The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 212

Chapter 212: 212 | This Isn’t a Race, It’s a Social Minefield [PS BONUS]

The pack surged forward.

I let Camille take the early lead because of course she was going to take the early lead. That woman attacked everything like it had personally insulted her family honor. Within the first hundred meters she had opened up a gap of maybe ten feet, her dark hair streaming behind her as she set a pace that most people couldn’t sustain for four laps.

Rookie mistake, honestly. But she’d figure that out by lap three.

I settled into a comfortable rhythm somewhere in the middle of the pack, keeping my breathing even and my stride loose. The Demigod trait was screaming at me to push, to actually use the body I’d been given, to show everyone what triple-digit Endurance looked like when it stopped pretending to be normal. I ignored it. Steele was watching from the sideline with her tablet, and every piece of data she collected was another puzzle piece she’d try to fit into the picture of who I actually was.

The trick was giving her enough pieces to form a coherent image while making sure that image was completely wrong.

Felicity ran beside me, her form surprisingly good for someone whose Aspect involved standing still and making people see things that weren’t there. Her breathing was controlled and her ponytail swung in a steady rhythm that I absolutely was not watching.

"You’re holding back," she said without looking at me.

"I’m pacing myself."

"You’re not even breathing hard."

She had a point. I forced myself to take slightly deeper breaths, to add a little performance to the performance. It felt ridiculous, pretending to be tired when I could probably run this mile at a dead sprint and finish with energy to spare, but that was the game now.

Ahead of us, Caden had settled into a pace that suggested he was taking this exactly as seriously as he took everything else, which was to say not very seriously at all while somehow still managing to be competent. Marco ran beside him, and I could hear fragments of their conversation drifting back.

"...ten bucks says she burns out by lap two..."

"...no bet, that’s obviously going to happen..."

"...fine, ten bucks says Theo finishes top five..."

"...you’re just giving me money at this point..."

Behind me, I caught the sound of someone struggling to keep up. A glance over my shoulder showed Rina falling off the back of the pack, her white hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her tail hung low and her breathing came in harsh pulls that sounded painful even from this distance. Whatever advantages came from her Branded physiology, endurance apparently wasn’t one of them.

The impulse to drop back and pace her hit before I could process it. Just slow down a little, let her match my stride, give her something to focus on besides the burn in her legs. It would be easy. Natural.

I faced forward again and kept running.

Not because I didn’t want to help. Because helping her would be noticed, commented on, analyzed by every single person within earshot. Why does Belmont care about the shy girl in the back? What’s his angle? And more importantly, because Sloane would absolutely notice and would have extremely specific questions about my sudden interest in Class 1-B’s most anxious student.

The Devotion’s Echo pulsed faintly, confirming my girlfriend was somewhere on campus being focused and confident while probably maintaining a mental database of every interaction I had today that lasted longer than thirty seconds.

So I kept pace with Felicity and tried not to feel like an asshole about it.

The Devotion’s Echo pulsed at the edge of my awareness. Sloane was somewhere on campus feeling focused and confident, probably crushing her own evaluation while mentally cataloguing every female student who looked at me for more than three seconds.

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