Easy winnings (Chimera girl TG)

You ever have that moment where everything just clicks? Like the world itself saw you, winked, and said, “Yeah, you’re the one.” That’s me, Lucky Straight.

Owner of the finest casino this side of any plane, The House of Hearts. A palace of velvet, lights, and impossible odds. And guess what? I own those odds. Not metaphorically. Literally. Every game, every card, every spin of the wheel bends to my will.

See, I’ve got something the other suckers don’t. A little brand of secret magic, just for me. Courtesy of the one and only Ted, god of games, chance, and delightful loopholes. He made the rules. I just learned how to dance around them so well, he started tapping his foot along.

Money? Got it. Fame? Please. The world practically kneels when I walk into a room. But the real prize? Oh baby… the harem.

Bunny girls with legs for days. Lamia babes coiled up like they want to get wrapped around your soul. Harpies who moan like wind through high-stakes windows. All loyal. All mine. All former players who thought they could beat me. Thought they were clever. Cute.

Take today, for instance. Just wrapped up a lovely little game of blackjack. The poor gal barely knew what hit her. One moment she’s talking tough, the next she’s got hooves, a silky black tail, and a brand-new name: Fatila. My centaur darling. She’ll be prancing around in a maid outfit by sundown, giggling every time I pat her flank. Adorable.

God, I love this world.

And just when I thought today couldn’t get any sweeter… ding! Doors open, new challenger walks in.

Hey, who am I to say no to another spin of the wheel?

How lucky I am.~

He walks up to the table, my table, center of the whole damn casino like a throne made of felt and fate, and just says:

“Name’s Sora.”

That’s it. No last name, no flair, no dramatic intro, not even a handshake. Just Sora. Like I’m supposed to care.

I mean, seriously. Rarely have I seen such a nobody-looking guy. Slouched posture like gravity’s been bullying him since birth, dead brown eyes that scream “three consecutive all-nighters,” and that shirt—oof. Yellow, crusty, faded. I’ve seen mop water with more personality. If a hangover were a person, this guy would be its patron saint.

So of course, my brain immediately skips past “who is he?” and goes straight to the real question: “What should I turn this guy into?”

You know. When, not if, he loses. I’m thinking of something exotic. Something leafy. Haven’t done a carnivorous plant girl in a while. Yeah… maybe a venus flytrap alraune. Big flowery hair, glossy green skin, those oversized leafy hips, and maybe a tailmouth that could make a man confess his sins. Mm. That one’s going in the sketchbook tonight.

Anyway, this guy, Sora, Saint of Stains, asks me if I’m the owner. I raise my shades, give him a smile. The one that says, “You’re already halfway mine.”

“Sure am.”

And then he asks for a few rounds of low stakes blackjack.

Adorable.

“Sure thing, guy,” I say. Give the dealer a nod. It’s feeding time.

Five games in and I’m practically bored. The guy doesn’t react. Not to the marked cards, not to the sleight of hand, not even when I swap his Queen of Hearts for a Two of Clubs mid-shuffle. It’s like playing against a mannequin. A very quiet mannequin. I mean, come on. Most folks catch something by now. They get flustered. They try to accuse me. They sweat. That’s the fun part!

But this guy? He just keeps drawing cards like he’s flipping through a takeout menu.

Six games. That’s the magic number.

Six games lost means the spell takes hold. He’s in the loop now. Cursed by house magic. Poor Sora won’t be leaving this table until he belongs to me. Fully and fabulously. Not that he even knows yet.

I lean forward, grinning like a cat who already sees the feathers poking out of his mouth.

“Wanna raise the stakes?” I ask, like it's a generous offer. And would you believe it, he just shrugs and nods.

Oh man. This is it.

Another tick on the board. Another beauty in the making. And I am so ready to welcome Miss Flytrap to the family~.

Alright, so here we are. Final game. First to three wins. That’s it. Simple rules, real stakes.

