his fingers still clutched that final cigarette between them so tightly that the little white tube was crumpled slightly. However, before the older man could reach the door, another man in a shoddy two-piece grey business suit intercepted him with a palm held against Taka’s chest. The man in the grey suit wore tinted sunglasses even though the inside of the parlor was dim enough to not need them.

  Like Chet, part of a tattoo poked out past the collar of the shirt he wore under his suit. Unlike Chet, it did not appear to be the head of a dragon, but instead that of a wise-looking Buddha. The man did not smoke at all, but between his teeth sat a well-chewed wooden toothpick with one of those little umbrellas at the end of it, like he’d plucked it from a fancy sandwich just a moment prior.

  The man in the grey suit exchanged several words with Taka, who looked to grow more and more defeated with each word said, though the words themselves could not be made out by Phil due to the distance and the general chatter of the crowd filling the parlor. It only took a few minutes, along with a few well-placed finger pokes to Taka’s chest for the man in the grey suit to make whatever point he was trying to make, and the two men soon disappeared past a grimy wooden door into a side room, out of site from Phil. Inside that side room, before the door closed behind the men, Phil could see a small metal table, on top of which sat a piece of paper and a clear glass cup, which was empty of any liquids and had a pen sticking out of it.

  “-gained one black chip from their buy-in, and four from their bets in profit.” Jean said, causing Phil to redirect his attention from the pitiable scene of their defeated opponents back to the Frenchman.

  “So, that means we still have the chips gained from leveraging my kidney, and five in profit. 75,000 yen (~$500). I can live with that.” Phil said, tapping out a drumbeat against the table with his fingers. With one duel alone, they could give the parlor back their initial loan from leveraging the kidney so that his organs weren't on the line anymore. Then with the profit, they could start looking for some kind of cheap halfway house or other cheap shithole to rent a bed in so they could get out from under the bridge.

  The more Phil stared at the small pile of black chips, the more thoughts ran through his head. He didn’t have much of an idea of where to start looking, but perhaps he could ask Solomon Muto? Their duel back at the shop had allowed Phil to get a fair measure of the kindly man. He seemed like the kind of guy who would earnestly help them in their quest for a warm bed. Once that was achieved, then they could take whatever chips were left and reinvest them in the parlor. It would be slightly riskier than a real job, but if all the other duelists were on a similar skill level to Taka and Makoto, there was a chance to rake in some good cash at a place that didn’t seem to give a shit about proper ID or papers.

  “Yes, not bad.” Chet smiled. He stood up from his chair and stubbed his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. “You two aren’t bad at all. I wonder though… will this be enough to satisfy you?”

  Chet’s tone was similar to how it had been at Burger World. It was oily, like a slimy monster from depths unknown to mankind trying to wrap its tentacles around Phil’s arms to drag him down to its level. Yet, Phil raised an eyebrow, motioning for Chet to continue. The bastard was slimy, but allowing the man to say his piece wouldn’t hurt them.

  “Let’s just say… this main floor is but a taste of the real deal.” Chet spread his hands out, gesturing to the flocks of men and women scattered around the parlor. His shoes scuffed against the floor, rubbing against the green shag carpet as he spoke. “The… management knows full well these walls are not enough to fit the taste of a true duelist. However, for a fee, a whole new world can open up to ya’. A chance for bigger duels. A chance for bigger bets.”

  Phil snorted. A fee. There was the kicker.

  “How much is the fee? Another kidney? Or are we betting hearts now? An arm? A leg? How about two legs?”

  Chet shook his head with a magnanimous air, as if he was doing Phil a favor by bringing him into the loop and ignoring the sarcasm.

  “22,000 yen buy-in, plus a background check to reassure the management that you aren’t a cop.”

  Phil eyed the pile of black chips sitting between him and Jean, taking a moment to mutter a translation to the man so they could be on the same page. The equivalent to $150. It wouldn’t break the bank, but it still wasn’t cheap. Honestly, it hardly seemed worth it, with how much they’d made in one duel alone just now. Chet had to know that, so why was he offering? Was there a catch somewhere?

