The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 343

Chapter 343: 343 | The Room Where It Happens

The Oracle Feed pulsed softly in my peripheral vision.

The System remained silent.

I crossed my arms and watched my classmates campaign for the privilege of attending meetings.

Then something landed on my desk.

Not something. Someone.

Felicity Hardy planted herself on the edge of my desk in a single motion that combined athletic grace with absolute disregard for personal space boundaries, furniture protocol, and the fact that we were currently in a classroom during an official announcement. She swung her legs up and over, rotating sideways so her body faced me from above, and settled onto the wooden surface with the confidence of someone who had decided this desk belonged to her and the universe was welcome to disagree.

Her legs crossed at the ankle and hung over the side closest to me.

I tried to lean back.

Her thigh landed against my forearm.

The contact registered through my nervous system like a voltage spike. Not because Felicity was touching me, that happened daily and I’d developed something approaching immunity to her casual physicality. But because today she wore the regulation charcoal stockings that Halloran required with the uniform skirt, and those stockings covered thighs that I had been aggressively not thinking about since the moment she sat down, and now my hand rested against the smooth fabric stretched across the softest skin I’d encountered outside of Sloane’s bedroom and Diane’s office.

My fingers sat against the outside of her left thigh where the stocking material clung to the generous curve of muscle and softness that Felicity’s athletic build produced. The fabric was warm. The warmth radiated through the material and into my palm with the kind of directness that the Ecchi Logic trait usually required several minutes of environmental manipulation to orchestrate, except Felicity had accomplished the same result in approximately one point four seconds through the simple act of sitting on my desk without asking permission.

The stocking material was impossibly smooth under my fingertips. Not silk, something synthetic that captured body heat and redistributed it across the surface in a way that made the fabric feel alive. Her thigh pressed against my hand with the weight of someone who’d noticed exactly where my arm was and chosen to sit there anyway, which was either coincidence or the most confident tactical positioning I’d witnessed since Sigma herded Monolith into a collapsing building.

Felicity swung her legs. Once. Twice. The motion shifted her weight across my hand and forearm, sliding the stocking material against my skin in a rhythm that felt deliberately calibrated to make rational thought progressively more difficult.

She looked down at me.

From this angle, with the overhead fluorescents behind her and her blonde ponytail catching light, Felicity Hardy appeared like a painting someone had commissioned specifically to ruin my concentration during institutional announcements. Her blue eyes carried that particular warmth she reserved for moments when she wanted something and had already decided she was going to get it. The freckles across her nose stood out against skin that had gone slightly pink, though whether from the classroom’s temperature or from the fact that she was currently sitting on my desk with her thigh pressed against my hand remained an open question.

"So." She tilted her head. The ponytail shifted. A strand of blonde hair fell across her collarbone and disappeared beneath her collar. "Are you gonna go for class rep?"

I looked at her thigh against my hand. Looked at her face. Looked at the fourteen raised hands around the room. Looked back at her face.

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