My Scumbag System - Chapter 132

Chapter 132: This Apartment Building is Nicer Than My Entire Neighborhood
The journey from Emi’s modest apartment in the Asahi District to the gleaming spires of Veridian Hills was like traveling between different planets—a stark transition from the comfortable chaos she called home to the rarefied air of Valoria’s elite.

She walked through the familiar streets of her neighborhood, waving enthusiastically to Mr. Tanaka sweeping outside his convenience store and dramatically dodging the usual group of kids playing Hunter versus Gate-spawn in the street. One little boy with a cardboard crown representing a Monster Core on his head growled ferociously as she passed, and she clutched her chest in mock terror, making him giggle with delight. The air hummed with life—smelling of sizzling yakisoba from the corner stand, industrial cleaner from the laundromat, and the faint metallic tang of Core-powered generators.

At the maglev station, she swiped her transit card, wincing slightly at the fare that flashed on the screen. Six hundred credits gone in an instant—enough for a week’s worth of bubble tea and fashion magazines. A definite splurge, but totally worth it to avoid showing up at Natalia’s place looking like she’d just fought her way through a D-Rank Gate after three different sweaty bus transfers.

As the train glided away from Asahi, accelerating with that distinctive Core-powered hum, Emi pressed her face against the window and watched the transformation of the city unfold like a special effect in a blockbuster Hunter drama. The buildings grew taller and more angular against the cloudless sky.

Holographic ads for household goods and discount markets flickered and gave way to promotions for luxury watches and exclusive Hunter guild recruitment posters featuring A-Rank celebrities in poses that belonged on magazine covers rather than battlefields.

The passengers around her transformed just as dramatically. The factory workers and office clerks with their practical clothes and tired eyes gradually disappeared at each stop, replaced by sleek professionals in hand-tailored suits and impossibly stylish teens sporting the latest fashion trends that Emi had only seen in her favorite Hunter lifestyle blogs. One girl probably her age wore boots that Emi recognized from last month’s issue of “Hunter Vogue”—the limited-edition collaboration with Apex, the S-Rank Hunter whose career Emi followed obsessively.

Emi glanced from the girl’s limited-edition Apex boots down to her own. She tugged at the hem of her pastel sweater. It came from a department store, not a boutique with a waiting list. The rhinestone clips in her hair felt childish, not playful.

“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “Your clothes are cute. You’re cute. And you earned your spot at that entrance exam just like they did.”

Still, as she stepped off the maglev into the pristine Veridian Hills station, Emi couldn’t help feeling like an alien visitor.

The walk to their apartment took her past shops she would never dare enter and restaurants where a single meal would cost her entire weekly allowance. She kept her eyes forward, pretending she belonged.

When Emi finally stood before the building, she had to tilt her head back to follow the tower of white marble and gold-tinted glass as it stretched toward the clouds, catching and amplifying the afternoon sun.

“Good afternoon, miss. May I help you?” His voice was deep and formal.

“Um, yes! I’m here to visit Natalia Kuzmina and Satori Nakano.” Emi tried to match his formality, standing a little straighter.

“Your name, please?”

“Emi Aoyama.”

He checked something on a small tablet. “Ah, yes. Ms. Aoyama. You’re expected.” He stepped aside, gesturing toward the massive glass doors. “The elevators are straight ahead.”

“Thank you!” Emi gave him her brightest smile, which he acknowledged with a polite nod.

As she approached the entrance, a sudden panic gripped her. She stopped short, clutching her backpack straps.

“I can’t show up empty-handed,” she murmured, her mother’s strict lessons on manners echoing in her head. But what do you bring people who live in a place like this?

Her eyes landed on a small patisserie across the street. The window display featured exquisite confections that looked more like art than food. The sign read “Étoile Céleste: Luxury Patisserie.”

Before she could overthink it, Emi darted across the street and into the shop. The interior smelled of vanilla and wealth, with glass cases displaying desserts that seemed too beautiful to eat.

“May I help you?” asked a woman in an immaculate chef’s coat.

“Y-yes,” Emi said, scanning the displays. Her eyes widened at a tray of iridescent macarons that glittered like jewels. “What are those?”

“Ah, excellent choice. Those are our signature Gate Remnant Macarons,” the woman explained. “Each one is hand-painted to resemble crystallized Gate fragments.”

“Perfect! I’ll take a box, please.” Emi fumbled for her wallet, trying not to wince when the woman announced the price. It was nearly half her weekly allowance, but the thought of showing up without a gift was unthinkable.

The woman packaged the macarons in an elegant white box tied with a silver ribbon. “Enjoy your evening,” she said, handing over the package with a small bow.

“Thank you!” Emi clutched her precious cargo and hurried back across the street.

The elevator to the 27th floor was silent and swift, lined with mirrors that reflected Emi’s nervous expression back at her from every angle. She used the opportunity to check her appearance one last time, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and straightening her sweater.

The hallway was hushed, the thick carpet absorbing all sound. Each door she passed looked heavy and important, like the entrance to a corporate boardroom rather than a home. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and lemon polish.

Finally, she stood before door 2704. Emi took a deep breath, clutching the pastry box to her chest. She smoothed down her skirt one last time, squared her shoulders, and pressed the doorbell.

A melodic chime sounded inside. Emi’s heart hammered against her ribs as she waited, counting the seconds.

The door swung open to reveal Natalia, looking effortlessly elegant in simple loungewear—black leggings and an oversized cashmere sweater. Her purple hair was pulled back in a messy bun that somehow looked intentional and stylish.

She held up the pastry box with both hands, offering her brightest smile.

“Oppappi!”