My Scumbag System

"I'm sure you do." She turned back to me, her expression unreadable, a porcelain mask of perfect features. "Your combat performance this morning was abysmal. Technically speaking, you should have been hospitalized."

"Thanks for the review. I'll work on my form next time I'm getting my ass kicked."

"Yet you managed to catch Professor Miller, one of the most talented A-ranks in our country, off guard." She took a step toward me, her movement so smooth it seemed she was gliding across the floor. "Your speech in the common room was supposed to alienate everyone, yet you've somehow gathered followers already. Soomin watches you when you aren't looking. Skylar actually bothers to remember your name. Even Julian seems obsessed with you, though in a less flattering way."

"They're not followers," I corrected, matching her gaze without flinching. "They're assets."

A flicker of something crossed her face, quick as summer lightning. Approval? Amusement? Interest?

"Is that what we are to you? Assets?"

"Everyone is an asset or an obstacle," I said, the words coming easily because they were true. "Sometimes both. That's just how the world works."

"And which am I?" she asked, tilting her head slightly like a curious bird of prey.

"I haven't decided yet," I answered honestly. There was no point lying to someone who could probably detect bullshit at fifty paces. "You're obviously talented. Your Aspect is S-tier potential, anyone with eyes can see that. But you hold yourself apart from the group, observing rather than participating. You're the queen without a kingdom, watching the peasants squabble."

"As do you," she countered, a hint of something like recognition flashing in those wine-dark eyes. "You stand apart even while standing among them."

"I participate plenty. Just with clear objectives in mind. Every interaction has a purpose. Every conversation is a transaction."

"Such as?"

"Building something that lasts," I said, the words coming automatically, from somewhere deeper than calculation. "Something that can't be broken or taken away. Something that's mine."

Isabelle studied me with renewed intensity, as if seeing me properly for the first time. "Interesting. Not fame. Not recognition. Not even power for its own sake."

"Power is a means," I said, the echo of another life's philosophy resurfacing. "Not an end."

"A philosophy we share," she said, surprising me with what sounded like genuine agreement. "Though perhaps our ends differ. The purpose to which we would apply that power."

I couldn't help my curiosity. "And what end are you seeking, Okoye? What does the runaway queen want with her power?"

"A worthy cause," she replied, echoing her earlier introduction from that first day in the common room. "Something, or someone, deserving of my allegiance. My power is a gift I refuse to squander on the unworthy or the trivial."

"And you came here to evaluate whether I might be that someone," I concluded, the pieces falling into place. "This is an interview. You're head-hunting."

"I came to understand why Professor Miller chose you," she corrected, though her eyes said I wasn't entirely wrong. "And to offer some advice, should you be wise enough to take it. Consider it my contribution to our guild's chances."

"I'm all ears." I gestured for her to continue, genuinely curious now.

"The joint operation with the Sentinels isn't just a training exercise. It's a trap." Her voice remained calm, but her eyes intensified, burning with the conviction of someone who knows exactly how the game is played. "Professor Petrova despises Professor Miller. She views our guild as an insult to the academy's traditions. A blemish on its pristine reputation. She will use this opportunity to humiliate us publicly, to prove the superiority of her methods and justify our eventual dissolution."

"Tell me something I don't know," I said, though I appreciated the confirmation of my suspicions.

"Julian Valerius has been personally preparing for this encounter since he learned you'd be participating. He's been asking around for any information about your combat trial. He's specifically training counter-strategies for you."

That was new information. My expression must have shown it, because Isabelle nodded slightly, satisfaction flickering across her features at having caught me off guard.

"He's designed his entire approach around defeating you specifically," she continued. "Not our guild as a whole. You. Personally."

"How do you know this?" I asked, reassessing her yet again. Not just a passive observer, then.

"I have my sources," she said simply, a hint of mystery in her smile. "I may have abdicated my place among the elite, but information still flows to those who know how to listen. The walls of this academy have ears, and many of those ears still report to me out of habit or loyalty."

I considered her words, adding this new dimension to my understanding of her. An intelligence gatherer. A potential spy network. An information broker hiding in plain sight.

"Why tell me this?" I asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. "What do you gain from warning me?"

Isabelle moved toward the door, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. The late afternoon sun caught her profile, illuminating her like a renaissance painting. In that moment, she was both achingly beautiful and utterly untouchable. A work of art behind museum glass.

"Consider it an investment," she said, her voice soft but clear. "If you prove to be the leader you claim to be, if you can turn this motley collection of rejects into something formidable, then perhaps you'll be worth my time. My attention. My allegiance."

"And if I fail?"

A small, enigmatic smile curved her lips. Neither warm nor cold. Just knowing. "Then I'll simply find another candidate. There's no shortage of ambition in this academy. But potential worthy of a queen's service? That is far rarer."

With that, she slipped out, closing the door behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded final, like the period at the end of a provocative sentence.

I stared at the closed door, processing what had just happened. Isabelle Okoye had just offered herself as an ally. Conditionally. She was testing me, evaluating my potential, deciding whether I was worthy of her support. Her resources. Her network.

"Well," I said to the empty room, glancing at Bartholomew who was still pressed lovingly against the glass, "that was unexpected."

[The Administrator finds this development... promising,] Nel's voice whispered in my mind. [The Queen seeks a King. How poetic.]

"Shut up," I muttered, but I was already thinking about Isabelle as a pillar.

The Ensemble was growing, one way or another.