  While Jean continued to think, Phil opened his mouth to prod the yakuza more.

  “We just made 75,000 yen in profit here. Why should we go to your super-secret extra floor if we can keep dueling for good profit right here?”

  Chet clicked his tongue, and the oil in his voice felt like it increased by a noticeable amount.

  “Ah, see, the thing is… you two are still newbies. One game doesn’t change that. I can guarantee~ almost no one else on this floor will want to duel ya’ knowing that. Ol’ Taka and Makoto were two of the teensy-tiny handful desperate enough to do so. In that new world, however, there are no such worries. You may duel to your heart’s content for all the cash you so desire. Heck, we’ll even let that buy-in cover you both. And yeah, you could still pull out now with your winnings and never come back…”

  Then the man’s eyes glinted dangerously, and he let out a sharklike grin to match.

  “But to change your chips into money, ya’ gotta pay a fee to the house to thank us for allowing you to play here. Fifty percent.”

  That was the catch. Phil sent a sharp look over to Jean, who looked rather serious once the words were translated to him. Chet stood back, appearing quite willing to let them think it over, so Phil pulled Jean aside.

  “Half of our fucking winnings just so we can use the money.” Phil hissed between clenched teeth. “Damn sharks.”

  “37,500 yen to withdraw, or 22,000 to increase our access. Half versus a third.” Jean murmured. “And I imagine Monsieur Chet won’t stop there. It would not surprise me to see the ‘house’ declare the loaned chips as winnings as well, taxing those at fifty percent and forcing us to pay more to remove the loan from our backs. Such is the way of scum like this.”

  Phil flicked his eyes across the room, taking in every aspect of it as he thought. The more he looked, the sleazier the place appeared. The wooden paneling covering the walls was grimy with decades of accumulated smoke. Several of the neon lights affixed to the tables flickered slightly, throwing pale shades of purple across the ground to make the vomit-colored shag carpeting look even more sickly. There were loads of people within, but all of them were in various states of assorted shabbiness. Their laughter was strained. Their faces were drawn tight. Booze flowed like water amongst men and women alike.

  Then there were the yakuza scattered around the room like watchful sentinels. All of them wore suits in various states of disrepair, decorated with flashy gold jewelry and vibrant tattoos peeking out from under shirt collars and frayed cuffs. The way they watched the patrons was like hawks watching prey, prey that was getting easier to catch by the minute.

  Phil’s lips curled in disgust.

  “This place is like a pitcher plant. You know, one of those plants that forms its leaves into little pitchers holding nectar. The bugs go up to it, they fall inside the pitchers to get trapped by nectar or water, and then the plant slowly dissolves them into nothing.”

  “Does that mean we’re the bugs? Sacre bleu. The idea disgusts me. On the other hand, my friend, to make money, one must spend money. We have some money now, but the house fee makes it much less. If we go to that extra floor, perhaps we can make enough to offset the fee.”

  Phil grunted. Some points for, some against. But Jean continued to speak.

  “Perhaps we should have expected this, working with scum such as Chet. On the other hand…” Jean looked at the table with a solemn air around him, “Mon ami, I admit that I am a proud man. Even accepting the kindness of that angel at Burger World pains me. Begging on the streets for handouts, room, or board, I would rather die. At least then I would die as a man with no regrets. Without speaking Japanese and having a proper ID, I have no hope of getting a job in this country. Yet, though I would be working with scum, I have gambled on this game many times in the past, back home in France. I know some men who have made it quite big through this game.”

  The neon light lining the edge of the table next to them flickered. As it did, the light made a low buzzing sound, as if it was seconds away from failing and going dark forever.