If he wins? A measly hundred gold pieces.
One. Hundred.
That’s what his soul is worth to him, apparently.
I’ve blown that much on a single drink and a tip for the cute cyclops waitress.
I mean… come on. Who gambles their entire fate for pocket change?

But I win? Oh baby, then he’s mine. My next gorgeous, plant-themed beauty. A sultry, sappy little venus flytrap alraune, just waiting to bloom in my garden of monster girls.

That’s what I call a fair trade.

But this time… the guy wants to raise the stakes, too. He leans in and says:

“If we’re doing this serious, I want one cut into the deck. After you shuffle.”

Hah. Aha. So the boy does know something. Finally wants to grow a brain and toss in a little anti-cheat insurance. Well, isn’t that just adorable?

Listen, if this guy thinks one cut is gonna stop me, Lucky Straight, from stacking a deck, then he needs a refund on whatever low-rent back alley gambling guru taught him the ropes. I’ve been bending cards around fate since before he grew that sad excuse for stubble.

So, I give him a nod. Fake shuffle. Smooth, silent, perfect. Like silk sliding over rigged dice. He cuts the deck, straight in the middle. Casual as ever. No hesitation. No tells. Just… cuts.

I deal two cards each. One of mine face up. It’s a 10. A strong open. I smirk.

Let’s see what this guy does—

“Stand.”

What?

Just—“Stand.” Didn’t even look at his cards. Just said it, like ordering soup.

Did he give up already? Too nervous to play?

Then he flips them.

Ace. King.
Twenty. Freaking. One.
Blackjack.
First round to him.

What?!

And just like that, the casino magic stirs. I see it happen, his frame shrinks just a little, hips tightening, posture shifting. And just above that dingy yellow shirt, something starts growing just above his rear. A green bump. Leafy. Swishy.

No.
No no. That had to be luck. A fluke.
Beginner’s fortune. Has to be. I must have messed up somewhere.

I deal again. Quick. Focused.

He gets his cards. Doesn’t look at them again. “Stand.”

Okay, buddy. Fine. Sure.

He flips them. Four and ten. Fourteen. Trash hand.

I’ve got a thirteen. I draw.

Nine.
Bust.
Twenty-two.
Second round to him.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

And there it goes again, the shimmer, the surge. His face softens. Jawline’s gone. His waist is pulling in, legs stretching smooth under those grungy jeans. The bump above his butt is bigger now, green and thick and curling like a damn flower stem. What the hell is happening?

I grit my teeth. Deal again.

He gets a nine.
“Hit.”
Draws a ten.
Nineteen.
“Stand.”

Fine. Whatever. I’ve got eleven.
All I need is a good card.
Nothing fancy. Just—

Seven. Eighteen. That’s... bad.
Still beatable. I draw again.

Ten.
Bust.
Twenty-eight.
He wins.

He WINS?!?

And now, oh NOW, it’s happening.
Her body is in full bloom. No more Sora the slob. Now she’s got curves… at least a little bit, a wicked little smirk, and a long, plantlike tail curling behind her, ending in a wide, gaping Venus flytrap bloom, lined with soft teeth and petal-framed edges that quiver like lips.

And still… STILL… she just looks at me. Calm. Confident. Not a hint of shock on her face.

Not even a gloat.

Just… pure, terrifying confidence.

How the hell did she do that?

Before I can even gather my scattered pride off the floor, she, Sora, or whatever the hell she’s calling herself now, finally speaks up.

Voice? Softer. Silkier. Like honey over knives. But the eyes? Still the same tired, calculating stare. Except now it’s backed by curves and confidence I did not sign off on.

She lifts her hand, brushing a strand of green hair out of her face as that massive plant-tail behind her sways lazily. That trap-mouth on the end opens slightly, like it’s tasting the air.

And then she says:

“I agreed to be yours if you win. But you didn’t. So you have no right to transform me.”

…

I blink. I twitch. I grit my perfect teeth.

Because she’s absolutely, 100% right… and that pisses me off more than anything.

