My Scumbag System - Chapter 230

Chapter 230: The Scumbag’s Self-Help Seminar
I stared at the ceiling of my room. One arm thrown over my eyes. Replaying the disastrous training session on an endless loop in my mind.

A complete, humiliating clusterfuck.

I’d run criminal enterprises with more finesse than this group of superpowered teenagers. Back in my old life, I could orchestrate complex drug deals without breaking a sweat. Territory expansions were child’s play. But here? I couldn’t even get five hormonal kids to follow basic instructions without them devolving into chaos.

Natalia’s words cut deeper than any blade.

You’re a terrible teacher. You only know how to assemble assets.

She was right. That’s what pissed me off the most. The truth always stings worse than any lie.

I could manipulate people all day long. Seduce them. Dominate them. Break them down and build them back up into whatever I needed. But creating a functioning team? That required something I’d never needed before.

Genuine leadership.

Whatever the hell that meant.

The System screen glowed dimly on my datapad beside me. Reminding me of my failure. The harsh blue light cast shadows across my sparse room. Bare walls that reflected my current state of mind. Empty and frustrated.

I’d assigned pairs without considering compatibility. Put Natalia with Raphael despite their obvious antagonism. Pushed too hard without establishing trust. Expected instant cohesion from people who barely knew each other. Demanded results without providing guidance. Barked orders instead of demonstrating technique.

Kaelen Leone could break a man’s will in five minutes with a pair of pliers and a carefully chosen threat. He could make hardened criminals weep and beg with just the right words whispered in their ear.

Satori Nakano couldn’t even get a pack of hormone-addled teenagers to run in a circle without fighting each other like cats in a sack.

Pathetic.

I rolled onto my side. Glared at Bartholomew’s terrarium. The immortal snail was slowly making his way up the glass. Left a glistening trail of slime behind him. His small brown shell caught the light from the illuminated tank. Gave him an almost otherworldly glow.

The subtle noise of his glacial progress scraped against the glass. Almost imperceptible. The only sound in my otherwise silent room.

“At least you’re consistent,” I muttered. Watched his methodical climb. “No grand ambitions. No disappointments. Just one foot in front of the other. Maybe there’s wisdom in that simplicity.”

The snail continued his glacial ascent. Unmoved by my existential crisis. His tiny antennae extended forward. Testing the environment with patient certainty. A creature that cannot die. Cannot fail. Cannot be judged.

Must be nice.

A soft knock interrupted my spiral of self-loathing.

Tap… tap-tap…

I knew exactly who it was. That hesitant, almost apologetic pattern was unmistakable. The sound of someone who wasn’t sure if they should be bothering me. But was compelled to anyway.

I groaned. Buried my face in the pillow.

Of course.

The promise I’d made earlier. The one person I actually couldn’t tell to fuck off right now. I’d told Emi I’d help her with basic combat training tonight. Forgot that I’d be both physically and emotionally drained from Braxton’s punishing regimen.

I dragged myself off the futon. Every muscle screamed in protest from Braxton’s earlier beating. My shoulders ached from being thrown repeatedly onto the mat. My ribs throbbed where his casual elbow strike had connected. The thin cotton of my t-shirt clung to my still-sweaty skin as I trudged to the door. Left damp footprints on the hardwood floor.

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair. Knew it would do nothing to improve my appearance. Slid the door open to find exactly who I expected.

Emi stood in the hallway. Clutched a datapad to her chest like a shield. The soft glow from the screen illuminated her face from below. Created pools of light in her warm brown eyes.

She’d changed into an oversized pink hoodie that reached mid-thigh. A pair of tiny black athletic shorts that made her legs look impossibly long. Her blue hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Those ridiculous antenna strands somehow still stuck up defiantly against gravity.

She looked adorable. Nervous. And like the absolute last person I wanted to deal with right now.

Yet there was something refreshing about her earnest presence. A stark contrast to the calculating coldness I’d encountered from the others during training.

“Um, hi,” she said. Her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the edge of her datapad. “You said tonight would be good for our first lesson? But if you’re tired or busy, we can totally reschedule. I don’t mind waiting, really.”

Her warm brown eyes darted around. Never quite met mine. Flickered to my chest, my face, the wall behind me. Anywhere but sustained eye contact.

The datapad screen showed “Basic Combat Theory” in bold letters. Surrounded by bookmarks and highlighted sections. She’d been studying. Preparing for this. Taking it seriously.

I sighed. The sound was full of weariness that went bone-deep. Echoed through the empty hallway.

But a promise was a promise. More importantly, she was a valuable asset. A healer with untapped potential. I couldn’t afford to alienate her. Especially not now when my team-building efforts were already on shaky ground.

“Yeah. I remember.” I stepped aside. Gestured vaguely into my room. “Come on in. Might as well get started.”

She hesitated for a heartbeat. Shifted her weight from one foot to another. Clearly wrestling with the propriety of entering a boy’s room at night.

Finally, some internal calculation resolved. She stepped into my domain.

Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the minimalist décor. The futon pushed against one wall. The desk with its neatly arranged books. The small shrine-like area where I kept my combat gear. Bartholomew’s terrarium sat in the corner. Cast an eerie blue glow from its built-in light. Created long shadows across the floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” I said.

Though there wasn’t any. Old habit. A leftover scrap of social programming from when I pretended to be normal.

“No, it’s nice,” she replied. Hugged the datapad tighter. Like she was afraid to disturb anything. “Very neat. Organized. I kind of expected, well…”

“A disaster zone?” I offered. One corner of my mouth quirked up.

She blushed. The color spread across her cheeks like watercolor on paper. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

We stood there for a moment. Awkwardness crystallized between us like frost forming on a window. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Glanced around the room. Took in the small personal touches. The book on advanced combat techniques splayed open on my desk. The half-empty energy drink beside it. The worn leather gloves hanging on a hook by the door.

“The gym is probably still occupied by Raphael,” I said finally. Broke the silence that had stretched between us. “He’ll be there for hours. Trying to punch his frustration into a heavy bag. Working through his anger at being outmaneuvered today.”

“We can just do it here? If that’s okay?” She gestured vaguely at the space around us. Her knuckles were white around the datapad. “We just need to clear some space. For the basic stances and stuff. I don’t need much room.”

I looked around my room. It wasn’t huge. But it was workable. Better than dealing with Raphael’s territorial bullshit in the gym.

“Yeah. We can make it work.”