  “My pride is foolish, I know. Someday it may even be the death of me. But what is a man if he abandons his true self? Monsieur Phil, if you wish to leave, I respect your decision. I will urge you to take all of the money we earned to do so. However, I will stay. I will fight my way through this place, even if I cannot understand the language. I shall become victorious. And then, when I have enough money, I will finally return home, with my back straight and my head held high, as a man who kept true to himself through even the worst of times, even if it may have been more prudent to do so otherwise.”

  Phil knew the parlor was bad news. Every part of it, from the shitty carpets, to the disgusting wood paneling, to the empty people filling it, and the yakuza sharks watching from the sidelines combined to practically scream at him to bugger off. To accept the stupid fucking charge to transfer his chips to cash, and never return. He would go back to the bridge. Go back to the drawing board. Hell, he could take the smartest move of all and go to Solomon to ask for a job. He had a feeling that even if the man didn’t outright throw him an offer, he would still be able to point Phil in the right direction.

  Sure, he would be alone. Jean was determined to take his chances if it meant his pride could be satisfied. Without knowing a word of Japanese, the man Phil had met just this morning was willing to throw himself to the wolves for a fucking chance. They’d known each other for slightly less than a day. Yet even with all that, Phil felt like he’d known the Frenchman for decades. It was the type of feeling, the type of true, natural kinship he’d felt with Bastion and Lumina.

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  Then there was pride. Phil understood Jean perfectly there. Knowing how truly idiotic his pride was, but still striding forward to live with no regrets. It was not the easy way. It was not the smart way. If his mom or his dad could see Phil now, they’d slap him silly for even entertaining the option. In particular, his dad would say something along the lines of 'pride before fall'. And he'd probably be right. Even Bastion, if he could see Phil now, would have his head in his hands, speaking wise words about how Phil really, really shouldn’t go even deeper into this world.

  Still, Phil knew precisely what his answer to Jean Dubois would be.

  “Fuck it.” Phil grinned, extending his hand to clap Jean's arm in a firm gesture. “This shit’s stupid, Chet’s probably going to screw us over, but damn it all if I’ll leave a brother hanging. Besides, this ain’t the stupidest thing I’ve done over pride.”

  “Knew it! I knew it, I knew it!” Lumina cried out with a mixture of exasperation and muffled amusement. “A prideful, reckless human to the end, and this is you without soul damage! Heavens above, I don’t want to think about how bad this would be if you still had soul damage. Doubtlessly you would have already clocked that Chet guy in the head with a chair.”

  “How long has it been since we last parted, three years? Four? Five? Yet you’re still the same, Phil. Still a proud, irritating man through and through. I don’t know whether to hit you on the head and hope a concussion makes you smarter, or to respect you for sticking to your guns and helping Jean! Even now it boggles my mind how you make close friends this fast! You just met the guy this morning, and now you’re risking your life with him!”

  “Monsieur Phil… no… not just Monsieur, but mon frere!” Jean looked back at Phil with a huge grin plastered across his face. “Earlier, I said our friendship may prove to be that of legend. I fear that may already be the case! May this legend of ours be an inspiring tale, instead of a cautionary one, I hope.”

  Phil turned to Chet, who was studying the ceiling with a bored look. The man looked no more reliable than he had when they had first met at Burger World. Mentally, Phil made a note to keep an eye on the gangster. If he screwed Phil and Jean out of even a single penny, D.3.S. would be getting some good live froggie chow ASAP – courtesy of Chet and anyone else who tried to stop him.

  “Oi, Chet. We’ll take your offer.” Phil threw two black chips to the man, who caught them deftly in one hand. “That’s a hair more than 22,000, so you better give me my fucking change back. How long will the background check take?”

  “Come back tomorrow morning.” Chet said, tossing the two chips up in his hands as he spoke.

  Phil narrowed his eyes but ultimately said nothing. They grabbed their decks off the table, turning away from the yakuza to head toward the chip counter. Immediately Phil returned his initial stack of chips to pay off the loan from the parlor. The woman behind the counter, just as cheerful as she was earlier, smiled and accepted the pile before crossing something off a piece of paper that was mostly obscured by the counter.

