The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220: 220 | The Pink-Haired Predator and the Blonde Strategist

The walk back to campus took longer than the walk to the mall. Partly because the bags were heavy and partly because Felicity kept stopping to point out things she found interesting. A dog wearing a sweater. A cloud that looked like a duck. A storefront window displaying mannequins in poses that she insisted were anatomically impossible.

"Nobody’s spine bends that way," she said, gesturing at a mannequin in a cocktail dress. "That’s not fashion. That’s torture."

"You literally just spent three hours torturing me with clothes."

"That was improvement torture. This is aesthetic torture. Completely different."

I shifted the bags to my other arm. My shoulders were starting to ache, which was ridiculous given my stats. The Demigod trait should have made carrying shopping bags feel like carrying feathers. But something about the combination of weight distribution and Felicity’s constant commentary was wearing me down in ways that had nothing to do with physical strength.

"You know," she said, falling into step beside me, "you’re actually pretty easy to shop for. Most guys fight the whole process. You just sort of accepted your fate."

"I learned early that resistance is futile when dealing with determined women."

"That’s wisdom right there. You should write a book. ’Lukas Belmont’s Guide to Surviving Female Attention.’ It would sell millions."

"I’d have to survive first."

Felicity laughed, and the sound was warm and genuine in a way that made my chest tighten. She had this quality about her that made everything feel lighter. Like the world was a joke and she was letting you in on it.

The Devotion’s Echo pulsed at the edge of my awareness. Sloane was somewhere on campus, her emotional state a complicated mix of jealousy and trust and something that felt like resignation. She was trying. I had to give her credit for that. Trying to accept that I could have female friends without it meaning anything more than friendship.

The problem was that the System didn’t believe in friendship.

The System believed in Temptation Gauges and progression mechanics and the slow, inevitable conversion of every woman in my orbit into something more complicated than a shopping buddy.

Felicity’s gauge had jumped six percent during a single mall trip. Six percent from one honest conversation and a hand squeeze over cheap food court burgers. At this rate, she’d hit Curious within a week and Attached within a month.

I needed to figure out how to stop that progression.

Or I needed to accept that stopping it wasn’t possible.

"You’re doing that thing again," Felicity said.

"What thing?"

"The thinking thing. Your face gets all serious and distant. Like you’re doing math in your head but the math involves existential questions instead of numbers."

"I’m always doing math. It’s a personality flaw."

"It’s not a flaw. It’s just exhausting to watch. You should try turning your brain off sometimes. Just existing without analyzing everything."

"I don’t know how to do that."

"That’s obvious." She bumped her shoulder against mine, a casual gesture that sent warmth spreading through my arm. "But that’s okay. I’ll teach you. Consider it part of my ongoing project to make you a functional human being."

"I thought the project was improving my wardrobe."

"The wardrobe was phase one. Phase two is improving your capacity for joy. Phase three is classified."

"Classified?"

"You’ll find out when you’re ready."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify