Author's Note: All characters, events, and places described in this narrative are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This is my first attempt to write a story where the protagonist is not White. While I'm not Japanese, I've tried my best to capture some of the essence of Japanese culture from a Japanese woman's perspective.
As always, all comments and feedback are welcomed.
HF
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The sun had just set below the horizon, bringing another warm tropical evening to the city of Singapore as the dazzling display of lights across the city lit up the night sky. The array of skyscrapers and apartment buildings demonstrated the wealth and success of the tiny city-state. Perhaps nothing else highlighted this more than the opulence of the Marina Bay Sands casino. Inside this monumental edifice to luck and success, warm golden lights lit the interior, each crystal facet of the chandeliers casting rainbows of artificial light onto the polished marble floor below.
The floors hummed with activity, tourists mingling with locals, all trying their hand at the selection of tables and machines on offer -- begging and praying to whatever version of Lady Luck that they believed in to give them a windfall that evening. Amongst them all, a single figure moved with purpose. Ayumi didn't believe in luck or divine intervention -- she believed in cold, hard numbers. Probabilities, statistics, strategy. Every situation, every encounter, every gamble to be analyzed, assessed and a plan developed. She had been taught to plan for all possibilities, to have strategies in place for unexpected occurrences, even in a casino.
The young Japanese woman paused at the entrance to the high-roller section of the casino as the doormen glanced at her, nodding deferentially to her and allowing her entry. This was her third night here, a welcome relief from the stress of the conference she was attending during the day.
Her way ahead clear, Ayumi stepped into the high roller section with deliberate grace, her tailored black cocktail dress hugging her trim figure and silver stilettos clicking softly against the pristine tiles. As always, she exuded a quiet confidence, her almond-shaped brown eyes scanning the floor, her expression cool and unreadable to those around her.
Behind her, Kenji Tanaka, her bodyguard, moved silently. He was dressed in a dark suit, his sharp eyes sweeping the room for potential threats. As they entered, the ambient noise of conversation and laughter dipped slightly, the gamblers around the room casting fleeting glances at the striking woman who had just arrived in their midst. She knew what they would be asking themselves. Who was she? Where did she come from?
She could sense dozens of eyes on her as she crossed the room, Kenji in tow. On paper, she was a strategy analyst for Nakamura Industries, a family-owned Japanese conglomerate specializing in robotics and renewable energy. If the other guests in the room had taken a closer interest in her outfit, they might have wondered how a 26-year-old strategy analyst could have afforded such clothing -- a Vivienne Westwood black cocktail dress that covered Dolce & Gabbana lingerie and Wolford hold-up stockings, the outfit completed by a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. However, Ayumi was no simple strategic analyst with an eye to a future career advising the senior leaders of the Nakamura corporation where she worked.
Indeed, despite her young age, she was already performing this role. And performing it well. As the only daughter of Takashi Nakamura, the founder and CEO of the corporation, and the younger sister of Hiroshi Nakamura, the Vice-President, Ayumi had been provided the best possible education in life -- private schooling when she was growing up in Tokyo, followed by a Bachelor's in Economics from Waseda University and then a Master's in Global Finance from Stanford University. Paired with her razor-sharp intellect, cool demeanor, and ability to ascertain strategic insights, she had become a valued member of the corporation's inner circle.
Poised and confident, Ayumi made her way to a blackjack table surrounded by plush red velvet ropes. The other players were already seated -- two older men in tailored suits and a woman dripping in diamonds. Ayumi approached without hesitation.
"Room for one more?" she asked in almost flawless English, her voice smooth and professional with just the barest hint of an accent. It was the product of the finest English tutors her parents could find for her when she was growing up in Tokyo and then further refined by her time at Stanford. Everything about her screamed control, sophistication, money. Even her question was more about being polite than anything else. She had already secured her seat at this table after her efforts on the first evening.
The dealer, a young Singaporean man in an impeccable black vest, gave a respectful nod. He'd been given clear instructions to allow her to play. "Of course, ma'am. Welcome."
Ayumi slid into the chair with effortless elegance, nodding politely at the other player before placing a discreet stack of crisp Singapore $10,000 bills on the table. The dealer's eyes widened in surprise. Despite working in the high-roller room, he'd never seen so many of the rare, high-denomination notes in one pile, the currency having been removed from general circulation a decade earlier. Ayumi merely glanced at him, waiting for her chips. Behind her, Kenji stationed himself in his usual position a few steps away, arms folded, his stoic expression unwavering as a pile of chips, more than his considerable annual salary, was placed in front of the young woman.
