My Scumbag System - Chapter 247

Chapter 247: This Is How You Forge a Weapon Out of Hope
One week.

Seven days of pure hell.

Braxton’s “training” was just torture with a curriculum attached. Every morning brought fresh nightmares. Gravity-enhanced runs that made my lungs feel like someone had poured molten metal inside them. Endurance drills that went for hours until my muscles stopped screaming and just gave up. Sparring sessions where the only rule was “try not to die” while our instructor sipped coffee and shouted useless advice.

But I’d adapted.

Stopped barking orders like some discount drill sergeant. That approach failed spectacularly in the first two days. Now I was playing a different game. The long game.

I leaned against the chain-link fence. Metal felt cool against my back despite the afternoon sun. Watched as Braxton unleashed another round of paintballs from his military-grade rifle. Each shot cracked through the air hard enough to leave welts for days.

Jacob screamed.

High-pitched. Desperate. Like a small animal in a trap.

Dove behind a rusted barrel. Barely avoided the neon pink splash that would’ve caught him square in the back. His glasses had flown off somewhere. Hair matted with sweat and dirt.

“Solve the equation, Williams!” Braxton reloaded. Smooth motion. Lazy. Years of weapon handling showed in every movement. “The derivative of mana output when channeled through a palladium conductor under compression is what?”

“It’s proportional to the…” Jacob rolled across the gravel. Pebbles dug into his skin. Three more paintballs peppered the ground where he’d been. Small dust clouds erupted with each impact. “Proportional to the square root of… OH GOD… the pressure applied multiplied by the conductor’s resonant frequency!”

“Correct!” Braxton fired a celebratory shot into the air. The paintball arced high before splattering against a distant tree. “Now do twenty push-ups for taking too long!”

Day seven of Braxton’s educational philosophy. Physical torture mixed with academic pop quizzes. Somehow made both more miserable.

Yesterday he’d made them recite full taxonomic classifications of common Gate-spawn while standing in ice water. Lips turned blue. Limbs went numb. The day before that, Carmen used her Synesthesia Cascade to make everyone taste colors and hear shapes while navigating an obstacle course blindfolded. Raphael ended up vomiting in the bushes. Even stoic Isabelle looked green.

Brutal. Unorthodox. Somehow effective.

Even I had to admit that.

The team was learning. Mostly because the alternative was suffering more.

My role had changed over the days. I wasn’t just a participant anymore. I was an observer. A quiet leader working in shadows. I watched who cracked under pressure and who rose to challenges. Noted who helped others up after they fell. Who stepped on them to save themselves.

I was using Braxton’s chaos as a testing ground. A petri dish for my own experiments in leadership and manipulation.

“Nakano! Stop lounging like you’re at a beach resort! You waiting for someone to bring you a piña colada? You’re up next!”

I pushed off the fence. Stepped forward into the killing field. Rolled my shoulders to loosen the tension building there. My muscles were already sore from morning workouts. Kept my face neutral. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing discomfort.

“Let’s make it interesting.” Braxton grinned. Loaded what looked like metallic paintballs into his weapon. They glinted in sunlight. Little spheres of pending pain. “These sting a bit more than regular ones. Might leave a mark or two. Consider it motivation to move faster.”

“Of course they do.” I settled into ready stance. Knees slightly bent. Weight on the balls of my feet.

Behind Braxton, I saw the others watching. Some with sympathy. Some with anticipation. Raphael’s eyes gleamed with hope that I’d fail spectacularly. Natalia’s expression was unreadable. Her hands clenched at her sides.

I took a deep breath. Let it out slow. Nodded to Braxton.

His smile widened to something truly disturbing as he raised the rifle.

The first shot came fast.

I moved faster.

Dropped low. Let the paintball whizz over my head. Already rolling left before the second shot. Felt the impact spray past my shoulder. Close. Too close.

“Theory question!” Braxton shouted. Fired again. “What’s the maximum sustainable mana flow through a human body before cellular breakdown begins?”

“Three hundred units per second!” I vaulted over a concrete barrier. Landed hard. Knees protested. Ignored them. “Assuming normal physiology and no Aspect enhancement!”

“Good!” Another shot. This one caught my thigh. Pain exploded through the muscle. Felt like someone had hit me with a baseball bat wrapped in fire. “Now explain why Aspects can bypass that limitation!”

