The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129: 129 | The Consolation Prize

The words on the page might as well have been written in another language for how long it took my brain to process them.

Class 1-B.

Not 1-A. 1-B.

"So?" Sloane asked, her voice bright with excitement. "What class did you get?"

I looked up from the letter, my mouth suddenly dry. The kitchen felt smaller somehow, the morning light too harsh against the white counters. "1-B."

The change in her expression was immediate and devastating. Her face fell like I’d just told her someone had died. The excitement drained out of her eyes, replaced by something that looked suspiciously close to pity.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Oh, Lukas."

That tone. That fucking tone like she was about to tell me everything would be okay while secretly thinking about how to break the news to her friends that her boyfriend didn’t make the cut. Like I was some charity case she’d have to carry through academy life.

"It’s not what you think," I said, but even I could hear how defensive it sounded.

"I know, I know." She reached for me, her hands settling on my arms with that careful gentleness that somehow made it worse. "It’s still Halloran. You got into Halloran. That’s incredible. It’s just—" She stopped, her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to find a way to say something without turning it into a worse thing.

Just what, exactly? Just that everyone at school would look at our class assignments and understand I wasn’t quite good enough for the real track? Just that she’d be spending her days training with the future ranked Heroes while I was doing whatever the hell 1-B students did with their time? Just that the gap between us was now officially documented on academy letterhead?

I could see her trying to calculate her way out of the conversational hole she’d dug. Every word she’d almost said was hanging in the air between us, and the fact that she was aware enough not to say them didn’t actually make them stop existing.

The System’s voice cut through my rising irritation with its usual helpful timing.

Class placement optimized for maximum development potential. Class 1-B instructor profile suggests enhanced individual attention and specialized training protocols.

Right. Because getting specialized training sounded so much better than being in the class everyone actually cared about.

Sloane was looking at me with those big blue eyes full of concern and something that might have been guilt. Like she felt bad for succeeding where I’d apparently failed. The worst part was how genuine it was. She actually cared that I might be disappointed.

Which just made me feel like an even bigger ass for being jealous of her placement.

"Hey," I said, stepping closer and wrapping my arms around her waist. "It’s okay, baby."

She melted into me immediately, her arms sliding around my neck as I pulled her tight against my chest. Her body was warm and soft, still carrying that faint scent of vanilla and something uniquely Sloane that made my brain short-circuit in the best possible way.

"I just wanted us to be in the same class," she mumbled into my shoulder. "It would have been perfect."

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