See, the magic of the casino’s bound by Ted’s divine rules. The transformations normally only kick in when I win. but a while back I changed the enchantment to kick in whenever I play, because I always win and that way it's more fun to play. 

And now, even though I lost… it happened anyway. She’s a walking magical lawsuit now, and she knows it.

She leans on the table, smug as hell, leafy fingers tapping once, twice.

“Now then,” she continues, “since you clearly used magic on me even though I won, I have the right to raise my reward.”

My stomach knots.

“And I demand one thousand times what I originally asked for.”

…

EXCUSE ME?!

“One hundred thousand gold, please.” A sweet smile. “I think that’s fair compensation for changing my body against my will. Otherwise… the wrath of God might strike upon you.”

And I can feel it. That looming pressure, Ted’s presence, flickering behind the curtains of this reality. Watching. Waiting.

The bastard’s probably laughing.

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. I can’t fight that clause. Not without invoking divine judgment, and trust me, that never ends well. Last guy who tried that turned into a gelatinous cube, and not the fun kind.

So I pay her. 100,000 gold.
Poof. Gone from the vault like it never existed.

I had it. Of course I did. I’m me. But that? That stung. Deep. Like a bad beat at a rigged poker table I still lost.

And worse? The look she gave me as she tucked the coin pouch into… somewhere under all those vines and curves?

It wasn’t gloating. It was calm. Calculated. Like she’d planned this the whole time.

Screw that. No. Hell no.

I want her.

She doesn’t get to walk out after fleecing me. Not with that tail. Not with that body. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Next game’s roulette.
My table. My spin. My rules.
And this time?

I will have her.~

Alright, game two.

Time to pull out the roulette wheel. Like fate in a circle. And this time, we’re keeping it simple. Deceptively simple.

Sora, still glowing green and gorgeous, with that smug little leafy sway in her hips, makes the bet:

“Three spins. I choose red each time. Two or more in my favor, I win.”

Ha. Cute.

I nod, all gentleman-like, resting my chin on my hand like I’m even pretending to consider the odds.

Fifty-fifty bets. That’s the game.

But what she doesn’t know is that this particular roulette table? Yeah, it’s not just house rigged. It’s Lucky rigged.

See, I’ve got these nifty little glass trapdoors under each number on the wheel. Little invisible, mechanical petals that respond to my silent commands. One twitch of my finger under the table, one press of my heel, and I can make the ball drop exactly where I want it to go.

So red, black, whatever she chooses, I’m the one deciding where it lands. She’s already lost. She just doesn’t know it yet.

She declared red for all three rounds. And I have decided that we ain't going to drop the ball in red today.

Meanwhile, I grin like a cat who just found a new mousehole. I don’t say it out loud, but I make my bet, too:

She’s going to be a lion girl by the end of this game. Let's even go further. A liontaur girl, perfect for her Plan tail. Four feline limbs and the entire lower half should be of a cute and fierce lioness. 

I lean back, signal the dealer. The wheel begins to spin.

And then—

CLIRR.

Glass. Somewhere behind me I think.

Like someone dropped a wine glass onto marble.

I freeze. Glance around.

Empty air. No one spilled anything. No broken pieces. No waitress. No tray. Nothing.

 …Did I imagine that?

Weird. Doesn’t matter. Focus.

I stretch my fingers under the table. Time to get to work.

May the roulette begin.

And may my next harem girl roar~

The wheel spun.

Smooth. Predictable. Controlled.

Just like always.

I flicked my finger under the table, triggering the trap door over all the wrong colors. Red, just like she called, but with the glass cover firmly in place, the ball should skip right over it.

Should.

But then…

CLACK.

The ball snaps to a halt.

Compartment 7.

Red.

What?

That can’t—

I lean in. Eyes narrow. And then I see it.

Oh no.

The glass over compartment 7 is cracked, jagged, just enough for one shard to be poking up like a tiny tooth. The ball hit it, bounced down, and stuck.

No. Freaking. Way.

Did it just break?! No, no, no! This table is mine. This isn’t supposed to happen!

