The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 62

Chapter 62: 62 | Data, Desire, and a Two-Week Lie

Two weeks disappeared faster than I expected.

The routine settled in so smoothly it felt dangerous. Dangerous because routines make you comfortable, and comfort makes you sloppy. But I couldn’t deny the progress.

Every morning at 6:30, I’d wake to my alarm and head downstairs to the gym where Sloane waited. She’d already be stretching, pink ponytail swaying, and she’d give me that competitive grin that made my heart do stupid things.

"Morning, slowpoke."

"I’m literally on time."

"Barely counts."

Then she’d try to kill me for ninety minutes.

Hand-to-hand drills until my muscles screamed. Spectral Reach exercises where I’d lift progressively heavier objects while maintaining precision. Blitz training where I’d dash across the room, redirecting mid-movement while she threw tennis balls at my head.

My stats climbed steadily. Strength hit thirty-two. Agility pushed to thirty-four. Dexterity reached thirty-six. Endurance sat at forty now, probably because I was training twice as hard and sleeping half as much.

Sloane noticed the improvements. She’d watch me complete exercises that would’ve wrecked me two weeks ago, her blue eyes sharp with something between pride and suspicion.

"You’re getting faster," she said one morning after I managed to dodge three of her throws in a row. "Like, noticeably faster than yesterday."

"Good coaching," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead.

"Bullshit. Nobody progresses this quickly without..." She trailed off, chewing her bottom lip. "Your Aspect must be developing faster than normal manifestations."

"Maybe that’s what late bloomers do. Make up for lost time."

She didn’t look convinced, but she dropped it.

After training, I’d shower and head to the kitchen. Breakfast became my responsibility, part of our deal. I’d cook while Sloane recovered upstairs, and Diane would appear around seven in full CEO mode.

Charcoal skirt. Silk blouse. Hair perfect. Makeup flawless.

She’d sit at the island with her coffee and tablet, reviewing overnight emails like she hadn’t spent the previous night screaming my name into her pillow.

"Good morning, Lukas."

"Morning, Diane."

The first time she called me by my name instead of honey or sugar, I knew something had shifted between us. We’d crossed into territory that required different rules.

She’d eat whatever I cooked, compliment it with genuine warmth, then kiss my cheek before leaving for the office.

Sloane would come down right after Diane left. She’d load her plate, settle next to me, and we’d eat in comfortable silence or talk about training plans.

Sometimes she’d reach over and steal food from my plate just to mess with me. I’d steal from hers in retaliation. It became a game.

One morning, her hand lingered on my arm after she grabbed my last piece of bacon.

"Thanks for breakfast," she said quietly.

"You’re welcome."

"And thanks for... everything else."

I turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

Her cheeks turned pink. "For wanting me."

I kissed her before she could get more embarrassed. She tasted like maple syrup.

The afternoons varied. Sometimes Sloane would leave to hang out with her friends from prep courses, girls I’d never met who were also applying to Halloran. She’d come back energized, talking about their training routines and Aspects and theories about what the entrance exam would test.

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