Pretending to be a noob in a world scaled by power level

[23] A gambler's visit

That night, I put on my black hood again and entered the bar Lila's father usually goes to. Lila pointed out which guy was her father.

"I see..." as I observed from outside.

Lila's father, a man with a graying beard and hunched shoulders, was making his way through the crowd. He held a worn-out cup, trying to catch the attention of anyone who'd listen.

"Please, I just need a little more...just a little more to get back on my feet," he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. His eyes were bloodshot, a testament to many sleepless nights spent worrying over debts and a lifestyle he could no longer afford.

Most people he approached simply turned away, shaking their heads and muttering under their breath about 'fools and their money'. Others outright ignored him, continuing their conversations as if he wasn't there.

A burly dwarf, deeply engrossed in his tankard, finally responded, "Ya think we're all as daft as you, mate? Keep dreamin'!"

Another patron, an elf with sharp, indifferent features, merely sighed and said, "Gerrald, you had your chance. And you blew it. Just like you blow everything else. Leave us be."

The man, now identified as Gerrald, continued his futile attempts, oblivious or perhaps too desperate to care about the scoffs and dismissive comments.

The shadows cast by the dim lighting of the bar masked our identities as we made our way towards Gerrald. His eyes lit up upon recognizing his daughter, a spark of hope appearing in his otherwise hopeless gaze.

"Lila?" he slurred, his eyes roving over to the figure standing behind me. "Did you... did you make any money today, honey?"

Lila stepped out from behind me, her hands balled into fists at her side. "You dare to ask me that, Gerrald?" she spat, refusing to address him as 'father'. The bar fell silent at her words, the regular patrons knowing better than to interfere in their business.

"Is that all you care about, the money?" Her voice wavered slightly, showing her anger was not just a product of her father's question, but a build-up of pent up emotions.

Gerrald seemed taken aback, his bloodshot eyes darting from his daughter to me, confusion painted all over his face. It was clear he didn't recognize me, only noticing the shadowy figure of a stranger standing in the midst of a familial dispute.

The tavern filled with a tense silence as we awaited his response.

Q: What do you think will happen next?