Bet risk
Alexandre reached one of the betting terminals and entered his Pip-Boy number. A menu flickered into view and he put in the basic information necessary for setting up a bet.
Thankfully, it was all laid out very efficiently and the computer system was intuitive and responsive. Alexandre felt reassured that the organization controlling the betting had put careful thought into making betting a straightforward process.
The current match,"Spartan vs Iwo," was displayed in bold letters right at the top, with the upcoming scheduled matches in a list beneath it. Surprisingly, there weren't many more matches—only ten for the whole evening. It didn't take much scrolling to reach the listing for "Chetan Ambani vs William Walton."
As agreed, odds of 3 for William Walton, opposite Chetan Ambani's odds of 1.1. However, the button for betting on Chetan Ambani was grayed out, as though it were currently deactivated.
Alexandre reflected. He'd agreed with the arena manager to bet at least $20,000 on Chetan Ambani. With the negotiated odds of 3, that would mean $60,000 in winnings in the event of victory. On the other hand… Why limit himself to only betting $20,000?
After all, he still had $100,000 in his reserve account. That money wasn't currently being put to any work. If he won with $100,000, he'd have a profit of $200,000, which was an absolutely phenomenal sum for a normal person.
Certainly, there was an element of risk, but Alexandre found it very unlikely that any student could defeat him without being prepared to fight against his particular set of abilities. Besides… He'd always had a taste for risk!
Therefore, Alexandre didn't hesitate a moment longer but pressed the button labeled "William Walton." When the terminal asked how much he wanted to bet, he entered in $100,000 and then pressed "accept."
He then had to scan his thumbprint to validate the transaction. For a few seconds, Alexandre held his breath as the terminal said "Processing…" Was it possible that the organizer had changed his mind?
But no, at last, a new line of text appeared on the screen: "Bet validated."
Alexandre let out a deep sigh. "Alright," he muttered. "No going back now."
***
The bookmaker to whom Alexandre had spoken ten minutes earlier was on his computer, feeling borderline giddy about the deal he'd managed to facilitate. Even if Chetan won the duel, it'd be partially mitigated by Alexandre's own bet. "So long as that kid actually follows through," he said to himself.
Just then, a notification appeared on his monitor. "Oh," said the man, "someone's put a bet on that match… Well, let's see how much he put down."
He clicked on the message and the full text appeared before him. "The user of Pip-Boy #X933-778 has bet $100,000 on William Walton. Total potential winnings: $300,000."
The bookmaker's heart clenched and he gasped, feeling a wave of shock fill him from head to toe. He blinked bleary eyes, trying to clear them of whatever debris must have caused him to misread the message to such an absurd degree. He took a deep breath and then read the message again.
It was exactly the same as it'd been the first time. A user had bet $100,000, which meant he could win a payout of up to $300,000.
Cold sweat covered the bookmaker from head to toe. "What am I doing?" he whimpered. "What the fuck am I doing!?" No longer was this matter of balancing some unfortunate betting circumstances. No, the bookmaker had obviously missed something vitally important. If that kid, someone the bookmaker had never seen before, was willing to put such a massive bet on the books…
"He set me up!" the man shouted out loud. A nearby student gave him a strange stare, and the man forced his voice low as he continued babbling to himself. "He set me up, he convinced me to unlock the match and raise the odds… That was so stupid of me! Obviously the match was locked for a good reason…"
Potential solutions swam through the bookmaker's mind. His first reflex was to try to cancel the bet, but it was already too late. If the AI had allowed the bet to be placed, he couldn't get through the red tape of having it canceled in time before the match.
He cursed himself for not setting an upper limit on the bet when he unlocked it. Though he tried to tell himself that the odds of an unknown rookie winning his match were extremely unlikely, his instincts told him a different story—the student probably knew exactly what he was doing.
"Well," he said at last to himself, "I have to do something! If I don't, I might not have this job for much longer… And that's if I get away with both my kneecaps intact!"