Gritted my teeth. Kept moving. “Aspects restructure cellular matrices at a fundamental level!” Dove behind a stack of tires. Caught my breath. “They create pathways that don’t rely on standard biological processes!”

Three rapid shots peppered my cover. Paint splattered everywhere.

“Elaborate!” Braxton reloaded. I heard the mechanical click.

“The pathways act as buffers!” I broke from cover. Sprinted right. Zigzagged. “Absorb excess mana that would normally cause damage! Convert it into the Aspect’s specific manifestation instead of letting it overload the system!”

Shot caught my shoulder. Another explosion of pain. This one worse than the first. Metallic paintballs were no joke.

But I kept moving.

Kept talking.

Kept passing his psychotic test.

When it finally ended, I had seven welts. Three on my torso. Two on my legs. One on each arm. Each one throbbed with its own special rhythm of pain.

But I’d passed.

Answered every question correctly while avoiding most of his shots. That was more than Jacob managed. More than Raphael managed yesterday.

Braxton lowered his rifle. Grinned at me. “Not bad, Nakano. You’re starting to think like a Hunter.”

I straightened up. Ignored the way my muscles screamed. “Thinking like a Hunter means knowing when to duck. Got it.”

He laughed. “Get yourself cleaned up. We’re done for today.”

===

Evenings were mine.

After Braxton’s daytime torture left everyone battered and exhausted, I implemented my own strategy. Divide and cultivate. One by one. Pull them aside. Focus on individual needs and weaknesses.

Stark contrast to Braxton’s one-size-fits-all approach.

That was entirely by design.

In the basement gym, Emi drew her bow. Blue hair pulled back in a ponytail. Those two antenna strands somehow still sticking up despite the sweat on her forehead. She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Released three arrows in rapid succession.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

All three clustered in the bullseye. Triangle you could cover with a playing card. The sound echoed in the silent gym.

“Your grouping’s getting tighter.” I moved behind her. Slow. Deliberate. “But your elbow’s dropping slightly on release. See how the third arrow’s a millimeter lower than the other two?”

I placed my hand on her arm. Adjusted her form gently. Felt her warmth through the thin training shirt. Didn’t need to. Her form was nearly perfect now after days of instruction.

But the light touch made her cheeks flush pink.

That was half the point.

Physical contact created intimacy. Intimacy bred loyalty. Simple equation. One I’d been exploiting with careful attention.

“Like this?” She drew the bow again. Voice slightly breathless. I saw goosebumps rise on her arm where my fingers had touched.

“Perfect.” I murmured it close. Close enough she felt my breath on her ear. Watched her pupils dilate slightly. “You’re a natural, Emi. Most people train for months to achieve what you’ve mastered in a week.”

Her blush deepened. Spread down her neck. Her shot was flawless. Split one of her previous arrows down the center with a satisfying crack. Splinters of wood scattered across the target.

“Robin Hood would be jealous.” I was genuinely impressed. She really was talented. Far more than I’d initially thought. Something almost beautiful about watching her potential unfold under my guidance.

Emi beamed. Her entire face lit up. “I never thought I’d be good at anything besides healing. This is… it feels amazing. Like I’m finally more than just support.”

“You’re not just a healer, Emi.” I stepped closer. Invaded her personal space just enough to matter. “You’re a Hunter in training. The bow gives you range. Keeps you safe while still contributing to the fight. In a real Gate run, you’ll be able to heal and deal damage. Perfect hybrid.”

She looked up at me. Those big eyes full of gratitude. Admiration. Something more.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“You really think so?” Her voice was soft. Hopeful.

“I know so.” I reached out. Tucked a loose strand of blue hair behind her ear. Let my fingers linger just a moment too long. “You’re going to surprise a lot of people, Emi. Especially the ones who underestimated you.”

Her breath caught. Face went redder. She couldn’t maintain eye contact. Looked down.

Perfect.

“Now.” I stepped back. Gave her space to breathe. “Let’s work on your rapid-fire technique. If you can maintain accuracy while increasing speed, you’ll be invaluable in combat situations.”

She nodded eagerly. Too eagerly. Practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

I’d created a monster. A cute, blue-haired, bow-wielding monster who hung on my every word.

Exactly as planned.