The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 237

Chapter 237: 237 | Statistically Unusual [PS BONUS]

The shower in Room 205 had water pressure that belonged in a five-star hotel. I stood under the rain shower head for longer than necessary, letting the heat work into muscles that Steele had personally victimized over the past two hours. The Demigod recovery had already handled the worst of it, returning my body to baseline while my classmates were probably still lying on Field Epsilon questioning their life choices, but hot water felt good regardless of whether my biology required it.

I killed the tap, toweled off, and caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The Demigod trait had been busy overnight again. My shoulders sat wider than they had a week ago, filling out in a way that made the proportions of my frame look intentional rather than accidental.

My jaw carried a harder line. The abdominal definition that Sloane had traced with her fingers two nights ago had deepened into something you could see from across a room. My arms held a density that communicated real functional power without looking like I spent twelve hours a day in a gym.

I looked like someone who belonged at Halloran. Not a guest. Not an anomaly. A student who had earned the right to walk through those halls, even if the credentials that got me here were sitting in a gacha interface nobody else could see.

The Halloran uniform hung on the back of my bathroom door where I’d left it the night before, freshly pressed and waiting. I pulled the white fitted shirt off the hanger first, working through the buttons from collar to waist. The fabric sat close against my shoulders and chest in a way the standard sizing charts probably hadn’t anticipated, following the new lines of my frame without pulling or bunching. It tapered at my waist without restricting movement when I tested the range of motion, the kind of tailoring that respected what was underneath it rather than trying to flatten everything into a template.

The charcoal blazer went on next. The weight of it settled across my shoulders with a substance I could feel, the deep green trim at the collar and cuffs adding a visual punctuation that made the whole thing read as deliberate rather than decorative.

I adjusted the single silver collar pin on the left side, Combat Operations, one pin for the track I’d been sorted into based on an entrance exam that had involved considerably more property damage than anyone had planned for.

The pin caught the bathroom light and threw it back like a small declaration of intent.

Dark trousers completed the picture. Fitted through the thigh, clean break at the ankle, the kind of cut that moved with you when you shifted your weight rather than fighting you every step. I checked the full image in the mirror and something in my chest settled into place.

This looked right.

Not in the way that Diane’s carefully curated shopping outfits looked right, all strategically assembled pieces that communicated specific messages to specific rooms. Not in the way that Felicity’s blue button-down had looked right yesterday, engineered to sit at the exact intersection of casual and compelling.

This was different.

The Halloran crest sat embossed in silver on my left chest, the same crest that had been on the acceptance letter I’d received three weeks ago, the same crest that appeared on every billboard and recruitment poster scattered across Verano’s waterfront district.

Wearing it made the whole thing feel real in a way that the apartment key, the cafeteria meal plan, and even Steele’s two-hour conditioning session hadn’t quite managed.

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