Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 85: Paradise (9)

Dragon Raja 3

In the mountains on the outskirts of Osaka, there lies the Elysium House.

This is a grand mountain villa, with a mountain stream and an exquisite little bridge in front of it. Beautiful girls dressed in kimonos greet and see off guests by the bridge, while samba dancers, waving flamingo feathers, sway their chests to the beat of the drums. Waiters wrapped in Indian-style turbans shuttle back and forth, helping guests with their luggage. The chill of early spring fills the air as men get out of cars with their fur-clad glamorous companions. The women’s high heels click against the stone pavement as they walk with utmost elegance; their tight dresses accentuate their hips and thighs.

Men in suits roamed both in front and behind the villa. Their jackets were open, revealing the handles of guns—heavy tactical pistols made by Israel’s “HS Precision.” These firearms use large-caliber Magnum rounds capable of penetrating police bulletproof vests. Yet, the esteemed guests did not feel uneasy, as long as they abided by the rules here, they were completely safe; these men were their protectors. But should anyone cause trouble at Elysium House, those same men would swiftly transform into ferocious beasts.

Elysium House is a grand casino that opened just two months ago. Despite its grandeur, it can only accommodate a limited number of gamblers, less than half of other casinos. There is no upper limit to gambling here, and thus the stakes that gamblers bring in are ten times those of any other casino. The patrons knew that Elysium House had ties to the underworld, but that wasn’t unusual—casinos often had such connections. What set Elysium House apart was that it claimed to fulfill any desire a gambler might have. Winning patrons were respectfully invited to a VIP room, offered aged wines, and accompanied by young, beautiful female managers. Once tipsy, the patrons were asked if they had any wishes—no matter how exaggerated or outlandish. They might ask for a night with the lead actress from a popular drama or even a dinner with the Prime Minister. Of course, the request could also be to dine with a popular actress or even spend a night with the Prime Minister. These requests were reasonable. But darker wishes—such as buying a young virgin from Thailand for luck, or seeing a business rival’s life ruined—could also be granted. As long as the winning amount was enough and the gambler was willing to deposit it into Elysium House’s wish fund, their desires would be fulfilled.

No casino in Tokyo would dare be this brazen, regardless of how close their ties were with the underworld. Illegal industries had their own rules; for instance, no one would interfere if a young girl voluntarily drank with an older man in the nightlife business, as long as a proportionate protection fee was paid to the local underworld. However, if a high school girl was forced into prostitution, someone would step in, and the enforcer might end up losing a finger or two. Even in the underworld, people had to obey the rules. Japan is a country of rules and traditions—no one dared to cross the line, because crossing it could mean death. But Elysium House was a place without rules. Here, the winners dictated everything, and guests’ desires were met to their fullest. As long as a sufficient sum of money from the winnings was given, any depraved, dirty, illegal, or even bloody desire could be fulfilled without consequence. Elysium House was a lawless land where money was the only language spoken.

Guests with ties to the Japanese underworld were filled with awe toward Elysium House. This casino was like an enchanting flower blooming in the mountains of Osaka, defying the seasons, never withering—much like the apocalyptic red lotus of legend.

But those who experienced Elysium House were often unable to resist its allure. It enchanted them, compelling them to bring cash-laden cases and drive in from all directions to indulge in high-stakes gambling. Only gamblers who made large winnings were granted wishes, so casual, modest betting was rare. Whether winning or losing, each gambler would aggressively push out more chips, their expressions growing more intense. Every one of them hoped that, when the pile of chips in front of them grew into a mountain, the alluring female manager would kneel by their side, inviting them for a drink in the VIP room. The lucky winner would receive envious, even jealous stares from the entire floor until the VIP room door closed. The high-rolling gamblers were all worth hundreds of millions of yen—they weren’t gambling to make a few bucks to buy a drink. Their companies earned them hefty profits every minute of the day. What they sought was the thrill of continuous victories, their desires rising along with their stakes—like the tower of Babel from the Bible, reaching ever higher, until their wish was fulfilled. Elysium House keenly grasped the psychology of these high-rollers, shaping itself as a paradise where dreams could be realized.

Nakamura Hideki pushed open the heavy, ornate bronze door with his bandaged hand, and in an instant, his field of vision widened.

