With fifty million Berries in chips, Lance strolled through the gambling hall.

Roulette, blackjack, slot machines, Russian roulette, poker… everything imaginable was available.

He casually picked a table similar to baccarat, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Lance had never been a skilled gambler. In fact, when it came to gambling, he was a complete rookie, knowing only the most basic of rules.

But Lance possessed something no one else could match—absolute calm.

No matter what cards he drew, his face never changed. Others couldn't read him at all, and that kind of opponent was terrifying. After just a few rounds, Lance had already won sixty million Berries. One by one, the other gamblers stood up and left, unwilling to play against him any further.

Switching games, Lance easily won a few more million.

He never stayed too long at one table—win and leave, that was his style. After trying nearly every game in the hall, he hadn't lost a single coin. Instead, his winnings totaled close to thirty million Berries.

"Mr. Lance, you're incredible!"

Baccarat approached with a bright smile, clapping her hands. "In less than an hour you've made so much money. Your gambling skills are amazing."

She sat down beside him, her thigh pressing lightly against his, her fragrance so close he could feel her warm breath. Any ordinary man, flattered by her praise and his own winnings, would have already been intoxicated. But on Lance, it had no effect at all.

"Miss Baccarat, don't you think you're sitting a little too close?"

Lance gave her a sidelong glance, quietly raising a glass of red wine to his lips.

"Mr. Lance, you really don't understand women."

Baccarat leaned in even closer, her delicate hand sliding up to his collar, unfastening a button, trying to slip inside his chest as her eyes sparkled with intent.

"If you want something from me," Lance said coldly, sipping his wine, "you'll be disappointed."

"How could that be? A strong man like you… I can't help but admire you." Her voice dripped with charm, designed to make men shiver the moment they heard it.

"Is that so?" Lance's eyes narrowed. "Since you insist, if I don't meet your wishes, wouldn't that make me seem heartless?"

His hand shot out suddenly, pulling Baccarat into his embrace.

Her expression froze. This wasn't how it usually went—normally, men would already be completely in her hands, intoxicated by her beauty. She was trying to follow Tesoro's order, to find out who Lance really was. This trick of hers had never failed.

But when she tried to pull back, she realized she couldn't. The strength of his grip was like steel. Panicking, she began to slip off her gloves, preparing to use her Luck-Luck Fruit powers.

Yet before she could move, she glanced down—several razor-thin threads, coated in Armament Haki, were already wrapped tightly around her!

If she moved even slightly, she knew those threads would pierce straight through her body without hesitation.

"A Devil Fruit user… with Haki this strong too… his power is terrifying!"

Her face turned pale. Just from this glimpse, she could tell—Lance was no ordinary pirate. He was a monster.

"Mr. Lance, what are you doing? If you don't like this, I'll apologize… just let me go. With so many people watching, this is… improper."

Baccarat tried to keep her voice steady, hiding her panic.

"Have you ever heard the saying?" Lance's voice was ice cold. "Once you draw the bow, there's no turning back. You wanted something from me… now it's my turn to take something from you."

His fingers twitched, and the threads wrapped tighter.

Parasite Threads.

It was one of Doflamingo's signature techniques—controlling others like puppets with strings. Against powerful opponents it was difficult to use, but on someone like Baccarat, whose strength relied almost entirely on her fruit ability, it was child's play.

Her body froze. Though her mind was her own, her movements no longer obeyed her will.

Lance stood and walked away calmly. Baccarat followed behind, expression outwardly calm, but her heart was in chaos. Even her mouth was bound shut by threads, preventing her from calling out.

Step by step, the two entered the elevator and headed to the VIP suite.

Inside, Baccarat could only tremble. She had no power to resist at all.

"Now then," Lance said with a thin smile, "it's time I find something from you."

His finger moved—and Baccarat, against her will, began to undress, her body obeying his strings.

…

In the central monitoring room:

"Did Baccarat go into the room with him?"

"Looks like another poor fool has taken the bait," Tanaka laughed smugly, watching the screen. To him, this was the same routine as always—Baccarat using her beauty to trick men, rob them blind, and leave them ruined. He didn't even bother watching further.

Two hours later, the door to the VIP suite opened again.

"Oh? Done already?" Tanaka chuckled.

But to his surprise, it wasn't Baccarat who stepped out first—it was Lance.

"Hm?" Tanaka frowned, quickly speaking into his earpiece. "Baccarat, report. How did it go?"

"Everything went smoothly," Baccarat's voice replied calmly.

Relieved, Tanaka leaned back with a smirk.

What he didn't know was that, inside the room, Baccarat lay staring blankly at the ceiling. Her body limp, her will completely broken.

This was the true meaning of the saying: to steal a chicken, only to lose the rice.

(End of Chapter)

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