My Scumbag System - Chapter 304

Chapter 304: A Mother’s Love
My eyes snapped open.

White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell of industrial-strength cleaning products mixed with something floral. Hospital room. Got it.

My brain felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to it, run the results through a blender, and then poured the slurry back into my skull through a coffee straw. Every thought came slow and painful, like wading through concrete.

Then the System decided this was the perfect moment to give me a seizure.

[QUEST COMPLETE: Trial by Slaughter]

[+300 SP AWARDED]

[BONUS OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: The Alpha’s Charity]

[Trait Evolution: [Rivalry] has evolved into [Apex Predator’s Presence (Gold)]!]

[BONUS OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: Forging the Vanguard]

[Trait Enhancement: [Kingmaker’s Aura] upgraded! Growth acceleration increased by 10%!]

[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: Blessing of the Sovereign]

[LEVEL UP! You have reached Level 2!]

[All visible stats reset to F-0. Hidden power multiplier: 2.5x]

[NEW TITLE ACQUIRED: The Blitzkrieger]

[RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: Natalia Kuzmina has reached Bond Rank 10: COVENANT]

[Title Granted: The Psychic Sovereign]

[RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: Skylar Amane has reached Bond Rank 4: Confidante]

[RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: Pan Soomin has reached Bond Rank 3: Confidante]

[RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: Emi Aoyama has reached Bond Rank 5: Dependent]

[WARNING: Multiple system notifications pending. 47 unread messages from Apollo’s Divine Emporium…]

The text boxes multiplied like rabbits on aphrodisiacs. Blue and gold windows piled on top of each other, scrolling so fast I couldn’t read half of them. Numbers. Percentages. Evolution paths. Skill trees. Rewards I’d apparently earned while my body was busy cosplaying as a corpse.

Not now, Apollo. I swear to whatever gods are actually listening, not now.

I mentally swiped at the notifications like a man trying to kill a swarm of mosquitoes. They minimized reluctantly, compressing into a tiny golden icon in the corner of my vision that pulsed with smug impatience.

First things first. Did I still have all my limbs?

I tried to move my fingers. They responded. Slowly, painfully, but they responded. Left arm felt like garbage. Right arm was functional. Legs… I could feel them. Good sign. I flexed my toes inside what felt like hospital-issue socks. Everything seemed to be where I left it.

My ribs, on the other hand, screamed bloody murder the moment I tried to take a deep breath. Something mechanical hummed against my chest, a regenerator brace probably. The bacta-patches stuck to my skin itched like crazy.

“Satori…”

That voice.

My eyes focused properly for the first time since waking, and there she was. Kimiko. My mother. Sitting in a chair beside my bed like she’d been rooted there for days.

She looked terrible.

Not in the ugly sense. Kimiko Nakano could crawl out of a dumpster after a three-day bender and still look better than most women on their best day. But her usual effortless elegance was gone. Her red hair, normally styled with casual perfection, hung in limp tangles around her face. Dark circles carved trenches under her hazel eyes.

She hadn’t left.

“Satori.” She said my name again, and her voice cracked on the second syllable.

Then she moved.

I didn’t have time to brace myself. One second she was in the chair, the next she was on me, throwing herself across my chest with the kind of desperate abandon that sent fresh agony lancing through my healing ribs.

“Ow, ow, ow, ribs, Mom, ribs—”

She didn’t care. Her arms wrapped around my neck and pulled me into her embrace with a strength that seemed impossible for her slender frame. Her face buried itself in the crook of my shoulder, and I felt wetness seeping through my hospital gown.

She was crying.

Kimiko Nakano, the woman who’d raised me alone for years, who’d worked multiple jobs and never complained, who’d earned the nickname “Red-hot Habanero” by being tougher than any Aspect-blessed Hunter who looked down on her, was crying into my shoulder like a child who’d just found her lost puppy.

“You stupid boy.” Her voice came out muffled against my skin. “You stupid, stupid boy. Do you have any idea… I thought… the doctors said…”

The softness pressing against my chest was extremely distracting. I’m a terrible person for noticing, but in my defense, I’d been unconscious for what I assumed was a significant amount of time and my brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

She smelled like tears and exhaustion and the familiar perfume she’d worn for as long as I could remember. Something floral with hints of vanilla. It triggered memories that weren’t mine, fragments of a childhood I’d inherited but never lived.

Her hands came up to frame my face. Her palms were warm against my cheeks, slightly calloused from years of cooking and cleaning and doing everything a single mother had to do. Her hazel eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“You scared me to death.” Her thumb traced along my cheekbone. “The doctors called. They said there was an accident. They said you might not… that the injuries were…”

“Mom, I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine!” Her voice broke again. “You’re not fine, Satori. Look at you. Look at what they did to my baby.”

Then she kissed my forehead.

That was normal. Maternal. Expected.

She kissed my cheek.

Still within acceptable parameters.

She kissed my other cheek, her lips lingering against my skin.

Getting warmer.

Then, in a moment of pure frantic relief, of eighteen years of single motherhood and sleepless nights and constant worry crystallizing into a single action, Kimiko Nakano kissed me on the mouth.

It wasn’t brief.

Her lips pressed against mine with an intensity that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with desperate, primal need. The need to confirm I was alive. The need to claim me. The need to somehow absorb me back into herself where she could keep me safe forever.

I should have pushed her away.

I was too weak. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Her lips were soft. Warm. She tasted like stale coffee and salt from her tears. The kiss lingered for three heartbeats, maybe four, and when she finally pulled back there was a wildness in her eyes that I’d never seen before. A possessiveness that transcended the maternal.

You are mine and I almost lost you.

That was the message. Clear as day.