The clinking of pachinko balls cascading out of the machines filled the entire space. Roulette wheels spun, dice rolled in the cup, dealers shuffled dominos, girls cheered loudly—every sound here made one’s blood race. Reflecting all this were the beautiful dealers, who wore black suits from the waist up, but wore bunny-girl outfits behind the gambling tables, with black fishnet stockings hugging their thighs and a white fluffy bunny tail; the waitresses, meanwhile, wore bright magenta swimsuits, revealing most of their ample chests. They swayed their hips as they walked in fish-mouth stilettos, giving every man who looked at them an enchanting gaze.

Half of the hall was the pachinko area, and the other half consisted of various gaming tables. Pachinko is a gambling game enjoyed by people of all ages in Japan. A few coins were all it took to play, and sitting at the pachinko machines were girls—all of them beautiful enough to grace magazine covers. Some were young and innocent, wearing school uniforms with white knee socks; others were glamorous and exotic, wearing red high heels and high-slit qipaos. A few of them, possessing bombshell bodies, wore see-through evening gowns, their bosoms practically bursting out. The pachinko girls were hired by Elysium House to accompany the guests during games, making the casino lively with the sound of pachinko. If a guest wanted to take one of these girls out for a drink, they would gladly accept.

The first time Nakamura Hideki visited, he was overwhelmed by the ultimate luxury and subconsciously wanted to flee. Every inch of space was so alluring, whether it was the crimson Italian marble flooring, the sparkling red crystal glass walls, or the soft skin of the girls. He felt that if he took another step, he would be trapped in this labyrinth forever. But today, he no longer looked at these luxuries and temptations. His eyes were fixed only on the bright red glass door of the VIP room. Staggering toward it, he walked shakily, weakened by several days without food.

The sound of high heels clicked behind him. A young, pretty female manager took his arm. “Mr. Nakamura, we’ve been waiting for you. Tonight is the beautiful moment when your wish will come true.”

The female manager was dressed in a fitted black suit, her hair styled into a high bun, highlighting her elegant figure, her bright eyes exuding charm. It was hard to imagine that such a young girl had climbed to the position of manager in a casino. She was far more beautiful than the dealers and female attendants flaunting their figures, but her attire was deliberately conservative. Nakamura Hideki remembered that her name was Sakurai Kogure. That day, it was as if Lady Luck herself stood behind him; at the Texas Hold’em table, he was unbeatable. Starting with a mere seven million yen in chips, he swept his opponents, and soon, his stack of chips piled up to over 1.2 billion. It was then that he smelled a faint fragrance, felt the warmth of a woman’s body lightly pressing against his leg, and saw the black-clad female manager kneeling by his side. “May I invite you to the VIP room?” she asked. “I am the manager here, Sakurai Kogure. Please, just call me Kogure.”

Unlike other lucky patrons who would grab and kiss the female manager excitedly, Nakamura Hideki collapsed in the chair after hearing her words, unable to stand for a long time, tears streaming down like a torrential rain.

Nakamura Hideki was thirty-nine years old, running a plastic factory that produced disposable tableware. His wealth should not have qualified him to gamble at Elysium House. Besides managing the plastic factory, he only dreamed of starting a new venture with his savings and having a child with his wife. His wife was only twenty-eight, quite attractive, and had been a second-tier celebrity with some popularity. She had dated a few wealthy suitors without ever marrying them, eventually settling for a small business owner like Nakamura. Nakamura adored his young wife, often accompanying her to play cards. She had lived in Tokyo for a long time and knew some influential people, so they became familiar with various circles. Among these people was a young scion of an established family who told Nakamura that, given his assets, investing in large projects would require taking out loans using his ancestral land as collateral, and that he could join them in major business opportunities this way. Nakamura was hesitant; the plastic factory sat on that land, and his family’s ancestral graves were there too. If he lost the land, he’d be a disgrace to his family. But his wife said she was pregnant, and the factory’s profit margins were shrinking each year. For their future child, so that he might have opportunities in Tokyo, Nakamura should take the plunge. Blissfully happy, Nakamura went to the financial office that the young man recommended, mortgaged the land, and invested all the money into the recommended project.

Series Navigation

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