The Acapulco is full tonight, smoke curling above the terrace, voices thick with heat and wine. Alias sits already with his notebook open. Buba arrives without hurry, but his eyes show it — he has been reading.

He drops into the chair and pushes the white paper across the table. The pages are worn, dog-eared. “I’ve been chewing it, Mr. Banker. Still not sure I can swallow.”

Alias doesn’t touch the bundle. “What stops you?”

Buba flips to a marked page, jabs a finger. “Here. You say the draw creates the money flow. Fine. But why would anyone keep coming back after the first win, or the first loss? What keeps it alive?”

Before Alias can answer, a man with a plastic pouch of tickets stops at the edge of their table. His voice rises above the terrace: “¡ONCE, ONCE! El cupón de hoy, la suerte está aquí.” A few hands go up, coins change palms, the man moves on, hawking the same chant into the night.

Buba gestures at him. “There’s your answer. People know the odds are bad. Still, every evening, they pay again. Not for bread. For hope.”

Alias picks up his pen, turns the paper placemat sideways. He sketches a rough circle, arrows looping. “Exactly. Each draw isn’t just money. Each draw shows the system exists. The more people join, the more others see it’s real. That visibility builds trust. And trust brings more people. And when someone wins, it fuels the wheel again. People talk about it — what they’d do, what it means. Even the dream of winning keeps it alive.”

• Participation → fuels visibility (others see it’s real).

• Visibility → generates trust.

• Trust → attracts more players.

• More players → sustain stability.

• Stability → reinforces participation again.

Buba studies the circle, unimpressed. “A wheel.”

“A flywheel,” Alias says. “Once it spins, it resists stopping.”

Buba smirks. “Big word. But really it’s simple — the more it moves, the stronger it gets. Call it movement.”

Alias lets the correction stand. He adds two words to the circle: trust and stability. “That’s the point. Stability doesn’t come first. It comes last, out of the motion.”

Buba drums the table once, amused. “So you’re saying it’s not about convincing people with speeches. It’s about proving it, turn by turn. Like the tontine, but open, bigger.”

Alias nods. “No cousin winning too often. No cousin at all.”

The ONCE seller’s voice drifts back through the crowd, fading toward the corner. The terrace hums with chatter, but the rhythm of coins still rings in both their ears.

Buba lifts his coffee. “I see the circle. But circles can also run empty. No money, no players. No players, no trust.”

“That’s the risk,” Alias admits. “It must prove itself, every time.”

Buba sits with that for a moment, then pushes the paper back toward Alias. “Keep your wheel, Mr. Banker. If it rolls, I can explain it. That I understand.”

Alias folds the sketch and tucks it into the paper. For the first time, there’s the faintest sense they are working on the same side.