Chapter 1 Let's Bet Our Lives

"Hello, is the psychologist available?" The dilapidated shop door creaked as it was slowly pushed open. Hubert peeked inside with a cheerful smile, curiously scanning the surroundings. A burly man stepped out of the bathroom, his gaze landing on Hubert. Deep in his eyes, a flicker of panic flashed as he instinctively glanced back at the restroom before hastily shutting the door. "We're closed today," he said flatly. As he spoke, the centipede-like scar on his cheek wriggled slightly, making him look even more menacing. "Oh. Are you the psychologist?" Hubert seemed to realize something, nodding before stepping inside. "I said we're closed today. Do you not understand?" Seeing Hubert's movements, the burly man's brows furrowed slightly. His tone grew colder, and his right hand casually rested on his waist. "But I'm sick. I need treatment." The smile on Hubert's face suddenly vanished. He locked eyes with the man and said seriously, "A doctor must heal the sick and save lives! Are you going to abandon your professional ethics?" "Are you threatening me?" Inside the small psychotherapy clinic, the atmosphere froze. The air grew thick with tension. "Of course not! I'm just a poor, suffering patient!" Hubert's face, serious just a second ago, broke into an even brighter smile than before. "If I don't get treatment soon, I'm going to die!" "Do you have to get treated today?" The man's voice dropped to a low murmur. Hubert nodded, his gaze drifting toward the old clock on the wall. After a brief moment of thought, he said, "Yeah, it won't take long—just 27 minutes and 29 seconds." Noticing Hubert's clearly unstable demeanor, the man hesitated slightly. Black Street. This was where all of Encten's darkness gathered. No one here could be underestimated. (Encten, The Enchanted City Of The Forgotten) The burly man's eyes flickered toward the restroom once more before he finally gave a slow nod. "Sit." He gestured toward the chairs by the window, his voice hoarse. "Thank you!" Hubert beamed and, without any hesitation, turned his back to the man. "Well... Which chair should I pick? This is tough." Hubert stared at the two chairs in front of him, looking as if he were contemplating the most serious decision of his life. The burly man's patience wore thin. With a cold expression, he strode past Hubert and sat down in one of the chairs. "Looks like you've made the choice for me." Hubert sounded disappointed but had no choice but to take the remaining seat. "Alright, what's your problem?" The man's voice was icy, his demeanor nothing like a psychologist's. Hubert studied him with a strange expression. "Shouldn't you be wearing a white coat?" "Why the hell would I wear a white coat?" The man responded in a low voice, suppressing his irritation. Hubert remained stubborn. "Doctors are supposed to wear them." A vein twitched in the man's forehead. Unable to hold back his frustration any longer, he leaned forward, eyes flashing with anger, and growled, "I AM a psychologist!!!" The scar on his face twisted with his rage, making him look even more terrifying. But Hubert simply raised a finger and innocently pointed at the wall. Hanging there, covered in dust, was a white coat. "But there's one right here." The burly man locked his gaze onto Hubert, murderous intent flashing in his eyes several times before he forcibly suppressed it. His face darkened as he silently got up, took the white coat off the wall, and draped it over himself. It didn't quite fit, making him look somewhat ridiculous. But Hubert nodded in satisfaction, finally getting to the main topic. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a mysterious tone. "Do you believe in immortals?" "Huh?" The man froze. "I had a dream—a very, very long dream." "This 'dream' felt incredibly real, like I had seen the future. But then, one day, I suddenly woke up, and all those vivid memories shattered like glass! All that remained in my mind were a few fragmented images. The further I tried to recall, the blurrier they became." Hubert seemed lost in thought, tracing invisible patterns in the air with his fingers as he spoke. "Oh. And then?" The man glanced at the clock—ten minutes left until the time Hubert had mentioned. He responded casually. "Even though most of my memories have faded, I still vaguely remember... this place. This was where the dream began." Hubert had a knack for storytelling, drawing out the suspense effortlessly. "The beginning?" For the first time, the man showed a trace of interest, straightening up slightly as he asked. Hubert's smile brightened, warm like the morning sun. "I can't tell whether what I saw was a dream or the future. That's why I need to verify it." Hubert continued, "In that dream, at this very moment, in this very shop... a not-so-innocent psychologist was murdered by a fugitive robber, who then stole everything of value and hid the body in the restroom. Afterward, the robber sat here, counting his loot." The man's expression changed drastically. He slammed his palm onto the table. "Are you messing with me?" "Why would I mess with you?" Hubert blinked in confusion, looking genuinely puzzled by the man's anger. "This is Black Street! Even the people from the City Lord's Mansion don't dare extend their reach here!" The man's voice turned icy, his gaze growing more cautious. But soon, a realization struck him—something wasn't right. "Wait... you're not from City Lord's Mansion?" "Nope. I'm a native of Black Street." Hubert shook his head, smiling. "Then are you here to die?" The man sneered, finally dropping his facade. He reached for his waist, pulled out a homemade handgun, and aimed it at Hubert's head. Hubert studied him for a moment, then asked thoughtfully, "Are you planning to kill me?" "Well, in my hazy memory... in about thirty seconds, a tampered car will lose control and crash through that wall. At that moment, one of the chairs gets smashed to pieces. In my dream, it was the chair you were sitting in. But now... I'm not so sure which one it is. I've forgotten." Hubert looked genuinely troubled, scratching his head in frustration before his grin returned, even brighter than before. "How about we make a bet? Right now, there are two chairs, and two people sitting in them. Let's see who dies. Of course, if this really is just a 'dream'—then we'll both survive!" Despite the grim topic, Hubert's smile only grew more exuberant. "Lunatic! What kind of nonsense are you spouting?" The burly man sneered, his finger resting on the trigger. But Hubert shook his head seriously, offering a well-intended warning. "Trust me, this is the only way you can kill me. That gun won't work." "Besides, it's almost time." As he spoke, Hubert lifted his head, completely ignoring the gun pointed at him. His gaze fell on the clock. "Shh, watch. There are only..." The second hand ticked forward with a crisp sound. "Three." "Two." "One." The moment he counted down to "one"— Bang! A deafening roar of an engine erupted, followed by the sudden shattering of the window.