The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 327

Chapter 327: 327 | Seven Blind Spots

Steele’s voice continued through the roster, but my attention had fractured after hearing my own assignment. Whatever force governed my life—the System, Ecchi Logic, or some vindictive deity with a spreadsheet—had assembled a working group that could only be described as architecturally hostile to my continued peace of mind.

Camille Ortega, whose mouth I had occupied two days prior during what was supposed to be a straightforward combat drill, and who had materialized in my doorway at midnight wearing something the lingerie industry would call strategic and I would call a cardiac event, positioned to discuss emotional processing.

Felicity Hardy, who had constructed an aggressive friendship around me with the structural integrity of reinforced concrete while her Temptation Gauge climbed with the inexorable patience of geological formation.

Percy Mendoza, who had identified discrepancies in my institutional file and was currently engaged in what he believed was subtle investigation of the regulatory architecture that could dismantle my entire operational framework.

This was a sustainable situation. Everything about this was completely sustainable.

Steele released us to self-organize. The lecture hall filled with the shuffling resignation of students rearranging their seating according to instructions nobody had volunteered to receive. I remained stationary and allowed the group to coalesce in my vicinity, because initiating movement toward Camille would telegraph intentions I was unprepared to broadcast before twenty witnesses and one retired A-rank Hero whose professional background included reading tactical situations for a living.

Felicity pulled a chair from the adjacent row and positioned it beside mine with the assertive efficiency of someone claiming territory. She crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt, and opened her tablet in three distinct motions that somehow all looked like the same graceful gesture.

Percy appeared on my other side without announcement. His notebook was already open to a fresh page with the Silverbrook Shopping Center schematic sketched from memory in the eleven seconds since it had appeared on the smart board. The proportions were immaculate.

Camille was the last to arrive. She walked across the tiered seating with the deliberate confidence of someone choosing to approach a situation rather than being forced into it, and there was a meaningful difference between those two things that she wanted every person in the room to recognize. Her two-toned hair fell across her jaw. Her blazer was unbuttoned, revealing the fitted white shirt beneath that the Halloran uniform committee had clearly not designed with Camille’s particular proportions in mind. She dropped into the chair across from me and set her tablet on the desk with a sound that was slightly louder than necessary.

"Before you say anything," she said, "this is a group assignment. I’m treating it as a group assignment. We work, we present, and we don’t discuss anything that happened outside this classroom."

"Deal," I said.

"I wasn’t asking for permission. I was establishing parameters."

"Also noted."

Her brown eyes held mine for exactly one second longer than her stated parameters required. Then she looked at her tablet and began scrolling through the scenario materials that Steele had just distributed to our devices.

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