Deviant: No Longer Human

In the later afternoon...

Casino of Emperors – Macau, 2031

In the heart of Macau, where dreams and financial ruin go hand-in-hand, stood the Casino of Emperors—a palace of sin and silk, where even the toilets came with velvet ropes.

Tonight, the VIP Hall—The Dragon's Den—was packed.

The minimum buy-in? $1 million USD.

The games? Ruthless.

The stakes? Stupid.

The air? Conditioned with arrogance.

A crowd of elite gamblers, casino magnates, and corporate royals had gathered around the Heaven Table, the highest of high-roller circles.

And right there—

Two teenage girls were casually playing against Asia's Four Gambling Masters in an intense round of Quantum Texas Hold'em.

Yes. That's a thing here.

And they were losing. Spectacularly.

Yet — Both stood perfectly calm.

Like they weren't gambling away the GDP of a small country.

"Raise. Ten million." Yue's tone was light, smooth, businesslike—as if she were ordering green tea.

The dealer's hand trembled.

Wenxi, silent as ever, simply placed her own stack beside Yue's.

Together?

Twenty million.

Just on that round.

Across from her, Master Jin Long, the "Tiger of Hong Kong," and today's exclusive dealer of the table choked on his wine.

The pot now sat at over $47 million.

Two casino executives whispered frantically into hidden earpieces.

Security teams got nervous.

The pit boss fainted.

Their aunts—Wang Mei and Wang Xueying—sat in the observation gallery, jaws unhinged.

"They just—WHAT?" Wang Xueying hissed, grabbing Wang Mei's arm. "That's ten million each! Each!!"

"They didn't even blink…" Wang Mei whispered, her eyes wide. "Like they were ordering dim sum… is this what means to be rich?"

Both girls had heard the stories.

Wang Xiao, the man who moved mountains, who crushed enemies, who destroyed nations just because they annoyed him before breakfast.

They had seen his power.

But his wealth?

Never like this.

"Will he scold us?" Wang Xueying muttered nervously.

Wang Mei didn't answer.

Because everyone was watching now.

The Heaven's Ring Table was surrounded by Macau's gambling elite:

Professor Mahājan, the Indian statistician turned card-counting savant.

Countess Verlene, the French widow who once beat the royal family of Luxembourg in poker and took their yacht.

Li Yongquan, the Dragon of Dice, who once rolled a 21 on a roulette wheel.

And Mr. Skeleton, an anonymous billionaire in a gold mask rumored to eat losses for breakfast and souls for dinner.

Yue glanced at them once. Just once.

Then placed another bet.

"I'll raise another ten million," she said calmly.

The table gasped.

The casino's higher-ups—yes, the ones who lived in the secure glass rooms above like casino gods—were already gathering behind mirrored panels.

"Who are these girls?" one whispered.

"Are they backed by a state?"

"They're underaged!"

"No, they're not—Macau lowered the age to eighteen after the Emperor's case."

And then—

"Tada~!"

The doors slammed open.

Music might as well have played. Fireworks might as well have gone off. The temperature shifted to dangerous flirtation levels.

Because Anran had entered.

Wearing a lemon-yellow gown, platform heels, and the grin of a woman who once stole national secrets using only a smile and a low-cut dress.

She didn't walk—she glided.

Security hesitated.

Then recognized her and pretended to faint.

Yue's face turned pale. "Oh no."

Wenxi blinked—an emotional landslide by her standards.

"Oh yes!" Anran sang, striding toward them with a bounce in her step and glitter in her wake. "Are my precious girls losing money again? Aww~ How nostalgic!"

"Mom, please," Yue hissed under her breath. "This is Macau. Can we not get blacklisted?"

But Anran was already in motion.

She pirouetted into the vacant seat at the table, legs crossed like a Bond villain in heels.

"...Who called her?" Wenxi had already retreated to the side with the grace of a collapsing Jenga tower, eyes flicking helplessly toward their aunts for answers.

Wang Mei and Wang Xueying simply shrugged in unison—synchronized confusion. The universal gesture for: No clue, darling. We're just as doomed as you are.

Honestly, neither of them had ever seen this much money in one place. Not even during Wang Xiao's infamous "Let's Buy A Country" weekend.

And yet—despite hemorrhaging the GDP of a small nation—Yue and Wenxi were still chatting. Laughing. As if this were brunch. As if multi-million-dollar bets were no more stressful than a bad manicure.

The Four Gambling Masters exchanged wary glances.

Another challenger?

Oh no.

No no no no no.

Anran, radiant in lemon yellow and unbothered by concepts like "budget" or "boundaries," picked up her cards. Glanced once. Smirked.

Master Jin Long, the beleaguered "Tiger of Hong Kong," immediately regretted all his life choices—starting with agreeing to deal tonight.

This was supposed to be a fun gig. Entertain some rich kids. Make a few dramatic shuffles. Maybe scowl mysteriously for flair.

Instead? Chaos.

On one side: the four most dangerous gamblers in Asia, each with a kill count in psychological warfare.

Professor Mahājan: who taught statistical annihilation at Oxford before becoming a blackjack monk.

Countess Verlene who smiled sweetly as she bankrupted princes.

Li Yongquan & tMr. Skeleton, who still in his gold mask, possibly asleep, possibly dead, definitely terrifying.

Behind them, a silent wall of elite bodyguards. Two each—standard casino policy. No more, no less.

Behind Anran and her girls?

Nothing. Not a single guard. Not even a fashionable assistant with a clipboard.

That meant one thing.

They didn't bring protection.

Which meant something else.

They didn't need it

Jin Long started sweating through his silk. This was above his pay grade. Hell, this was above Macau's pay grade.

