The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 302

Chapter 302: 302 | I Don’t Need Luck, I Need a Tissue

Her hand flew to the left ear, which was indeed the specific shade of pink that appeared exclusively when Sloane was flustered about something she refused to acknowledge. The movement dislodged a strand of pink hair that fell across her face, and she shoved it back with the aggressive precision of someone who wanted to punch physics for allowing hair to move.

"I’m going to my room to change," she said. "I need to be in my training uniform for combat class."

"You want me to walk you?"

"I’m capable of walking across a campus, Lukas."

"I know. I asked because I wanted more time with you."

That stopped her. The bond carried a flash of something bright and warm that she suppressed before it could reach her face. She stood there for two full seconds with her tray in her hands and her pink ears and her blue eyes that looked at me like I was both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her.

"Fine," she said. "You can walk me. But keep your hands where I can see them and don’t look at any other women on the way."

"That second condition is physically impossible."

"Then close your eyes and I’ll lead you."

"That defeats the purpose of walking together."

"The purpose of walking together is proximity, not visual stimulation."

"Those aren’t mutually exclusive."

She hit me in the arm hard enough to leave a mark. The bond sang with her affection, contradicting the violence so completely that I laughed, and she glared at me, and we bused our trays together like normal teenagers having a normal lunch at a normal school where nobody had supernatural abilities or emotional bonds that transmitted feelings in real time.

We walked out of the cafeteria into the midday sun. The campus stretched before us in white concrete and manicured green, students moving along covered walkways toward afternoon sessions. Some jogged, still working off morning conditioning. Others walked in clusters, comparing notes on lectures and assignments.

Sloane’s hand found mine without discussion, her fingers threading through mine with the specific pressure that communicated ownership. People noticed. A few 1-A students exchanged glances when they saw us together, and I caught one guy elbowing his friend and nodding in our direction, probably connecting the infamous Lukas from the kissing footage with the terrifying Sloane from the combat rankings.

Let them look.

"He’s going to be incredible," Sloane said quietly as we walked.

She wasn’t talking about me.

"Radiant?"

She nodded, eyes forward, her jaw set in the specific configuration she used when experiencing emotions too large for her usual containers. "I was seven. The flood hit our neighborhood during a storm that knocked out power to half the Eastside. Water was rising faster than emergency services could respond. Mom couldn’t get through to anyone at her agency. The landlines were down. Cell towers were overwhelmed."

I stayed quiet and let her talk.

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