And then, with a voice like sugar wrapped in smugness:

“I win.” Sora smiles at me, faintly and knowingly.“What’s wrong? Something wrong with the table?”

My eye twitches.

Screw.
You.

What am I supposed to say? That the table's rigged and the rigging's broken?

No. I can’t admit that. That would be the same as standing up, bowing, and declaring “I cheated. I am no longer the king of this casino.”

And while I’m choking on my rage, I see it again… the shift.

Her legs elongate in front of my eyes, tightening and reshaping. Human skin replaced with sleek golden fur, ankles arching into pawed feline feet. Powerful, graceful, and infuriatingly hot.

A lion’s legs. Here we go again.

And then she gives me that look. A playful little glance like, “I sure hope you win this game, or I’ll have to punish you again.”

My stomach drops.

The dealer sends the second ball spinning.

I press the control harder. Frantic. Trying to override it.

But the ball clatters, then bounces, clicks, and locks into—

7. Again.

Red.

Same cursed spot. Same broken glass. Same traitorous shard stabbing fate in the gut.

Sora tilts her head. Calm. Composed.

And then her body begins to stretch. No… expand.

Her waist lifts. Torso rising on a new, lion-like lower half, complete with rippling feline muscles and velvet-golden fur. A full liontaur, built like a goddess sculpted out of strength and smug vengeance.

I can’t even breathe.

One more spin. One more chance.

Please. Just give me one.

The ball whirls. A blur of white and chrome.

I shut my eyes.

Click.

Crack.

The sound of inevitability.

I open my eyes. Compartment 7. Red. Again.

She is glorious now. Towering. Fierce.

A powerful liontaur woman, four legs, sharp feline grace, and from behind, a thick vine-like tail that sways and curls, ending in a massive Venus flytrap bloom. The teeth twitch, as if it’s smiling with her.

And then, just to twist the knife—her chest surges outward. Not subtly. Not elegantly.

BOOM.

Her breasts swell like someone turned the dial to eleven. Each one now almost as big as her damn head, practically defying gravity as they bounce and settle with that unmistakable weight of “you lost.”

I’m just standing there. Eyes wide. Mouth dry.

And Sora… no, this monstrous, magnificent plant-liontaur bombshell… just smirks.

I… I can’t…

What the hell is happening to my life?!

And then, of course, she speaks again.

That deep, confident, silky tone now rolling off a body that shouldn’t even exist outside a fever dream.

“Once again,” she says, stretching her liontaur form like a smug jungle queen in her prime, “I was transformed even though I won.”

I glare.

I know what’s coming.

“So I demand compensation.”

Of course you do.

I cross my arms, jaw tight, fingers twitching like they want to flip the entire roulette table over and hurl it into a volcano.

“This time,” she purrs, tilting her head, “I want every single girl working for you… your harem, your staff, your loyal little spellbound pets… to be released from their charm spell. Immediately. And then, they’ll be employed by me instead.”

...

I felt it then. The air shift.
The cold, invisible presence pressing down on me like a hand on my shoulder. Ted. Watching. Judging. Grinning, probably.

He was right there.

Right behind me.

Again.

My back goes cold. My hands clench. My pride screams NO, but my soul whispers, “You don’t have a choice.”

So with every muscle in my body burning, I snap my fingers.

The enchantments break.

One by one, my beautiful, obedient girls blink in surprise. Confused at first… then free. Lamias, bunny girls, harpies, centaurs, cyclopses, dryads… all of them.

Gone.

They walk across the casino, some curious, some grateful. They gather behind her, like lions returning to the new queen of the pride.

And just like that, they’re hers.

I…

I feel sick.

I feel hollow.

I feel furious.

She stole my staff. My girls. My harem.

That smug, towering, vine-tailed liontaur witch—

I grit my teeth so hard it’s a miracle I didn’t shatter a molar.

But there’s a silver lining in this storm of humiliation and leafy betrayal.

Because now?

Now it’s simple.

I just have to win her.

That’s it. Just win her. Claim her. Break her. Make her mine.

