Chapter 88: Thirty thousand Quids worth of confidence.

--Chapter 88--

Dean found Olsen exactly where he expected him to be.

Inside the workshop. Surrounded by enough metal parts and loose wires to get one scared for the giant’s life.

The massive hall buzzed with activity a small group of students moved between work stations carrying tools and blueprints while sparks flashed from nearby machinery.

This was new to Dean, this was the first time, he saw another person here that wasn’t Olsen.

Somewhere deeper inside the workshop, somebody yelled after an explosion shook one corner of the building.

Nobody even reacted or flinched.

’This fearless nerds.’ Dean thought.

He couldn’t help but respect their level of commitment.

As if he was the epicenter of the chaos, Olsen Reed sat with a wide grin, halfway beneath a massive black vehicle that looked unfinished.

The giant rolled himself out the moment he noticed Dean approaching.

"There you are," Olsen said while wiping grease off his cheek. "I found a place for the bet."

Dean’s attention sharpened slightly.

"You actually found somewhere willing to take Liam’s odds?"

Olsen grinned proudly while standing up fully."Told you I know people."

Dean narrowed his eyes immediately. "That sounds illegal..." Dean paused. "..I like it."

"HAHAHAHA" Olsen laughed. "The place is clean mate."

Dean’s growing grin still stretched. Illegal places that described themselves as clean were usually the worst ones. Interesting ones.

Still, this entire thing already screamed his Uncle’s business. Liam had practically handed him a winning lottery ticket disguised as gambling advice.

One thousand quid for thirty thousand back. It was absurd odds already and honestly he didn’t want to be greedy.

Kpat! Kpat!

Olsen suddenly slapped the side of the machine beside him.

"Come on. We need to leave now if we want to make it before the fight starts."

Dean finally looked properly at the vehicle and immediately regretted it.

"...What is that?"

"My car," the gentle giant said proudly.

Dean stared at him for several seconds. "I know it’s a car. I’m asking what species this thing belongs to."

The machine looked like somebody had taken military equipment, workshop scraps and unresolved emotional issues and welded them together.

Reinforced black plating covered most of the frame while glowing Verge pipes ran beneath the body toward oversized rear wheels.

Several switches also sat near the steering wheel with handwritten labels attached beside them.

One of them read: [DO NOT TOUCH]

Dean pointed at it slowly. "Why does your car have warning labels inside it?"

"Safety precautions," Olsen answered with a confident grin.

Dean looked horrified. "Why aren’t we using the sedan from last time?"

Olsen scratched the side of his head awkwardly.

"I finished modifying this one yesterday. I need to test the suspension."

Dean sighed heavily. ’This boy will be the death of me.’

***

A few minutes later, Dean realized Olsen’s definition of suspension testing involved attempting manslaughter but against himself.

The car rattled violently every time Olsen accelerated while the engine sounded like there was a sword fight in there.

Somehow the machine still moved smoothly through the streets despite sounding seconds away collapse.

Dean rested one arm against the window while observing the upper district.

The scenery gradually shifted the deeper they drove into the area.

The roads became cleaner with glowing silver Verge markings stretching across the pavement while massive buildings towered overhead beside older architecture that he recognized from his own earth.

Unlike the lower district, the streets here were quieter.

No crowded markets. No screaming vendors. No drunk idiots fighting in alleyways.

Everything looked expensive and refined for a post apocalyptic city.

The prople moved calmly along the sidewalks dressed in expensive coats while transport rails glided overhead without noise. Each vehicle beside them had the crest "R"

Probably for Reed.

Dean watched the streets silently for a while before speaking.

"The lower district survives loudly."

Olsen glanced sideways briefly. "What about here?"

Dean leaned back, making sure not to hit one of Olsen’s unpredictable buttons. "This people survive by pretending everyone is civilized."

That earned a laugh from the gentle giant.

Honestly, Dean preferred this kind of environment. The lower district hid danger badly. Everything there was direct and desperation was more readily available than oxygen.

But places like this? This was familiar territory in another flavor. Nobody made noise here because nobody needed to.

Money already did the talking. The truly dangerous people rarely raised their voices.

Eventually Olsen slowed the vehicle near a tall black building hidden between several expensive restaurants and a private club.

Now Dean felt like the upper district was cheating the rest of Zhrea.

The location lacked any form of sign. Just a silver emblem above the entrance.

Two men in fitted black apparels stood near the doorway with the kind of posture Dean immediately recognized.

These were not guards but enforcers.

"We’re here," Olsen announced.

Dean studied the building briefly before smirking.

"This looks like a place, the rich come to legally ruin their own lives."

Olsen frowned slightly. "That sounds weirdly specific."

"And accurate..." Dean added.

The moment they stepped inside, Dean immediately understood the atmosphere.

Soft music played quietly across the hall while people sat around polished tables discussing bets over drinks. Nobody raised their voice and nobody behaved recklessly.

The place resembled a luxury club more than a gambling den. Which honestly made more sense.

Servers moved calmly between tables, their skimpy clothes turning heads.

Several people glanced toward Dean and Olsen briefly when they entered.

Dean moved slow and casually. This wasn’t his first dance in such an atmosphere.

Though he knew a pair of academy students walking into a place like this, would naturally attract attention.

Especially Olsen.

The giant practically looked like money with legs.

Olsen confidently approached the front counter while Dean followed beside him casually.

The woman behind the desk barely looked interested at first.

"What would you like to place?"

Olsen slid the betting slip toward her. She looked at it lazily before pausing halfway through.

Then her eyes slowly lifted toward them.

"You’re placing one thousand on this?"

Dean noticed the subtle shift around the counter. That woman was drawing attention to them.

"Yes," Olsen answered calmly.

The woman continued studying the slip for another second before processing it.

"Once confirmed, payment would be made available," she paused with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"You may leave and come back later.."

Dean stepped forward calmly, tapping on the counter. "Don’t worry sweetheart. We’ll wait."

That finally earned a visible reaction. Her face contorted slightly. "Ummm..okay," she replied.

"But, we advice most of our clients, to return so they wouldn’t be delays."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Most of your clients probably aren’t carrying thirty thousand quids worth of confidence."

The woman studied him properly for the first time after hearing that.Then her gaze shifted briefly toward Olsen before returning to Dean again.

Dean easily recognized that look. The little lady was interested now. And she probably assumed Olsen brought the money.

But she already understood Dean was the one with the bet.

"As you wish," she replied calmly.

Dean nodded once before leading Olsen toward one of the nearby tables.

The gentle giant leaned closer after they sat down. He’d figured out Dean’s intentions.

"You really think somebody would try something inside a place like this?"

Dean looked around the hall casually while several conversations continued quietly nearby.

"Nobody here is stupid enough to start problems openly," he replied. "But thirty thousand quid would make people ambitious."

Olsen slowly glanced around the room again. For the first time since arriving, the giant looked slightly uncomfortable.

Dean, meanwhile, relaxed deeper into his chair. Honestly, this place felt natural to him.

Quiet predators. Polite criminals.

People smiling with only profit on their minds.

Compared to Flux Zones and academy drama, this was practically home.

-End of Chapter--