The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15: 15 | My Plan to Climb Mount Everest in Flip-Flops

I stared at my ceiling and considered my new stats. Fifteen across the board. The basic competency floor for a Hero candidate at a third rate school. Not impressive, but not pathetic either.

My phone buzzed. Six-fifteen AM. Time to get moving.

I slid out of bed and threw on my workout gear – a plain black t-shirt and grey athletic shorts. Nothing fancy, but who needed fashion during an ass-kicking?

The memory of yesterday’s training session flashed through my mind. My hand on Sloane’s backside. That little noise she made. Her face turning red. The mini-explosions popping around the gym.

Yeah, this morning was going to be awkward as fuck.

"System, what’s the probability of Sloane murdering me today?"

〘 Current calculation: 18.7% chance of significant bodily harm. 0.4% chance of actual homicide. Analysis: Subject will likely express anger through training intensity rather than direct violence. Her combat conditioning includes strong aversion to causing permanent harm to training partners. 〙

"That’s comforting."

〘 It wasn’t meant to be. 〙

I made my way downstairs, each step feeling lighter than it had yesterday. Stat increases were no joke. My body moved with a smoothness that felt almost alien – like operating a character with better controls.

The sound of heavy impacts echoed from the gym. Sloane was already there, which meant she’d gotten up even earlier than usual. Not a good sign.

I paused at the doorway.

Sloane stood in front of the heavy bag, delivering punches that made the chain creak ominously. Each impact sent the bag swinging. Her form was perfect – shoulders rotating into each strike, hips pivoting, full-body power transfer. Her pink hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her tank top stuck to her skin with sweat.

She wasn’t just hitting the bag. She was trying to murder it.

I cleared my throat.

Sloane’s head snapped toward me. Her blue eyes locked onto mine.

Have you ever stared into the eyes of someone who was imagining exactly how they’d dispose of your body?

That was the look Sloane gave me. Not anger. Something colder. Something that calculated entry and exit wounds.

"Uh, good morning?" I offered.

Sloane’s jaw tightened. The air around her hands shimmered with heat. Tiny sparks danced between her fingers.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I’d never been so thankful for a meaningless notification in my life.

"Oh! Would you look at that. Important call. Very important. Life-changing stuff. I should take this upstairs. We’ll, uh, rain check the training?"

Sloane didn’t respond. She just turned back to the bag and threw a punch that made the whole thing swing sideways.

I retreated upstairs with the tactical grace of someone fleeing a crime scene.

Once safely back in my room, I checked my phone. No actual call, of course. Just a random app notification. My savior was a burrito delivery coupon.

"So that went well."

〘 Conflict avoidance detected. Recommendation: Use this time to increase subject comfort through continued domestic capability demonstrations and low-pressure interactions. 〙

I flopped onto my bed. "Translation: make her breakfast and try not to get exploded."

〘 Correct. 〙

"What if I just... left for a while? Let things cool down?"

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