The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 162

Chapter 162: 162 | The Common Room Collision

"Seven hundred and fifty square feet," Diane said from behind me, already pulling up something on her phone. "Larger than your bedroom at home by approximately one hundred and twenty square feet. The bathroom has a rain shower, which you’ll appreciate after training. I’ve confirmed with facilities that the hot water heater for this floor operates independently from the communal system, so you won’t lose pressure when twenty girls shower at the same time."

Sloane blinked. "You called facilities about my hot water?"

"I called facilities about the entire building’s HVAC system, plumbing infrastructure, and fire suppression protocols. The hot water was a bonus inquiry."

I set the garment bags on the closet rod and the duffel beside the dresser. Through the window, the training grounds spread out below us in a patchwork of open fields and enclosed arenas. A few early-arrival students were already running laps on the nearest track, their silhouettes small against the white concrete.

"I’m going to start unpacking," Sloane said, which was Sloane for go away and let me have a minute.

"We’ll bring the rest up," I said.

Sloane nodded without looking at me. Her hand found the edge of the mattress plastic and began peeling it back with focused intent.

The next forty minutes were a vertical logistics exercise. Elevator up with boxes. Elevator down empty-handed. Repeat. Diane supervised from the hallway with the efficiency of an air traffic controller, directing me to bring the heavier items first and the garment bags last because garment bags should never be compressed beneath boxes regardless of how carefully Sloane claims she stacked them.

On my third trip through the ground floor common area, a girl with vibrant red hair and an undercut slammed into me at full speed.

Not maliciously. She simply hadn’t been looking where she was going because she was in the middle of an argument with someone twenty feet behind her, her entire body turned backward while her legs kept moving forward, which was the kind of spatial awareness that suggested either supreme confidence or an absolute disregard for physics.

The impact barely registered on my frame. Eighty Strength meant that a girl who stood maybe five-two and weighed a hundred and ten pounds wet felt like being bumped by a strong breeze. She bounced off my chest and stumbled back a step, her green eyes going wide before a grin split her face.

"Oh, whoa. Okay. You’re like a wall." She craned her neck to look up at me, taking in the six feet and two inches with the kind of assessment that was equal parts sizing-up and appreciation. "A tall wall. Are you 1-A?"

"1-B."

"Shame. Would’ve been fun." She stuck out her hand with the energy of someone who had never hesitated about anything in her entire life. "Koda Brynn."

I shook it. Her grip was absurdly strong for her size, her palm callused in places that spoke to years of close-combat training. Warmth radiated from her skin in a way that went beyond normal body temperature.

"Lukas Belmont."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Belmont. Like Vanguard and Reina Belmont?"

"Yeah."

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