  The question remained, should one of the chips be exchanged for cash, or none at all? Even if fifty percent of the sum was taken off, it would still be enough for a hot meal or two. However, a small voice of dissent spoke from the back of his mind. Each chip exchanged would mean less money to work with the next day in the second area.

  Phil caught Jean’s eye, and the man stroked his goatee in thought.

  “It would mean less money to work with… but if we exchange one of the black chips, even after the percentage take, we would have enough at least for a filling breakfast tomorrow morning, so that we may enter our duels with a sharp mind.”

  Three black chips sat in Phil’s hand like heavy stones. Jean had a point. It would be harder to think with hunger hanging over their heads like a dark cloud, and after the parlor took its share, they would still have 7,500 yen (~$50) left. A sum such as that would allow the two men to get more than a few meals down if they were careful. The rest would need to be conserved in chip form for the next day if Phil wanted to avoid leveraging his kidneys again. And even though it had worked out in the end, he didn’t particularly wish to keep tempting fate.

  One black chip slid across the counter to the lady, while the other two slipped into Phil's jacket pocket, coming to a rest right next to D.3.S. Frog, who shifted in place to lean against them.

  She smiled, but the action was thin, almost superficial in nature.

  “Ah, dear customer. Do you wish to exchange this chip?”

  “Sure do.”

  At Phil's answer, the woman's smile grew even thinner. He glanced at her nametag, which showed her name as ‘Asuka’. The bulk of the nametag blended in with her shirt, which was of a similar white color, almost seamlessly. However, that made the black words inked on it stick out all the more.

  ‘Asuka, Floor Manager’.

  “Very well, dear customer," Asuka said, sliding a few banknotes across the counter to Phil, who flicked through them to quickly count the notes up. “It is our hope that you return tomorrow when the background check is completed."

  Phil tucked the banknotes in his coat pocket, right next to the chips and D.3.S. Frog, and then turned toward the doors without another word.

  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

  Phil woke up with a start. The air was frigid, with spurts of staggard warmth shooting out of the fire barrel near his feet. Balanced on top of the barrel, near the edge so that the heat would keep it warm instead of melting it, was a large tin can, perhaps roughly around the size of an average human head. He staggered up, moving carefully so as to not wake Jean, who was sleeping nearby, or the other assortment of ragged figures huddled around the fire barrel.

  Resting on Jean’s chest was a half-open book, the front of which sported the title ‘French to Japanese – A Guide’. It was something Lumina had pointed out on their way back from the discount grocery store, sitting in the window of a tiny bookstore. Phil had immediately purchased it and given it to Jean, who’d busied himself in studying the contents of the book from that moment on. When Phil had finally fallen asleep that night, Jean had already managed to get a handful of basic words learned (albeit with horrid pronunciation). Anything more than that would take time, but it was still progress.

  The inside of the tin can was almost empty. Its contents, once a large assortment of potatoes, wilted vegetables, and ground beef bought from a discount store the day before, had been a veritable feast that allowed Phil and Jean to eat their fill, and even share some with the rest of the people living under the bridge. The chance to go to sleep with a full belly felt like the most wonderful thing in the world. Best of all, the discount store allowed them to save some of their money for a rainy day.

  Looking around, Phil could see that piles of snow had built up all around, some of the drifts reaching almost five feet in accumulated height. However, the shelter of the bridge had protected the residents underneath from that fluffy, yet deadly blanket. The snow had a sort of muffling effect on the surroundings, causing sounds to fall flat. The half-frozen river moved under the bridge at a sluggish pace, as if it was fighting against being completely frozen during every second that passed.

  Solid-sounding thuds filled the air, and Phil glanced to the side to see Lumina striking her fists against a support beam like it was a punching bag – though as to why she did that, he was initially unsure.

