My Scumbag System - Chapter 108

Chapter 108: Breakfast is Served, and So is My Death Warrant
I stood at the kitchen stove, flipping pancakes with newfound grace. My movements were quiet and deliberate, each motion carefully controlled. The sizzle of bacon formed a pleasant background melody, filling the condo with an inviting aroma. This wasn’t just breakfast—it was my opening act, a performance of normalcy when everything had changed.

The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the kitchen in warm golden light. Outside, New Vein City sparkled, buildings gleaming like jewels against the blue sky. It would have been beautiful if I wasn’t so acutely aware of the ticking time bomb our family had become.

Soft footsteps approached from behind. Natalia entered, fresh from the shower, her hair still damp and smelling faintly of my shampoo. She wore light gray loungewear that hugged her curves in all the right places. I caught a glimpse of the marks on her neck, barely concealed by a light layer of makeup. My marks. My claim.

She slid her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her cheek against my back with a contented sigh.

“Mmmm… smells good. You should cook for me more often,” she murmured, her voice still carrying the husky edge from last night’s activities.

I tensed for a fraction of a second before relaxing into her embrace.

“Maybe I will,” I replied, turning to place a light kiss on her forehead. “Someone has to make sure you’re eating properly between training sessions.”

Natalia smiled up at me, her eyes filled with adoration. If she only knew the storm brewing around us.

“Since when did you become so domestic?” she asked, reaching past me to steal a piece of bacon. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” I warned playfully. “This is a special occasion.”

Footsteps approached the kitchen. I immediately recognized my mother’s gait. The opening of our play was over—the main act was about to begin.

Kimiko entered the kitchen, dressed in casual weekend clothes. Her face wore a mask of serene calm, but my newly acquired [The Matriarch’s Gaze] curse allowed me to see what others wouldn’t: the slight tightness around her eyes, the way her smile didn’t quite reach them, the fractional hesitation in her movements. To anyone else, she appeared normal. To me, she was a judge who had already passed sentence.

Natalia and I broke apart naturally. I turned to my mother with a warm smile.

“Morning, Mom. I figured I’d make breakfast. You and Luka were out late.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you, sweetie,” Kimiko replied, her smile perfect and porcelain. Her eyes flicked from me to Natalia, then back.

“Need any help?” she asked, moving toward the coffee maker.

“Nope. Got it covered. Coffee’s fresh, though.”

“Thank God,” she said, pouring herself a cup. “Your father had one too many ‘courtesy toasts’ with the Miyamoto family last night.”

“How was the charity event?” Natalia asked, taking a seat at the counter island. Her voice was perfectly casual, her posture relaxed. She had no idea we were being scrutinized.

“The usual,” Kimiko said with a small wave of her hand. “Self-important speeches, mediocre food, excellent alcohol. The guild raised four million for the Reclamation Project.” She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving my face. “Satori, did you sleep well? I thought I heard noises coming from your room late last night.”

My heart skipped a beat, but my face remained neutral. “Really? I crashed pretty hard after my workout yesterday. Must have been something else.”

“Hmm,” Kimiko hummed, noncommittal. “I suppose it could have been the air circulation system. This building has always had quirks.”

I turned back to the stove, flipping the last batch of pancakes. “Breakfast’s ready. Should we wake up Luka?”

“No need,” came a gruff voice from the doorway. “The smell of food did the job.”

Luka stumbled in, looking like he’d been hit by a train. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a mess, his complexion slightly green. He wore sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, completing the picture of a man suffering the consequences of too much high-society fun.

“Coffee,” he groaned, making grabbing motions with his hands like a child reaching for a toy.

Kimiko laughed, the sound almost convincing. “Here, you disaster.” She handed him a mug. “Our son made breakfast for everyone.”

Luka took a long swig of coffee, then looked at the spread on the counter with genuine surprise. “You did all this, son? I’m impressed.”

“It’s just breakfast,” I said with a casual shrug. “Nothing special.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Natalia interjected. “It looks amazing.”

We all took seats around the dining table, the perfect family portrait. The domesticity of it was surreal, considering what had happened just hours before in my bedroom.