The cards were dealt. Ayumi's small, pale hands moved with precision as she checked her cards and placed her bets. Her demeanor was calm, almost clinical, as if she were calculating probabilities in her head, which indeed she was. Though she was aware of the importance of chance in gambling, she was always thinking not just two or three steps ahead, but more. Four. Five. That's where she wanted to be, her mind constantly updating her strategy as new information was revealed to her.
After the first few rounds, it was clear that Ayumi was no novice. Her victories were swift and decisive, her gaze never wavering from the cards as she methodically cleaned out her opponents.
One of the older men leaned back, grumbling as he pushed his last chips forward. "You're quite the shark, aren't you?" he said in an Australian accent.
Ayumi offered him a faint smile, barely lifting her brown eyes. "Just playing the odds."
The next round saw him fold, leaving Ayumi with just two opponents. The cards were dealt, and Ayumi regarded her opponents carefully.
The diamond-clad Asian woman, her accent marking her as Chinese, shot her a sharp look as she folded her hand. "Perhaps I'll find better luck elsewhere." She rose from the table, her departure punctuated by the clinking of her jewelry.
The remaining man hesitated, his brows furrowed. He was in his late 50s, with greying brown hair and neatly groomed mustache. Ayumi had seen him in the room the previous nights -- clearly he was a regular there. Ayumi raised the stakes again, her movements clear and deliberate, her red painted lips curving into the slightest of smirks as she glanced at the man, well aware of how a little smile from a young woman could unnerve an older man.
The dealer prompted him. "Mr. Flashman..."
The man glanced down at his card, then back at the pile of credit before his gaze flicked up at Ayumi. She kept her expression focused as she regarded him with her brown eyes. Cold, but not passionless, just the eyes of someone who was in control, who knew the odds, who knew what she wanted.
It was enough. He sighed and shook his head, muttering, "Too rich for my blood," in an English accent as he dropped his cards before standing and retreating from the table, his chips left in the pot.
Ayumi allowed herself a brief, little smile. The table was hers. Again.
A shadow fell over the table.
"Mind if I join you?" a voice asked with an American accent.
The young Japanese woman looked up, her brown eyes meeting those of a tall, broad-shouldered black man standing at the edge of the table. He was striking, with smooth mahogany skin, a sharp jawline, and dark brown eyes that seemed to gleam with a hint of mischief. His tailored navy-blue suit fit him like a second skin, the open collar of his white shirt adding a touch of casual elegance to his tall, toned frame.
Interesting. A new challenger.
She arched a delicate, perfectly groomed black brow. "It's a free table."
The black man smiled, his voice warm and inviting. "Not entirely free from the looks of it. You've been clearing the floor."
Ayumi allowed herself a small chuckle, gesturing to the seat across from her. She was ready for another challenge. "If you think you can keep up... please, be my guest."
The man took the seat, his movements fluid and confident, as if he were meant to be in a place like this where the stakes were almost immeasurable. Ayumi felt a brief flash of interest in him in the back of her mind. He seemed... intriguing. Perhaps he would be a more worthy opponent than the three she'd just dispatched. She watched impassively as he placed a sizable stack of chips on the table, signaling to the dealer. "I'll take a chance."
Her analytical mind immediately started to analyze and assess the man sitting opposite her. She assessed him to be in his mid-30s, tall -- perhaps 6'2" or 6'3" she thought to herself. Black. No, African-American, she corrected herself. Her teachers at Stanford had made a point of correcting her on this. His accent confirmed her assessment of him, and she looked for any signs of what he did. No wedding ring or any other obvious jewelry, not even a watch that she could see.
As she studied him, she noted that he appeared confident. He was broad-shouldered and athletic with skin that was a deep mahogany color that appeared smooth and even over his entire body. With short, neatly trimmed hair and dark brown eyes that had a mysterious quality to them, Ayumi quickly realized why he would be confident. He's intelligent, handsome, good body, tailored suit, she observed. He probably knows how good he is which is why he's confident, perhaps even cocky. I can use this against him, she thought to herself.
The game resumed, the tension thickening as the two players sized each other up. As the hands progressed, Ayumi maintained her cool demeanor, her every move calculated. He was proving to be a more challenging opponent than the others, but she carefully hid her reactions, her composed mask still in place. The man, by contrast, played with a casual charm, his bets bold, his smile unshakable.