  He tilted his head slightly to the side in thought as he mutely watched the scene. Eventually, drifting its way through the air past the muffling snow, Lumina’s heated whispers could be faintly heard.

  “Damn that dragon! Demoting me? Giving that drunkard Ryko keys to a company truck? Damn that dragon!”

  Each word was followed by a swift punch that sent tiny splinters of concrete and rubble flying into the air. It was made all the more impressive by the fact that none of her signature light magic glimmered to form a coating for her fists – she was bare-knuckle boxing a beam of cement, with no apparent wounds on her knuckles to be seen.

  Phil stretched, yawning while his body screamed violent protests against his every move. That was the thing about sleeping on the ground. It wasn’t even the rocks being the problem, he could move those aside easily enough. It was the ground itself. It almost felt like it rejected his very body, though perhaps phrasing it that was a bit too dramatic. In all honesty, the aches and pains garnered by sleeping in the rough were a tale as old as time. And here he was, roughing it out in the open with only a bridge to keep the snow from covering his head.

  “Mornin’ Lumina,” Phil softly called out, making sure to not wake Jean or anyone else curled up next to the fire. Lumina paused midway through a mean right hook. She was breathing heavily from exertion, and a few strands of loose hair were stuck to her cheek with sweat. From the looks of it, she’d been busy destroying that pillar for a large chunk of the night.

  “Morning.” She grinned, blowing the hair off her face. “You ready?”

  “Once I get some breakfast in me.”

  Lumina hummed her acknowledgment, leaning forward to examine her handiwork on the pillar. Several dents were gouged into the concrete, but the thick pillar still stood firm.

  “A letter came for me in the night.”

  Phil raised an eyebrow. “From your job?”

  "From Ryko," Lumina said the name with a sneer on her face like it was the most disgusting word in existence. “Saying that I am out of vacation time and that I am to report back to the office soon if I do not wish to be verbally reprimanded.”

  "Ah," Phil said in understanding. Now that he looked closer, there were shreds of paper embedded in one of the deepest dents in the pillar. “And your answer?”

  “That damned dog doesn’t care about my answer, so I didn’t bother. He just enjoys the chance to talk down to me. At this point, the only reason for me to go back would be if I wanted to burn that office to the ground.”

  “Fuck him.”

  “Yeah. You know, Phil, there’s a saying. ‘He who laughs last, laughs best’. I’m laughing pretty good now that I don’t have to deal with that rat-faced dog every day.”

  “You know…” Phil rubbed his chin in thought, “It’s a pity I can’t go to the spirit world. I wouldn’t mind voicing a strongly worded and potentially violent customer complaint with the Lightsworn Corporation. You know, with all the shit Ryko’s done. Plus the confusion. I keep seeing unexpected shit.”

  Lumina tilted her head, looking at Phil with curiosity in her eyes.

  “Unexpected?”

  “Well, ya’ know, I’ve done two duels now. Both of them were different than I thought they would be. 4000 life points, actual tribute summons, extra decks, all that jazz. It shouldn’t be like this at all. And you know, I can adapt just fine, it’s why I let Solomon go first in our duel so I could double-check the rules through observation, it’s just weird to see.”

  “It could be because of you.” Lumina pointed right at Phil, “Remember last time when newer cards kept popping up at random? Bastion's Water Dragon Cluster, that one guy who played Steelswarms in the school tournament, and so on. You said none of those cards should have existed in GX, but there they were. I can’t say for sure, but I wonder if your presence is… changing things. Magic can be touchy at times. A guided reincarnation like yours can have unintended consequences for the world. Maybe those consequences are the warping of this world’s version of Duel Monsters to better resemble your own. Or maybe I’m wrong and this is nothing but random chance. Maybe this was how it always was, and the TV show you knew just got it all wrong. Chance and magic are two things that can still occasionally surprise even the oldest and wisest of duel spirits.”

