"Know when to hold 'em"

 The smoky air of the Nar Shaddaa cantina was thick with tension and the hum of murmured conversations. Neon lights flickered erratically, casting strange shadows on the gathered crowd. At a corner table, Mij Korsta leaned back in his chair, his usual composure masking the pressure of the moment. His opponent, Ita Odo, sat across from him, her sharp Rodian features illuminated by the glow of the Sabacc pot.

It wasn’t just any Sabacc game. It was Corellian Spike Sabacc, the most unpredictable version of the galaxy’s most unpredictable game. The stakes were high: All of Mij’s earnings from the last job he ran against a hefty pile of credits and a rare Tibanna gas canister that Ita had brought to the table.

The small crowd that had gathered around them whispered among themselves, eager to witness the outcome. Ita, ever the showwoman, gave the audience a sly glance as she shuffled the deck with a flourish.

“Your move, Korsta,” she said, her voice as smooth as the Corellian brandy she sipped.

Mij smirked and glanced at his cards. His instincts told him the hand was strong, but Sabacc was as much about reading your opponent as it was about luck. Ita was unreadable, her calm demeanor betraying nothing.

“I’ll raise,” Mij said, tossing in a handful of credits. His chipped credit chit—the marker he always used—clinked against the pile.

Ita’s antennae twitched slightly, a subtle movement that could mean anything. She met his raise and added the Tibanna gas canister to the pot. The crowd murmured in approval.

The next few rounds were a blur of shifting cards and escalating stakes. Mij’s confidence grew as his hand solidified, a rare Idiot’s Array forming before him. He barely suppressed a grin. This was it.

“Ita,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I’ll wager this blaster.”

The crowd gasped, and Ita tilted her head, her large eyes narrowing with interest. “Bold move,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. She tapped a clawed finger on the table before matching the bet.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, sliding her cards onto the table with deliberate grace.

Mij’s heart sank. A Pure Sabacc. It was one of the only hands that could beat his Idiot’s Array.

The cantina erupted in cheers and groans as Ita leaned back, victorious. Her green snout curled into a knowing smirk as she reached for the blaster, inspecting it with practiced hands.

“Fine craftsmanship,” she said, tucking it into her belt. “Thank you for the game, Korsta. Better luck next time.”

Mij forced a smile, masking his frustration. “You’re good, Odo. I’ll give you that.”

“Good?” Ita said, standing to leave. “I’m the best.”

As she disappeared into the crowd, Mij sat back, nursing a drink and the bitter taste of defeat. He’d lost the blaster, but the game wasn’t over—not in his eyes. One day, he’d find a way to even the score.