Page 2330 Gotham Music Festival (32)_1

The crowd gradually closed in, with nearly every table having a spectator who had just heard the name of Bruce Wayne and thus were very interested in this particular game.

Accompanied by the flickering lights inside the room, the VIP seats suddenly switched places, appearing on the other side of the wall, allowing them to look directly down at the gambling match between Bruce and Rhomann, with a clear view of the cards in both players' hands.

Sitting on the far right of the first row of the VIP seats was a man in a bright red suit, wearing a pink jellyfish mask, lost in thought.

Behind him, a man wearing a Megalodon mask seemed to be getting restless. He said, "What kind of game is this? Have you played poker with similar rules before?"

"It appears to be a game they've made up, but in the end it's just another form of reveal poker, contesting their probability calculations," said the man wearing the pink jellyfish mask.

The man with the Megalodon mask seemed to want to ask more, but at that moment, a row of waitresses dressed in shell-shaped bikinis and wearing different colored fighting fish masks walked in, delivering drinks to the VIPs.

The man in the pink jellyfish mask ordered a glass of champagne. However, as another waitress passed in front of him, he noticed her well-netted black hair shimmering with a purple-red glow.

He immediately reached out and touched the back of the waitress's hand, and as she turned around, he casually wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to sit on his lap.

The head waitress came over and bowed, saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but that kind of service is not provided here."

"I wasn't planning on doing anything." The man smiled and said, "Who can blame me when the opening game is designed to be so boring? As compensation, let her sit with me for a bit."

The lead waitress didn't say anything, her eyes blinking behind her mask, giving her colleague a look, and then she turned and left.

After they had all departed, the man walked towards the restroom at the back with the waitress in his arms, mumbling something that made the waitress giggle. Half resisting and half complying, she followed him.

Those present didn't express any objections; they knew that such things were bound to happen in this kind of setting, and there was no need to interrupt someone else's fun.

As soon as they entered the restroom, the man promptly removed the waitress's mask, and without missing a beat, the woman grabbed his wrist, twisted it behind his back, and pushed him onto the washbasin.

Looking up in the mirror, the man saw Natasha's face, and as Natasha lifted the man's mask, unsurprisingly, it was Tony Stark, the villainous version.

"Let me go," Stark said indignantly, "You've messed up my clothes."

"Did you consider whether I'd twist your guts when you were touching my thigh?" Natasha said, twisting her hand and eliciting a scream from Stark.

Afterwards, she released Stark, and he shook his hand vigorously, noticing that his wrist was swollen. Rubbing it, he said, "Aren't you being unprofessional? How am I supposed to explain this injury to them?"

"Haven't you slept with a wild cover model like me?" Natasha retorted. "Oh, how could I forget, if they knew you were Stark, we'd better get out in three minutes, otherwise we'll really blow our cover."

Stark squinted his eyes at Natasha and said, "The Black Widow I know doesn't talk this much."

"Three minutes isn't much time to talk."

Stark pounded his fist on the surface of the washbasin and said, "One mistake in performance, how much longer are you going to talk?!"

"Only one mistake?"

"In our cosmos there's only... can we talk business?"

Natasha, with one hand on her hip and the other propped on the countertop, said, "I don't think you're here on business. Were those yacht parties you used to throw about business?"

"This time it's different," Stark grunted. "There's something wrong with this ship."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Tell me first what you're doing here."

"Agents show up everywhere to carry out missions. Most of them involve reconnaissance and improvisation, and this time is no exception."

"Be more specific; that kind of information won't get you any professional intelligence."

Natasha suddenly pursed her lips. Stark stared at her, and after a long moment, Natasha sighed and said, "I've always hated being asked this, it's not my idea, who knows where Nick gets all these brilliant ideas."

"What's bothering him?"

"He found out that this ship can evade all the coast guards, National Guard, and military searches, and he wants to know how."

"And then?"

"Then, to use it to evade the coast guards, National Guard, and military searches."

"What?"

"They've always been a big nuisance to Nick," Natasha sighed deeply. "Every time we transfer things to a safe house, we have to go through multiple inspections. The pretexts are almost worn out; he hopes things could be simpler."

Stark covered his forehead, unsure of what to say, but he still said, "I'm afraid he's going to be disappointed this time. The problem lies with the ship itself."

"How did you find that out?" Natasha asked.

"I was testing my new battlesuit," Stark replied, stretching out his hand, which flashed with a silvery light. "A new type of battle suit that generates energy through the Symbiotic Factor, lightweight, quick, and very powerful."

"After I got here, since I didn't have a lab to use, I thought I'd test the power module first. To prevent panic, I tested it out at sea."

"You saw that ship?"

"Yes, but there was more than just that ship."

"What did you see?"

