The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 205: 205 | A Scumbag’s Guide to Power Point Presentations

Ren Ashida stood in the center of Field Epsilon like he’d been waiting his whole life for exactly this moment. The kid had the kind of focused intensity that made you think he probably color-coded his training schedules and genuinely enjoyed the process.

His Aspect activated without dramatic buildup or theatrical delay. One second the grass beneath his feet was normal academy-maintained turf. The next second it wasn’t.

The ground shifted. Not violently, not with the explosive force you’d expect from a combat demonstration. Instead the terrain simply decided to become something else entirely. Grass flattened into smooth stone. Dirt compacted into solid bedrock. A ring of elevated earth rose around him in a circle maybe fifteen feet in diameter, forming natural barriers that would provide cover in any reasonable combat scenario.

"Terrain manipulation," Ren said, his voice carrying the clipped confidence of someone reciting information he’d rehearsed. "I can reshape the ground within approximately a forty-foot radius. Stone, earth, sand. Anything mineral-based responds to direct command. Maximum sustained duration is roughly twelve minutes before fatigue becomes a significant factor."

Steele watched without expression. Her tablet remained at her side, untouched. Whatever evaluation she was conducting happened entirely behind those assessing eyes.

"Combat application?" she asked.

Ren’s jaw tightened slightly. The elevated barriers around him shifted, reshaping into something more aggressive. Spikes of stone erupted from the central platform. The smooth surface developed treacherous angles designed to throw off balance and footing. Within seconds his demonstration area had transformed from a defensive position into a kill zone.

"Area denial. Environmental control. I can destabilize enemy footing while maintaining my own stability. Create obstacles. Eliminate cover. Force opponents into predetermined engagement zones."

"Offensive capability?"

A pillar of compressed earth shot from the ground fast enough that I actually tracked its movement with genuine interest. It punched upward maybe eight feet before stopping, the tip sharpened into something that could definitely ruin someone’s afternoon if they were standing in the wrong spot.

"Limited but present. The constructs require time to form at combat-relevant density. Speed is my primary weakness."

Steele nodded once, a single decisive motion. "Reset the field and step back."

Ren complied with the same silent efficiency he brought to everything else. The stone platforms smoothed back into grass like water settling after a disturbance.

The barriers sank into the earth as though they’d never existed, swallowed by the ground that had produced them. The spikes dissolved. The treacherous angles flattened. The entire weaponized architecture he’d constructed simply unmade itself at his command, responding to his will with the same precision it had followed when he’d built it.

Within thirty seconds Field Epsilon looked exactly the same as it had before his demonstration started, pristine grass and afternoon sun with absolutely no evidence that the ground had briefly transformed into something that could kill you if you stepped wrong.

The only proof that anything had happened at all was the faint sheen of exertion on Ren’s forehead and the way his breathing had gone slightly deeper than baseline, both subtle enough that you’d miss them if you weren’t paying attention.

"Belmont, Lukas."

My turn.

I walked toward the center of the field while my brain ran rapid calculations about exactly how much capability to demonstrate. Too little and Steele would flag me for remedial attention I didn’t want. Too much and questions would start about how an Unmarked applicant with a mid-tier telekinetic Aspect could produce results that contradicted his registration paperwork.

The sweet spot was somewhere in the middle. Impressive enough to avoid scrutiny. Restrained enough to maintain cover.

"Aspect demonstration," Steele said. "Full capability."

I activated Spectral Reach.

The golden constructs materialized around me in their familiar configuration. Four phantom limbs extending from my back like wings made of solidified light, each one capable of independent movement and force application. The amber glow caught the afternoon sun and threw shifting patterns across the grass.

"Phantom Touch," I said, using my registered Aspect name instead of the actual ability. "Telekinetic projection system. I generate constructs that can interact with the physical environment at range."

I demonstrated by having two of the limbs reach out and lift a training weight from the nearby equipment stack. The weight was maybe fifty pounds, well within the documented parameters of what Phantom Touch should be capable of handling. The constructs moved it smoothly through the air before setting it back down with controlled gentleness.

"Combat application?"

Here’s where things got interesting.

I had the limbs retract slightly, condensing their form into something more compact and aggressive. Two of them shifted into configurations that could serve as striking implements. The other two spread wide in a defensive posture that would provide coverage against incoming attacks.

"Close to mid-range engagement. The constructs can intercept incoming strikes, create openings in enemy defense, and apply force from multiple angles simultaneously. Primary weakness is range limitation and the focus required to maintain multiple active constructs."

All of which was technically true about Phantom Touch. None of which accurately described what Spectral Reach could actually accomplish at full output.

Steele watched me for a long moment. Her eyes moved across the golden constructs with the attention of someone cataloguing details for later analysis.

"Your entrance exam performance suggests capabilities beyond what you’ve demonstrated."

My stomach tightened slightly. "The practical exam created circumstances that favored creative application over raw power output."

"The practical exam involved a fifty-foot combat robot that you somehow outmaneuvered despite possessing, according to your registration, a telekinetic ability with a fifteen-foot effective range and moderate force ceiling."

"Adrenaline helps."

"Adrenaline doesn’t extend Aspect range by three hundred percent."

I met her eyes directly. "I got lucky. The robot was focused on higher-threat targets. I found gaps in its attention and exploited them. Half of combat is knowing when to move and when to stay still."

Steele’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in her posture. The kind of microadjustment that suggested she’d noted my response and filed it for future consideration without accepting it as a complete answer.

"Reset and step back."