  Shoulders shrugging, Lumina seemingly brushed off her own words into the air like it didn’t really matter all that much, that whatever would happen, was going to happen if they knew the ‘why’ or if they didn’t.

  “I suppose I can’t complain much.” Phil muttered, “These changes have made it easier for me to adapt. I can’t imagine how fucking annoying it would be if the game was still ‘D&D with cards’ like it was in the anime.”

  Just then, Jean stirred, and Phil offered him one of the roasted potatoes that was left in the tin can.

  “Today’s the day, eh?” Jean said. His face then contorted with concentration, and eventually, he spoke a few extra words with more effort than usual.

  “Hello~ pretty woman!”

  Due to Lumina's magic, the words sounded the same as before, but seeing Jean’s concentration Phil assumed he was trying to speak in Japanese. Moreover, it also seemed Jean was concentrating on learning the words that were most dear to his heart.

  Brushing past Jean’s attempt at learning pickup lines, as if the man hadn’t said anything at all, Phil nodded, crunching away at his potato.

  “Today’s the day.”

  The ‘super-secret hidden room’. Finally, assuming the background check cleared, its contents would be revealed. Without another word, the two men stood. The black chips in Phil’s pocket clinked together softly, but once they ducked out from under the bridge, that sound was obscured by the crunch of snow under their depilated shoes.

  It did not take long for Phil and Jean to reach the parlor. This time the inside of the building was nearly empty, with only one or two thuggish-looking men standing around the room watching a handful of early-morning gamblers go about their business. Now that the room was much emptier than it was the day before, the sheer amount of grime on the walls, tables, and carpet was unable to be fully obscured by the struggling neon lights.

  “Ah, the men of the hour. The background check cleared! If you two are cops, then that means I must be the damned chief of police!" Chet appeared from a side room, hands clasped together, and a smile pasted across his oily face. Before Phil could say anything in response, Chet put an arm around his shoulder and led them across the room toward the bar, while his other hand slipped two blue chips into Phil's palm.

  Chet smiled. “Here you are. I took 1500 yen as a middleman’s fee. Don’t whine about it, you woulda’ got the same rate anywhere else.”

  The purpose of moving toward the bar was quickly revealed, as the scarred bartender turned to face the wall, pressing his fingers into an indentation in the wall that caused a part of the wood paneling to slide away to reveal a tiny door, one so small that Phil would have to turn sideways to fit through.

  “Please, guests first. Through the door and into the elevator,” Chet gestured with a hand.

  With eyes narrowed, Phil turned sideways to fit through the door. Right past the door was an elevator that shimmered with yellow light, the single incandescent light at the top of the elevator being more than enough to illuminate the boxy interior. Similar to the neon lights dotting the main floor, the incandescent light sputtered occasionally and made several concerning crackling noises. The sides of the elevator were wood-paneled, but were much cleaner than the walls of the room they’d just left.

  Noting with relief that the elevator was much larger than the door, being enough for five fully grown men to fit comfortably within, Phil slid to the back, allowing Jean to lean against a corner while Chet took up a position near the elevator doors. Lumina, invisible as always, slipped in last, bringing her thermos of tea up to her mouth for a long, measured sip of whatever brew she’d felt like making today. Her eyes were still tinged with exasperation, but behind that exasperation was still that same amount of amusement she’d shown before.

  “Welcome, my friends. As a representative of the Mori Family, allow me to introduce you to the Underground – a place where only true duelists can thrive, tearing their way through every challenge to rise to the top. Money. Fame. Power. It can all be yours, if you’re strong enough.”

  The man grinned a sharklike grin at Phil and Jean. The incandescent light of the elevator shone down on the man’s scars, throwing them into sharp relief to give his face a hungry, almost brutal look. But it was more than that. It felt to Phil as if this was from one of the stories where a man found himself at a crossroads, where the devil himself would appear to offer a deal.

  Only here the devil was a member of the local yakuza, extending an invitation to a shady underground dueling ring.

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