I'm in Conan, I'm not a gangster

Chapter 754 People gave me the nickname—Gambling Freak!
After stepping out of the famous door at 221B Baker Street, Shiraishi E and Conan headed towards the bridge club in the city center, following the slightly old-fashioned London map in their hands.

London was shrouded in thick fog at night, and the gas streetlights cast dim yellowish halos in the fog, barely illuminating the slippery cobblestones underfoot.

Even though it was nearly midnight, the streets were not completely silent.

A few pedestrians still hurried past, their coats wrapped tightly around them; occasionally, a horse-drawn carriage carrying late-returning passengers would appear, the sound of its wheels rolling over the road particularly clear in the silence, the driver's mumbled shouts coming from the mist and then quickly fading away.

Conan raised his wrist and glanced at the virtual interface displaying the in-game time. The number had jumped back to 12:30, but what was even more striking was the constantly changing number of surviving players at the top of the screen.

“There are still thirty people left.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, his tone carrying a hint of seriousness.

Shiraishi glanced at him in the direction of his gaze, her tone relaxed: "The number of people is decreasing quite slowly. I thought there were at least half left."

Conan sighed softly, his young face filled with worry beyond his years: "It's only been a short time, and we've already lost twenty people."

"The difficulty of this game and the interference of Noah's Ark are probably more troublesome than we imagined. I worry... that not many people will actually make it to the last level."

Upon hearing this, Shiraishi E chuckled, very naturally reaching out to ruffle Conan's signature short hair, and said in his deliberately drawn-out, Holmes-esque tone, "Relax, my dear Watson. You have absolutely no need to worry about this."

"I said I would help you get through the game, and I will definitely do it. Trust your 'Sherlock Holmes' skills."

Conan slapped away the hand that was messing with his head, annoyed, and protested, "Alright, alright... I've said it so many times! Stop talking to me in that Sherlock Holmes tone! It makes me feel so uncomfortable!"

Shiraishi E smiled dismissively, withdrew her hand, and said, "This is called role-playing, immersing yourself in it. That's how you get into character, Watson."

The two chatted in hushed tones as they made their way through the increasingly thick fog.

As if passing through an invisible boundary, the scenery before my eyes suddenly became clear—a building with a dignified appearance and classical charm appeared before me, with a sign clearly indicating "Bridge Club" on the door.

Conan stopped at the club entrance, examining the heavy oak door, and asked in a low voice, "How do we get in now? Should we go straight in, or observe first and think of a strategy?"

"Go straight in." Shiraishi E's answer was without the slightest hesitation.

He acted as if he were that uninhibited consulting detective, decisively reaching out and pushing open the door that symbolized the entertainment venues of the upper class.

The scene inside the door was completely different from what the two had imagined based on its identity as a "criminal boss's hideout."

The anticipated chaos and disorder did not materialize.

In contrast, the club's interior was brightly lit and elegantly decorated, filled with the subtle aroma of cigars mingling with the rich scent of leather and polished wood. Inside, people sat in small groups around card tables covered with green velvet, some chatting quietly, others intently studying their cards.

They were all impeccably dressed, elegant in their manners, and their conversation was measured and measured. The entire atmosphere was quiet and orderly, as if they were truly a group of highly cultured gentlemen, rather than dangerous figures with intricate connections to London's underworld. Conan, watching this scene, couldn't help but click his tongue in amazement: "They really do look quite elegant. I never expected these guys to be so convincing; they have the air of high society."

Shiraishi E's gaze swept across the room as she said calmly, "That's normal. Once people have money and status, they always try to package themselves, try to wash away the mud on their bodies, and squeeze into the so-called respectable circles."

"However, there are quite a lot of people here. Which one is our target, Colonel Moran? Watson, what do you think?"

Conan did not answer immediately; his gaze swept quickly and carefully over each card table, like the most sophisticated scanner.

His gaze quickly settled on a table in the corner, a confident smile playing on his lips. "Found him! That guy in the dark gray suit, with the neatly trimmed beard and impeccable posture like a soldier—that must be Sebastian Moran!"

Before Shiraishi E could ask a question, he lowered his voice and continued his analysis at a rapid pace: "Moreover, I also discovered that this guy is cheating using the pet monkey next to him!"

“Look at that monkey. It’s very quiet, but it keeps eating. It must have been rigorously trained—the four suits of playing cards correspond to specific small movements made by one of the monkey’s hands for each of the two suits.”

"As for the colors, did you notice the dried fruit it was eating? Dried blueberries and dried cranberries appeared alternately! Dried blueberries should correspond to spades and clubs, while dried cranberries correspond to hearts and diamonds."

"And the points represent the number of dried fruits it picks up each time! It's using this extremely subtle method to tell Moran the cards in the opponent's hand!"

After quickly explaining the ingenious cheating method, Conan frowned again: "However, even if we expose his cheating on the spot, we probably won't achieve our goal."

"Given Moran's status and personality, he would likely deny it outright, or even get so angry that he would kick us out. We still wouldn't be able to get through him to Professor Moriarty, who is behind the scenes."

To this, Shiraishi E revealed a confident smile and said, "The best way to deal with a gambler addicted to the gambling table is naturally to make him submit at the gambling table!"

Conan paused for a moment, then understood Shiraishi's intention and nodded: "That's right! Defeat him head-on at the gambling table, make him admit defeat, and then take the opportunity to ask to see Professor Moriarty. That way, the success rate will be much higher!"

But then he frowned, revealing his worry: "But... is it really that simple? What if Noah's Ark is interfering again, secretly adjusting the odds so that you can't win no matter what you do?"

Shiraishi E's confident smile remained unwavering. He straightened his back and said in a slightly exaggerated yet certain tone, "You might not believe it, but people call me the Gambling Freak!! At the gambling table, no one has ever been able to beat me!!"

Upon hearing this, Conan couldn't help but roll his eyes and retort, "Gambling monster? I'm the God of Gamblers... Your nickname doesn't sound very reliable."

"Fine, since you're so confident, go ahead and give it a try. If it doesn't work, we'll think of something else."

With that, the two exchanged a glance and, without further hesitation, walked straight toward the gambling table where Colonel Moran was.

(End of this chapter)