So, with the desperation of a man trying to disarm a nuclear device using chopsticks, he turned to what he assumed was the weaker party—the flamboyant one with no security detail.

"Madam, perhaps we close the bet for today—"

He didn't even finish the sentence.

Anran turned toward him with all the warmth of a glacier about to ruin a cruise.

"You," she said, her voice honeyed with menace. "Are fired."

"...Huh?"

The master blinked. His hands twitched. His soul briefly left his body. His beard—previously white—somehow turned grayer.

"Security!" Anran snapped, flipping her hair with imperial authority. "Remove this man! This lady is buying the casino. No one leaves until I say so!"

"...HUH?!"

"WHAT?!"

"I'm sorry, what?!"

Even Boss Han—the legendary owner of the Casino of Emperors, a man so rich he wore an actual emperor's robe for pajamas—choked on his imported cigar.

Buying the casino?!

Today??

He'd come down personally to watch the fun. The money was flowing. The high-rollers were happy. He was thinking of maybe extending the champagne fountain to the koi pond.

And now this madwoman in yellow wanted to buy his life's work like it was a handbag?

One brave soul whispered the obvious question:

"...Is that even legal?"

Another muttered what everyone else was thinking:

"Can this woman just buy a casino... just to flex?"

At this moment, Boss Han exhaled sharply through his nostrils—a sigh that could have extinguished a candle or started a scandal.

"Miss," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose like a stressed-out principal, "can you not just open your mouth and say anything?"

He stepped forward, trailed by a personal parade of bodyguards in matching suits and sunglasses—each one built like a refrigerator with attitude.

Anran turned lazily in her chair, glancing at him with a single half-lidded eye. She squinted, tilted her head, and gave him the once-over.

White Hawaiian shirt (unbuttoned too far), beige linen pants, leather sandals, cigar in one hand, and a stomach that jiggled with authority.

"Hmm," she purred. "Do you want me to tell your wife about the mistress standing next to you?"

Boss Han froze.

The color drained from his face so fast, it created a breeze.

"M-Mistress?!" he choked, pointing a shaky hand at the elegant Chinese woman beside him. "That's not my mistress! That's— that's my wife!!"

Li Qing blinked. Slowly. Her perfectly painted nails dug into her designer clutch. She turned to her husband, her voice deceptively calm.

"Han..." she said.

Han flinched. Every bodyguard behind him flinched in sync.

"You have another wife?"

The casino went silent. The background jazz music stopped playing, out of respect.

Even the koi in the pond outside paused their swimming to listen.

Boss Han sputtered, "No! No, qīn ài de, baby, baobei, it's just—she's you—you're the only wife—why are you listening to this lemon-colored lunatic!?"

Li Qing's eyes narrowed to razor slits. Her diamond earrings began vibrating with rage. "You hesitated."

"I was confused!"

"You're still hesitating!"

The gambling masters slowly began shifting their chairs away from the emotional fallout zone. Professor Mahājan pulled out a probability chart to calculate the chance of divorce-by-table-flip. Li Yongquan was already taking side bets.

Meanwhile, Yue facepalmed so hard her soul momentarily left her body.

"Mom, seriously," she muttered. "You're going to get us sued."

Anran smiled sweetly and twirled a poker chip between her fingers. "What? I'm just helping this woman find out the truth. Empowered women empower women."

"By detonating marriages?"

Anran winked. "By lighting the fuse."

Wang Xueying stared, mouth slightly open, stunned by Anran's boldness. "Empowered? I thought she wa—"

"You thought wrong!" Anran spun around with the speed of divine retribution, flashing a smile wide enough to blind satellites. "I control the house! You wouldn't believe it, but your brother hears everything I say! In fact—" she struck a dramatic pose, arms wide like she was about to summon a weather event, "—I am the woman of the house!"

Wang Mei's eyebrow arched high enough to touch the chandelier. Doubt. Heavy doubt.

But Wang Xueying?

She gasped softly, eyes shining with awe. "You mean to say... Brother listens to you?"

Anran beamed. "YUP! You think I'm his wife for nothing? Please. I didn't marry into this dynasty just for matching robes."

Wenxi, forever the silent realist, tugged gently on Anran's sleeve. "Mom… Do you want to get beaten by Dad?"

"Shut up, you two!" Anran snapped, huffing proudly as she flexed an invisible bicep. "Who would beat whom! Let him come here—I'll show him what true strength looks like!"

The audience was torn between horror and applause.

Wang Xueying, halfway between impressed and traumatized, whispered, "She's either fearless… or insane…"

Meanwhile, the surrounding elite were now deeply confused.

Who was this man she kept referencing?

The financier behind these girls?

A shadowy tycoon?

A mythical dragon husband?

And right then—

"What's going on here?"

The voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant someone was either about to start meditating or end a dynasty.

Wang Xiao had entered.

He stood tall, dressed in a simple dark shirt and slacks that somehow looked more expensive than everyone else's combined. His daughters were by the pillar, standing like children caught sneaking snacks before dinner. His sisters, wide-eyed, stood frozen like gossipy statues. Nearby, Boss Han was in a full-blown marital warzone, flinging accusations while Li Qing aimed designer death stares.

In short: the entire VIP hall was a comedic disaster.

Mary, returning from a very brief restroom trip, stopped dead in her heels. "I was gone for five minutes…"

Everyone turned toward Anran.

Every. Single. Person.

All wondering: Was she really going to beat up Wang Xiao, like she claimed?

Anran rose from her seat with all the composure of someone touched by lightning.

"A-Ah? Yes, Daddy—I mean, husband! Let me just clarify—"