And I will. Oh, I will.

There’s one game that’s never let me down. One arena where I am king, crowned and untouchable.

Poker.

She wants to play games?
Fine.

I’ll destroy her in poker.

No more tricks. No more rules-lawyering. Just cards, deception, and dominance.

This time, I’ll win.
This time, she’ll be mine.

DAMMIT!

Poker. One hand. Winner takes all.

Simple. Elegant. Ruthless.

Just how I like it.

We sit across from each other again. Me, stone-faced and composed. Her, still towering as that smug liontaur-plant hybrid monstrosity… with a chest now defying basic architectural support.

Whatever.

She’s mine after this hand.

Two cards per player. Five on the board.

Once again, she requests her stupid little ritual.

“I want a single cut.”

Fine.

I let her cut. Doesn’t matter. I already know how to stack this deck in my sleep. While she’s handing it back, I’m already sliding the kings into my hand, positioning the sevens into the draw pile. This isn't cheating. It's destiny.

I’m about to deal myself a full house. This time, this oversized feathery weed is going down.

I deal the hands. Two cards to each of us.

She peers at hers with that same detached calm and says:

“I’ll redraw.”

Perfect.

I slide her a new set. She takes them without a word.

First three cards hit the table, the flop.

Two sevens and a king. Right on cue.

Her body reacts instantly.

Feathers begin to sprout down her arms. Soft, silver-blue, rippling outward like silk caught in the wind. Her arms stretch longer, joints shifting slightly.

I grin, suppressing a laugh.

Yeah, go ahead. Transform to my whim. Make it flashy.

Because this time?

You lose.

I look at her. “Redraw?”

“I’m fine,” she says smoothly.

Turn card. Fourth.

Another piece in place. Not important, it’s background noise now.

Her feathers spread further… gorgeous, radiant things. Her arms now look more wing than limb. Her fingers are vanishing beneath them. And, like clockwork, her chest puffs up again… massively.

She barely reacts. Like this is routine for her. A spa day.

I sneer, eyes gleaming.

This is it. My kingdom restored.

Fifth and final card. The river.

I slap it down with theatrical flair.

Her arms finish. Full, majestic wings. Long, elegant, strong enough to fan away my ego if she flapped them hard enough. Her breasts surge again, bigger than her damn head, jiggling like they just gained their own gravitational pull.

I keep my cool. Barely.

“Redraw?” I offer one last time. Like a gentleman.

She nods.

“Sure.”

Oh? Cocky until the end, huh?

I draw her two more cards. Toss them over.

And now… it's time.

The reveal.

“Ladies first,” I say, with all the smugness in the world. I’m already tasting victory.

She lays her hand down. Two sevens.

Cute.

I smirk, then lay down my kings. Two in the hand, one on the board.

That makes three kings… and two sevens. Full house.

MY full house.

I grin, spread my arms, already imagining the charm spell swallowing her whole.

But she just tilts her head.

“Looks like I win.”

…

What?

What?

I look again. My eyes dart from my cards to hers, then back to the board.

I had three kings. Two sevens.

She has—

Two sevens. Plus the two on the board.

That’s… four.

FOUR OF A KIND.

WHAT THE HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLL?!?!?!?!!?!

This isn’t real.

FOUR SEVENS?!
Who even gets that?!
How—HOW did she draw into that? I rigged this! I rigged this perfectly!

I can feel something inside me snap. Not a thread. Not a wire.

Something important.

Across the table, Queen Smugtaur the Fourth just smiles like she didn’t just rip my soul out and pluck the strings like a harp.

I think I’m going to throw up.

“Again,” she says, calm as ever, voice smooth as velvet, “you transformed me even though I won.”

I bite down on my lip so hard it almost draws blood.

Of course. Of course she’s not done.

I glare at her through the heat rising behind my eyes. “What do you want now?”

She stretches out—majestic and smug, with her massive wings folding behind her, her liontaur legs lounging like she owns the whole floor. And with a smile that could slice through steel, she says:

“I want to challenge you… for the ownership of the casino.”

