My Scumbag System

Chapter 559: Statistics Versus Mortality

She moved to her dresser and started pulling out clothes. I watched her select pieces with the same tactical precision she brought to everything else. Combat-ready underwear in midnight blue. Form-fitting jeans that would allow full range of motion. A sweater that managed to be both practical and devastatingly attractive. fгeewebnovёl.com

"Our parents planning to watch?"

"Every second. From the VIP section that Cel arranged."

"With Seraphina?"

"Among others."

Natalia’s tone carried warning. I recognized that particular shade of diplomatic caution. It meant politics were involved. Probably the kind that could get me killed if I handled them wrong.

"Anyone I should know about?"

"Reyna’s sister flew in this morning."

The words hit like cold water. Veronica Cabana. The corporate shark who’d turned her sister into a marketable commodity and built an empire doing it. The woman Julian’s father wanted to impress and Seraphina probably wanted to neutralize.

"Wonderful."

"She requested a meeting after the events conclude."

"With me specifically?"

"With you specifically."

I stood and started hunting for clothes. My room was down the hall, but after last night’s bath situation, I wasn’t sure what state I’d find it in. Maki had a talent for creative destruction.

"What does Cel think?"

"That Veronica Cabana doesn’t request meetings without having already decided what she wants from them."

Natalia was dressed now. The sweater hugged her curves in ways that made concentration difficult. The jeans fit like they’d been painted on. She caught me staring again and rolled her eyes.

"Focus."

"I am focused."

"On the wrong things."

"Matter of opinion."

She crossed the space between us and straightened my shirt collar with brisk efficiency. Her fingers brushed the base of my throat. The contact sent electricity down my spine.

"Six events today. Combat simulation. Obstacle course. One-on-one duels. Aspect demonstration. Tactical challenge. Mystery event."

"I know the list."

"Reyna’s in three of them with you."

"I know that too."

"She’s going to come at you with everything she has. No holding back. No tournament politeness."

"Good."

Natalia’s hands stilled. "Good?"

"I want her at full strength. Anything less would be insulting."

"You realize she broke her arm yesterday and is still planning to fight you?"

"Makes it more interesting."

"Makes it more dangerous."

"Same thing."

She sighed and stepped back. The expression on her face mixed exasperation with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Normal girls fall for boys who write poetry and bring flowers. I fall for the one who thinks broken bones make fights more entertaining."

"Your taste in men is questionable at best."

"Apparently."

Another knock interrupted us. Gentler this time. Emi’s voice filtered through the door.

"Natalia? Satori? Breakfast is ready. Also, there are reporters outside trying to get quotes about last night."

"Reporters?" freewebnoveℓ.com

Natalia moved to the window and peered through the curtains. Her expression darkened.

"Entertainment news. Sports channels. Someone with a very expensive camera who’s definitely not supposed to be here."

"Fantastic."

"Braxton’s handling it. By which I mean he’s standing on the front steps looking like he’s considering homicide."

That was probably the safest approach. Braxton in a mood could intimidate professional soldiers. Entertainment reporters would fold like tissue paper.

I found pants and a shirt that didn’t smell like yesterday’s violence. Natalia watched me dress with the focused attention of someone memorizing details for later use. The weight of her gaze made simple tasks complicated.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like I’m dessert."

"Can’t help it."

"Try harder."

"Why?"

"Because we have an audience of millions today, and if you look at me like that on camera, the internet will break."

Valid point. The kiss yesterday had already generated enough commentary to crash several social media platforms. Adding fuel to that fire could be problematic.

We made our way to the kitchen. The common room buzzed with pre-competition energy. Marco sat at the table demolishing a stack of pancakes while Jaime posed with a protein shake. Juan remained horizontal on the couch, awake but committed to minimal movement. Typical morning dynamics.

Emi had outdone herself. The kitchen island groaned under the weight of eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, and what looked like enough coffee to keep a small army alert. She moved between stations with frantic efficiency, her blue hair bouncing with each step.

"Morning! I made extra because I figured everyone would be nervous and need comfort food."

"You’re a saint."

"I’m a stress-baker. Different thing."

Skylar leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee that steamed in the cool morning air. She’d traded her usual punk aesthetic for something more subdued. Black jeans, dark sweater, boots that could double as weapons. Combat ready but trying not to advertise it.

"Sleep well?"

Her tone was carefully neutral. The kind of neutral that meant she’d heard things through the walls and was politely not mentioning them.

"Fine."

"Good. You’ll need energy today."

Cel appeared in the doorway wearing an outfit that probably cost more than most people’s cars. Tailored blazer, silk blouse, designer heels that added three inches to her already impressive height. She looked ready for a boardroom takeover, not a student competition.

"The VIP transport arrives in thirty minutes."

"VIP transport?"

"Seraphina’s private helicopter. She’s offering rides to family and... special guests."

The pause before special guests carried weight. Seraphina Vance didn’t offer helicopter rides to random Academy students. Everything she did served a purpose.

"Who’s going?"

"Myself. Natalia’s parents. Your mother." Cel’s expression remained carefully neutral. "Veronica Cabana and her security detail."

"Wonderful."

"It should be an interesting flight."

Akari burst through the front door with the force of a natural disaster. Her cheeks were flushed from running, her emerald eyes bright with excitement and what looked suspiciously like manic energy.

"They’re calling it the Tournament of the Century! The bookmakers in Las Vegas are taking bets on individual statistics! Someone started a betting pool on how many times you’ll get hit by lightning!"

"Encouraging."

"The odds are pretty good, actually. Reyna tends to be predictable with her opening moves."

Natalia set her coffee cup down with more force than necessary. "You bet against my boyfriend surviving the day?"

"I bet on the specific number of times he’d survive being electrocuted. Completely different thing."

"How is that different?"

"Statistics versus mortality. One’s mathematical analysis, the other’s emotional investment."

Akari’s logic was flawless and completely insane. Typical for her.

Isabelle entered from the direction of the training rooms. Her workout clothes were soaked with sweat, her wine-red hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She moved like someone who’d been up for hours preparing her body for violence.

"The ferry leaves in forty-five minutes."

"You’ve been training since when?"

"Five AM."

"Jesus."

"Preparation prevents poor performance." She grabbed a protein bar and an apple from the counter. "Today matters."

"All days matter."

"Not like this one."

She was right. Today felt different. The air itself seemed charged with possibility and danger. The weight of expectations, divine attention, and political maneuvering pressed down like atmospheric pressure before a storm.

I loaded a plate with enough food to fuel the next several hours of potential dismemberment. Emi hovered nearby, radiating nervous energy that made the air itself seem to vibrate.

"You don’t have to win everything."

"Yes, I do."

"Technically, you just have to place in the top three of four events."

"Not good enough."

"Why not?"

I looked around the room. Marco flexed while telling Ferdinand the fern about proper nutrition. Juan had achieved perfect horizontal alignment with the furniture. Jaime practiced motivational speeches on his reflection in the coffee pot. Isabelle methodically consumed fuel with military efficiency. Skylar watched everything with calculating violet eyes. Cel typed on her phone with the focused intensity of someone managing a international crisis. Natalia sat close enough that I could smell her shampoo and feel the cold radiating from her Ring.

These people had bet everything on me. Literally, in Akari’s case. They’d followed a C-Rank nobody into a war against the established order. They deserved better than "good enough."

"Because I’m not here to participate. I’m here to win."

Natalia’s hand found mine under the table. Her fingers were cold. Her grip was steady.

"Then win."