"That depends on what you're willing to pay for the intel." Stark snapped his fingers and said, "Call Nick, it's time to talk price."

Natasha pressed her earpiece, but quickly frowned. She looked up at Stark and said, "The signal here is being jammed."

By the time Stark and Natasha returned to their seats, the gambling below had officially begun.

Shiller took a breath of the vapor, rules swirling in his mind, then fracturing into fragmented concepts.

The essence of this game was to calculate probability. Ordinary people might think that followers should strive to give the small-numbered cards to the God, and the God should give as many small-numbered cards to the followers as possible. Whoever had more small-numbered cards would have a greater chance of turning up low cards in the reveal phase, raising the likelihood of losing.

So, it looks like the God is almost guaranteed to win, given that a God can give up to 4 cards to a follower, while a follower can only give 3 at most. Over ten rounds, followers would have 10 more cards than the God. Considering there are only 54 cards in total, having 10 extra cards significantly increases the probability.

But probability is a strange thing. Theory is theory, and reality is reality. 64 versus 44, the one with more cards seems likely to draw small-numbered cards, but in reality, it is very possible for the one with fewer cards to draw all the remaining low cards, or for the one with more cards to draw a perfect high hand.

From this perspective, it's a complete game of luck. Winning isn't about what cards you sacrifice or give, but about the luck of drawing ten cards at the end. In short, it's about drawing cards.

A contaminated pool doesn't matter, you could still draw the first red; a streamlined pool might still hit the guarantee, and drawing a Joker means an instant win—someone might just have a stroke of dumb luck and win.

This wasn't a particularly hard discovery, which is why most people at the tables, after putting in 1-2 chips, started mechanically passing cards.

Since they weren't relying on strategy to win, they might as well gamble on luck. If you draw a follower, just consider it bad luck. Play the final hand and if you lose, it's just poor fortune. Nothing more to say.

However, objections erupted at two tables simultaneously.

Across from Oliver, a woman raised her hand and asked, "Does the follower have to accept the sacrifice to the God? Does the God have to accept the gift to the follower?"

Everyone stopped and looked at that table as a staff member gently rang a bell and said, "You can refuse."

The room was in an uproar.

People immediately tried to return the cards they had just received, but were quickly stopped by staff. Some cursed loudly, claiming the rules weren't clear. Others tossed their cards down in frustration and were promptly dragged away by the staff.

And Bruce asked a crucial question.

"What qualifies as a high card?"

As soon as this question was out, the room fell silent. Everyone instinctively thought, aren't the cards ranked according to poker rules, with kings being supreme, face cards ranked above numbers, and higher numbers above the lower ones?

Then it dawned on them, if poker rules applied, wouldn't there be straights (sequential numbers), triplet (three of the same number), and pairs (two of the same number)?

The atmosphere in the room took a silent turn as everyone pondered. If this rule was added, how should the game be played?

Because 54 poker cards inherently come in matched pairs, both straights and pairs are complete. If you're going to pass a card, you're definitely breaking up your own hand.

Although the ability to refuse cards had just been questioned, the rules of sacrifice and gift-giving were stated from the start: followers give 3 cards, Gods give 1-4. There was basically no way to avoid it.

"Looking at it this way, doesn't that give the God an even greater advantage?" asked someone in the VIP seat wearing a Megalodon mask. "The God can give one card, meaning they don't have to break up their hand as much, and wait for the followers to give cards, which increases the chance of creating a flush, right?"

Stark turned around and looked at him with an idiotic glare, saying, "Then wouldn't you have even more useless low straight flushes?"

His remark not only fried that person's CPU but also set many in the VIP seats thinking.

Stark was almost exasperated as he said, "Please, even flushes have ranks. Isn't it common sense that a straight of JQK is higher than a 456? If the followers give away all their small cards, holding only the highest flushes, wouldn't that increase the chance of drawing a large straight flush, thereby securing a win over the God?"

"But Gods can also give 4 cards, polluting the follower's hand in reverse, right?"

"But followers can refuse."

"Gods can refuse too."

Listening to the discussion in the back row, Stark sighed again and said, "During the sacrifice and gift phase, the cards are turned around. You can only blindly refuse. You don't know what cards the other person has given you, so how can you make a choice?"

At that moment, Bruce asked, "Which flush is the highest?"

"Royal Flush."

"Texas Hold'em ranking rules?"

The staff member pressed a badge on their chest, and a series of flushes appeared on the screen, ranked from top to bottom by size: Royal Flush, Straight Flush, Four of a Kind, Full House, Flush, Straight, Three of a Kind, Two Pair, One Pair, High Card.

The rules clarified that within a set of 10 cards, the largest flush appearing would take precedence; repeats or lesser flushes would not be considered in the comparison.

Instantly, Bruce's mind raced through all the probabilities of flushes and grasped the true play of the game.