My jaw hits the floor.

“No way! There is no way I’m giving that up without a fight!”

She doesn’t even flinch. Just leans in and says, “I’m not saying I want it without a fight.”
And then comes that smirk. The one that makes my blood boil.

“I want to challenge you for it. Your punishment is having to gamble it at all.”

I freeze.
I feel it again.
That weight. That gaze. The oppressive, silent pressure on the back of my neck.

Ted is watching. Again.

My whole body wants to scream no. But my soul knows better.

So I grit my teeth, force the words out.

“Fine. If I win, I get you. Completely.”

She nods.

“And if I win,” she adds, tilting her head just enough to look devilish, “I get the casino.
And you, too.”

…

A shiver rolls down my spine like an earthquake on ice.

I should protest. I should slam my fist on the table.
But I don’t. I can’t. That damn divine presence is keeping me locked in.

If I lose this one, it’s everything.
My girls. My money. My magic. My name. My pride. My freedom.

She spreads her wings slightly and says:

“This time, we both shuffle. I shuffle. Then you shuffle. I cut. Then you cut. The hands get dealt. May the better player win.”

I’m breathing through my teeth now. Grinding them into dust.

This is it. The final game.

She reaches forward first. With those feathered arms and lioness confidence, she somehow shuffles the cards flawlessly. Precise. Controlled. No magic. Just skill.

I take the deck. My fingers feel stiff.
She’s staring at me. Watching.

No sleight of hand this time. No stacked deck. No backup plan.
Just a clean shuffle. Cards sliding past each other with soft whispers and heavy weight.

She cuts the deck with those taloned fingers. Neat. No tricks.

I cut it back, my hand shaking ever so slightly.

This is really happening.

This is the one hand that decides it all.

No rigging. No cheats.

Just luck.

I stare down at the cards as the dealer begins to deal.

Lady Luck… don’t leave me hanging now.
Please. I need your help now.

The way she was looking at me. The way this monster girl Sora was looking at me…

Yeah. She might actually be the devil.

Cerberus? Please. That mutt’s a poodle compared to this three-headed, plant-tailed, lion-bodied, winged abomination of smugness. I could feel my spine trying to retreat into my stomach every time she blinked.

But fine. Game on.

I deal the two cards. They slide out smooth, like fate doesn’t know it’s about to be strangled.

Two jacks. Nice. Solid. Reliable. Like two good old friends showing up for a bar fight.

Then she leans in, smiling and judging me at the same time in the most intimidating way.

“Want to swap?” she asks, her voice so confident it makes my soul flinch. “This is the only swap I’m willing to give you.”

She doesn't even need to bluff. Her tone is executioner-level lethal.

I clench my jaw. “I’ll keep,” I say, like I have a choice. She keeps too.

The first three cards hit the table.

Flop:
Random red card.
Random club.
Jack of spades.

Hell yes. Three of a kind.

And then, of course, the transformation continues. I really should’ve rewritten that enchantment when she grew a second torso.

Her shoulders widen, her chest swells again, and two little nubs pop up from her forehead like cursed devil cherries.

Horns?

Am I giving her horns now?

At this point, I don’t even know what the enchantment is doing anymore. It’s just playing jazz.

Next card. Queen of spades.

Doesn’t help me. Doesn’t matter. I'm locked in on the prize.

Meanwhile, oh great, her shoulders bulge, and I swear to Ted, two more heads are starting to form. Her horns lengthen, now twisting back like demonic ram-blades, and her boobs? Oh brother, her boobs.

Her boobs are now comically enormous. Like gravity-warping, shelf-dominating, "they enter the room first" levels of enormous.

I think one just nudged a roulette wheel off the table behind her.

And then, the final card.

Ace of spades.

And she finishes transforming.
Three perfect heads.
Twin horns on each.
A body that’s now half lion, half plant, and full nightmare fuel for any exorcist with a weak stomach.

I’m already sweating.

And then it slowly hits me.

Jack of Spades, Queen of Spades, Ace of Spades…

...