“So what’s everyone’s plans for today?” Kimiko asked, spreading jam on her pancakes with smooth, deliberate strokes.

“Training,” Natalia said immediately.

“Studying,” I added. “The entrance exams are coming up fast.”

Luka perked up slightly, the food and coffee bringing him back to life. “I’m proud of you both. Working hard even on weekends.”

“The Hunter lifestyle requires dedication,” Natalia said with perfect seriousness. “Every day counts.”

“Speaking of dedication,” Luka said, turning to me, “how was your date with Emi yesterday? Kimiko mentioned you two spent the day together.”

I sensed Natalia tense beside me, though she kept her expression neutral. Under the table, I gave her thigh a warning squeeze.

“It was nice,” I said, my tone carefully calibrated to sound interested but not overly enthusiastic. “We studied at Cloud 9, then walked around a bit. She’s really talented—showed me some of her Hunter gear designs.”

“She’s quite pretty,” Kimiko observed, watching me closely. “And her healing Aspect is rare. Her mother runs that lovely ramen shop in the East District, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, Aoyama’s. She invited me to visit sometime.”

“You should,” Kimiko said, smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. “Family businesses tell you a lot about a person’s values. Their roots.”

“Emi’s sweet,” Natalia chimed in, her voice perfectly steady. “We’ve been friends since middle school. She’s always been there for me.”

“Good friends are important,” Kimiko agreed, her gaze shifting between us. “Trust is the foundation of any relationship, wouldn’t you say, Satori?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, meeting her eyes without flinching. “Trust and honesty.”

Luka, oblivious to the undercurrents, took another bite of pancake. “These are fantastic, son. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“NewTube,” I lied smoothly. The truth—that I’d learned from a former chef who’d owed money to the Yamaguchi-gumi and paid his debt by cooking for the enforcers—wouldn’t have gone over well.

“He’s been holding out on us,” Natalia said with a teasing smile. “All this time we could have been eating like this.”

“Better late than never,” I quipped, returning her smile.

We continued eating, the conversation flowing with a painful normalcy. Luka talked about his Guild’s upcoming expeditions. Natalia discussed her training goals. I mentioned some obscure aspects of Gate theory I’d been studying. All the while, Kimiko watched, her gaze like a laser scanning for cracks in our performance.

As we cleared the table, she placed a gentle hand on my arm. Her touch was light, but it felt like a manacle.

“Satori,” she said, her voice soft but unbreakable. “Could you help me with the gardening out on the terrace for a few minutes? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Alone.”

And there it was. The summons I’d been dreading since waking up. The final act in our morning performance.

“Sure, Mom,” I said, my voice betraying nothing of the dread coiling in my stomach. “Let me just finish cleaning up here.”

“I’ll help Natalia with the dishes,” Luka offered, already rolling up his sleeves. “You two go ahead.”

Natalia caught my eye briefly as I turned to follow Kimiko. There was a question there, a hint of concern. She’d picked up on something off in my demeanor. Perceptive, my queen. Too bad I couldn’t warn her about the landmine we were standing on.

As I followed Kimiko toward the terrace, I found myself mapping escape routes out of habit. Old instincts die hard. The glass doors slid open silently, admitting us to the terrace garden my mother had cultivated since moving into the condo. Potted trees, flowering plants, and herbs created a small oasis twenty stories above the city.

Kimiko moved to a potted lemon tree, touching one of its leaves gently. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Life finding a way even this far from the ground.”

I remained silent, waiting for the guillotine to fall.

“You know,” she continued, her back still to me, “I’ve always believed that families are like gardens. They need constant attention. Care. Honesty.”

“Mom—”

She turned to face me, her expression unreadable. “The question is, Satori, what kind of garden are we growing here? And what are you cultivating in the dark?”

The morning sun framed her from behind, casting her face in shadow while illuminating the city beyond. For a moment, she looked like something more than human—a goddess of hearth and home, preparing judgment.

And I, the King of the Glass House, stood exposed before her gaze, wondering if my reign was already over.