The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 275: 275 | The Knock at 11:47

Felicity and I finished dinner in comfortable silence after that, neither of us pushing the conversation further into territory that might require explanation. She excused herself around seven with vague mentions of unpacking and skincare routines, leaving me alone at the table with empty plates and a brain running too hot to settle.

The cafeteria thinned out as evening approached. Students drifted toward their dorms in pairs and clusters, comparing notes on the day’s disasters. I caught fragments of conversation as people passed. Someone describing how their constructs failed mid-exercise. Someone else complaining about their team assignment. A lot of nervous laughter and the particular exhaustion that comes from spending eight hours having your fundamental assumptions about your own capabilities systematically dismantled.

Percy found me before I could escape.

"Lukas." He appeared at my elbow with his notebook clutched against his chest. "I wanted to discuss something before curfew."

"That sounds ominous."

"It’s not ominous. It’s logistical." He sat down across from me in the seat Felicity had vacated, his brown eyes intense behind the frames of glasses he kept pushing up his nose. "Our performance today exceeded baseline expectations for a first match. I’ve been analyzing the factors that contributed to our success."

"We won because Camille and Petra hate each other and I’m willing to do unhinged things."

"That’s a reductive summary that ignores several key variables." Percy opened his notebook to a page covered in diagrams and annotations. "Your construct range exceeded your registered specifications by a factor of three. Your lift capacity exceeded registered specifications by a factor of five. Your movement speed during the bathroom approach demonstrated acceleration that should be impossible for someone without a mobility enhancement Aspect."

My stomach did something uncomfortable that had nothing to do with the short ribs.

"Percy."

"I’m not accusing you of anything." He looked up from his notes with an expression that was harder to read than usual. "I’m observing patterns. That’s what I do. And the patterns suggest your Aspect file contains significant inaccuracies."

The cafeteria felt suddenly emptier than it had a moment ago. The background noise of conversation faded into white noise. Percy’s eyes stayed fixed on mine with the focus of someone who had been running calculations since the moment he watched me punch through Petra’s crystalline barrier.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing." He closed the notebook. "I don’t need an explanation. I’m not going to report you to anyone. I just wanted you to know that I noticed, because operating under the assumption that nobody noticed would be a tactical error on your part."

I sat back in my chair and studied the kid across from me. Navy blue hair slightly too long. Dark brown eyes that processed information faster than most people could speak. A face that looked younger than eighteen despite everything he’d seen today.

"You’re smarter than you let people think."

"I’m exactly as smart as people think. I just don’t translate well into formats that most people find accessible." Percy stood up and tucked his notebook under his arm. "Thank you for the match today. It was educational."

"Percy."

He paused.

"The thing you noticed. The patterns." I chose my words carefully. "I’d appreciate if those stayed between us."

"Obviously." He said it like the concept of betraying information was genuinely foreign to him. "You’re the first partner who trusted me to call timing in a real engagement. That matters more than whatever discrepancies exist between your file and your actual capabilities."

Then he was gone, weaving through the remaining cafeteria tables toward the exit with his notebook pressed against his chest like armor.

I sat alone for another twenty minutes after that, turning possibilities over in my head. Percy had noticed. That meant others might notice too. Camille had felt the constructs pin her wrists with force that exceeded my registered output. Petra had watched me punch through barriers that should have been impenetrable to someone with my supposed specifications.

The fake Aspect cover was holding. Barely. But every time I pushed past the documented limitations of Phantom Touch, I created data points that someone sufficiently analytical could connect into a pattern that didn’t match the story I was selling.

I needed to be more careful.

Or I needed to stop caring about being careful and accept that eventually someone was going to figure out that the delivery boy’s powers didn’t make sense.

The walk back to my dorm took ten minutes through cooling evening air. Halloran’s campus shifted character after dark, the institutional architecture softening under amber pathway lights. Other students passed in the opposite direction, their conversations low and exhausted. A few nodded in recognition. Most just wanted to reach their rooms and collapse.

Room 217 was exactly where I’d left it.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on the overhead light and surveying the space I’d barely had time to exist in before the day started. Single occupancy, which was a blessing. A bed that looked uncomfortable but functional. A desk. A window overlooking the courtyard. The faint smell of industrial cleaning products that every institutional room shares regardless of what institution it belongs to.

My costume lay draped over the desk chair where I’d left it after changing. The shoulder tear from Camille’s graze looked worse in proper lighting. I’d need to submit it for repair before tomorrow’s classes.

I stripped out of my civilian clothes and considered showering but decided against it. The shared bathroom facilities on this floor were probably occupied by everyone else who’d had the same thought, and I wasn’t in the mood to wait in line while someone argued about optimal water temperature.

Instead I pulled on the loose pants I’d designated as sleepwear and collapsed backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling while my brain refused to stop processing.

The System remained silent. No notifications. No quest updates. No helpful commentary about the various compromising positions I’d found myself in today. The quiet should have been comforting but instead felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I closed my eyes and tried to convince my body that sleep was a reasonable goal.

The knock came at eleven forty-seven.