My Scumbag System

I stepped into the living room alongside Emi and Natalia, acutely aware of the invisible currents flowing between us. The accumulated tension from our earlier encounter still lingered, creating an unspoken triangle that seemed to follow us like a persistent shadow.

Emi stayed half a step behind me, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her uniform, while Natalia maintained a distance close enough to signal association but far enough to deny anything more intimate. The dance had begun.

The rest of our merry band of misfits had already assembled, sprawled across the worn furniture in various states of exhaustion. The living room of Onyx House had clearly seen better days—faded wallpaper peeling at the corners, furniture that showed years of rough treatment, and a persistent musty smell that even the open windows couldn't quite dispel. Yet there was something oddly comforting about its imperfection, a stark contrast to the sterile, antiseptic halls of the academy's main buildings.

Raphael glowered at me from his corner, arms crossed over his chest like granite slabs, jaw working as if chewing through his own frustration. The morning's humiliation still fresh in his mind, no doubt. Each time our eyes met, his narrowed dangerously, fingers twitching as if itching to ignite his Aspect and finish what Braxton had started. He was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Isabelle sat primly on the edge of a threadbare armchair, her posture painfully perfect, as if refusing to acknowledge the furniture's shabbiness. Her crimson eyes tracking our entrance with that unnervingly perceptive gaze of hers. Even in repose, she carried herself with the innate grace of nobility, a queen slumming among peasants. She missed nothing, those eyes cataloging every micro-expression, every subtle shift in the room's atmosphere.

And Juan—surprise, surprise—was fast asleep on the couch, his lanky form draped across the cushions, one arm dangling toward the floor, a deck of cards splayed beneath his limp fingers. Even in sleep, he looked perpetually bored, as if consciousness itself was too much effort to maintain.

Jaime was doing push-ups in the corner, because of course he was, counting under his breath with manic enthusiasm. "Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred! YEAH! FOR SAKURA!" His muscles bulged obscenely with each movement, sweat glistening on his bare torso despite the room's cool temperature.

The twins occupied the loveseat, Akari sprawled across it like a content cat while Hikari perched on the armrest. They whispered to each other, occasionally breaking into synchronized giggles that sent shivers down my spine. The way they watched me reminded me of children eyeing an interesting new toy—eager to play with it until it broke.

In the center of it all slouched Braxton Miller, our illustrious leader, looking even more disheveled than he had during our morning session. His hair stuck up at odd angles, as if he'd been repeatedly running his hands through it in frustration, and the dark circles under his eyes had somehow deepened in the span of a few hours, turning into bruise-like shadows that made him look like he'd gone ten rounds with insomnia and lost badly. He nursed a steaming cup of coffee as if it contained the elixir of life itself, his knuckles white around the chipped mug.

Upon our entrance, his bloodshot eyes flicked up, lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, the movement causing his rumpled shirt to bunch up around his shoulders.

"Ah, Nakano. Heard you had a fun trip to see Dr. Death." A flicker of something almost resembling guilt passed across his features, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. "Sorry about that. Got a little... carried away. My bad."

I felt every eye in the room on me, weighing, measuring, waiting for my reaction. Raphael especially looked eager for some display of resentment or weakness, his body tensing forward like a predator spotting vulnerability. I decided to disappoint him.

"No problem at all, Miller-sensei. It was an educational experience." My voice came out smooth, unbothered, as if discussing the weather rather than being knocked unconscious and hospitalized.

And profitable. Thank you for the 500 SP. Best lesson I've ever had. The System had been unusually generous with that particular beating. Almost as if it approved of my humiliation.

"If anything," I continued aloud, shifting my weight to appear slightly more humble, just enough to make my next words land with greater impact, "it was a good reminder of how far I still have to go to reach the level I'm aiming for. I appreciate the reality check."

My response landed like a stone in still water, ripples of surprise spreading through the room. Raphael's face contorted in confusion, then frustration, then something bordering on disgust—he'd been hoping for a confrontation, something to diminish me in the eyes of the others, to paint me as weak or resentful. His disappointment was almost palpable.

Isabelle's perfectly shaped eyebrow arched upward, a new glint of interest in her calculating gaze. Her fingers, long and elegant, tapped a thoughtful rhythm against the armrest, as if reconsidering some internal assessment of me.

Even Skylar, who had been feigning disinterest from her perch on the windowsill, paused her incessant scrolling to glance up from her phone, the harsh blue light illuminating her face in the dim corner of the room. Her expression remained bored, but the slight narrowing of her eyes told me I'd surprised her.

Marco, the ever-enthusiastic golden retriever of a human, broke into a wide grin. "That's the spirit, man! Learning from everything!" He smacked Malachi on the back, causing the quiet boy to nearly fall off his chair, his normally impassive face showing a rare flash of irritation.

But it was Braxton's reaction that interested me most. He stared at me for a long moment, the cup halfway to his lips, steam curling around his face like thought bubbles in a comic. There was a new level of assessment in his tired eyes, a recalibration. Good. He was starting to realize I wasn't just another arrogant kid playing Hunter.

I let my gaze drift, deliberately landing on Carmen, who lounged on the arm of a nearby chair with the casual grace of a panther. Her eyepatch did nothing to diminish her startling beauty, merely adding an air of dangerous mystery. She looked far too pleased with herself, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Actually," I said, my voice dropping a few degrees in temperature, the sudden shift catching everyone's attention.

"If I'm mad at anyone, it's you, Carmen-sensei."