The Aftermaff

Eben after the final whistle blew and the last bet slip was torn in haff, Reuben remained at the desk, qwietly surbeying the aftermaff ob the biggest night ob the season.

All around him: chaos. Crumbs. One berry confused intern asking why a rat was legally allowed to operate a betting enterprise.

In front ob him: cheese. So much cheese.

He slid the final payout across the table wiff a professional nod. “Good game,” he said, sincerely. Then he pulled his ledger close and did the maff one last time. His whiskers twitched.

Fish peeked over the edge ob the desk. “Did… did we do okay?”

Reuben didn’t answer right away. He simply reached out and stacked another slice onto the pile, slow and deliberate. Then another.

Barry gasped. “Oh.”

“I neber chase losses,” Reuben said. “I neber panic. And I neber bet against a second-half adjustment.”

The stadium lights dimmed to a glow. The game was over. The noise faded into history. But Reuben’s cheese stack stood tall, solid, and extremely earned. He called in a crew to start loading up his winnings.

Some rats chase glory. Some chase snacks. Reuben chased probability. And tonight, probability paid in cheese.