No.

No, it couldn't be.

I shuffled and cut that deck. The odds of that…

“I win,” all three heads say, flatly, in unison.

She calmly lays down her cards.

Ten of spades.
King of spades.

Royal. Flush.

Spades.

I nearly faint right there at the table. I go cold. My hands go limp.

That’s… that’s impossible.
I shuffled. After her. I cut the deck.
I cut it after she shuffled.
I—I was clean!

My eyes lock on the table, trying to reassemble the last ten seconds of my life like shattered glass.

And she leans over, looming over me, her three heads smiling, eyes glowing, wings arched like judgment.

“Next time you try to scam someone,” she says, voice like silk-wrapped dynamite,
“make sure they’re worse than you at rigging casino games.”

I feel my knees buckling.

“You… you CHEATED?!” I croak, desperate. Panicked.

Her middle head tilts.

“If you caught me, feel free to call me out. But if you didn’t…” She shrugs, all three sets of shoulders lifting. “Then I guess I didn’t~” The outer heads giggle in stereo.

“You… knew?!” I gasp, air suddenly a luxury I can’t afford.

“Of course,” she says.
“If I called you out, you never would’ve let us play.”
“And I was so curious to see how well the mighty Lucky Straight really plays.”

And that’s it.

That’s the last thing I needed to hear.

The last nail in the coffin of my pride. My casino. My everything.

My vision swims.

The floor tilts.

And the last thing I see before blacking out is her, smirking, threefold, surrounded by my girls, my lights, and my stolen throne.

I lost.

I lost everything.

—

The moon hung high above the casino's golden spires, casting a soft, silvery glow over the now quiet floor where fortunes had changed forever.

Somewhere near the exit, Sora, the towering liontaur, plant-tailed, harpy-winged, triple-headed, goat-horned, absurdly busty monster girl, stood beneath a flickering neon sign that read “The House of Hearts.”

She was on the phone. All three heads, though facing slightly different directions, spoke in perfect harmony.

"Yeah, I dealt with it."

Her central head smiled faintly, her voice relaxed and casual as though she hadn’t just mentally dismembered a casino king.

"He was surprisingly good. Playing with him was fun."

She adjusted her stance slightly, her heavy breasts shifting with a motion that could probably register on a seismograph.

"Yeah, the rumors are true. And I freed all of them. And I guess… recruited all of those sexy girls for us."

She chuckled softly. The tail behind her, a thick, writhing vine ending in a Venus flytrap bloom, twitched playfully.

"Hell yeah I am. I mean, which self-respecting teenager would say no to a loving harem of monster girls?"

She paused, then sighed with amused resignation.

"Yeah, uhm, about that… I’ll show you when I get back. I don’t know what kind of spell he used, but he certainly got me good. Hahahaha!"

Her side heads giggled, like background laugh tracks to her main voice’s snarky calm.

"Alright. See you in the castle, Shiro~"

She hung up with a flick of her vine-tail, which had wrapped itself briefly around the phone.

Then she turned and began her walk toward the distant horizon, back to Imanities Castle, hips swaying like a woman who’d just won the universe.

But what was that on her muscular liontaur back?

There lay an unconscious, ultra-busty catgirl draped like a defeated trophy. Her fluffy brown ears twitched now and then, but she was out cold. Her tail flicked once in protest.

Across her obscenely curvy uniform, stitched in swirling golden thread, read two unmistakable lines:

“Lucky Jiggle” across her massive chest, and “Straight-up Bouncy” plastered in bold across her titanic, jiggling rear.

No one had ever seen that girl before.

But now?

She was just one of Sora’s many new harem members.

What else could a liontaur, venus flytrap-tailed, harpy-winged, three-headed, goat-horned monster girl with colossal boobs possibly want?

She laughed softly to herself… low, throaty, and satisfied.

Hehehe~

And with that… she vanished into the night, her mission accomplished.

—

If you are playing against a cheater, the easiest way to win is making him believe that he is the only one cheating at the table.