The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

The card expanded, filling my vision with golden light. I felt a warm weight materialize in my mental inventory, like a presence that was somehow both foreign and familiar. Knowledge flooded my mind - how to grip the staff, how to extend and contract the sections, the basic forms for three-section staff combat.

The weapon itself didn’t physically appear, remaining stored in my inventory until I chose to manifest it. But I could feel its potential, the way it would amplify my strength and give me reach and versatility that my current loadout lacked. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

With Spectral Reach for ranged combat, Blitz for mobility, Lightning Cloak for burst damage, and now Joyful Cloud for sustained melee combat, I was starting to feel like I might actually thrive in what was coming at Halloran.

Assuming anyone there could survive me.

The sound of voices from downstairs reminded me that I still needed to shower and get dressed. Whatever Sloane and Diane were making for dinner, I was definitely going to need the energy. Recovery time between rounds was getting shorter, but my appetite afterward was getting bigger.

I headed for my bathroom, stripping off what little clothing I’d bothered to put on after leaving Diane’s room. The shower was exactly what I needed - hot water washing away sweat and the lingering scent of sex, giving me a few minutes to process everything that had happened.

Three hours ago I’d been worried about convincing Sloane to accept sharing me with her mother. Now I had both of them committed to an arrangement that the System was calling a Family Accord, complete with truth-detection protocols that would punish me for lying to them.

The smart thing would be to worry about how much control I was losing, how many variables I was adding to an already complicated situation. But as I stood under the hot water, all I could think about was the way Sloane had looked at me when I told her our kids would be cute, and the way Diane had moaned when I smacked her ass on the way out of the room.

Maybe losing control wasn’t always a bad thing.

I finished washing and got dressed, running a towel through my hair as I headed back downstairs. The kitchen smelled like garlic and something Italian, and I could hear both women talking in low voices as they worked.

When I walked in, they’d clearly made an effort to look more presentable. Sloane had borrowed one of Diane’s casual dresses and tied her pink hair back in a ponytail. Diane was wearing yoga pants and a fitted top, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. They both looked like they’d just had really good sex and were trying to pretend they hadn’t.

"What’s for dinner?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"Pasta," Sloane said without looking up from where she was stirring something on the stove. "Mom’s making her famous marinara sauce."

"It’s not famous, it’s just good," Diane corrected from where she was slicing bread.

"It’s famous in this house."

I watched them work together, noting how they’d fallen into an easy rhythm despite everything that had happened. Sloane handling the pasta, Diane managing the sauce and sides, both of them moving around each other like they’d been doing this for years.

Which, I realized, they probably had. Before I’d arrived and complicated everything.

"Need any help?" I offered.

"You can set the table," Diane said. "And open some wine. I think we all deserve a drink after today."

I got plates and silverware from the appropriate cabinets, muscle memory from nine years of living here guiding my movements. Strange to think that this morning I’d been worried about Sloane’s reaction to discovering my relationship with her mother. Now we were about to sit down for family dinner like this was perfectly normal.

The wine Diane had requested turned out to be a bottle of something expensive from her personal collection. She poured generous glasses for all three of us, including Sloane, which raised my eyebrows.

"I’m eighteen," Sloane pointed out.

"You’re also sleeping with your mother’s boyfriend," Diane replied, her voice as smooth as the wine she was pouring.

"At this table, ’legal’ is a rather fluid concept. Have a glass, honey. We’ll call it a business expense."

Sloane’s face went red again, but she accepted the wine without further protest.

Dinner was surprisingly normal, all things considered. Good food, casual conversation, the three of us falling into the kind of comfortable banter I remembered from before everything got complicated. The only difference was the undercurrent of awareness, the way our eyes would meet across the table and linger just a bit too long.

"So," Diane said as we were finishing the pasta, "tomorrow we need to start thinking about Halloran prep. Acceptance letters should arrive within the next week or two, and there’s paperwork to handle once they do."

"You think we’ll both get in?" Sloane asked.

"Of course."

"What about living arrangements?" I asked.

"Students are required to live on campus for the first two years," Diane explained. "You’ll have dorm rooms, but the real question is whether you end up in the same class."

That was something I hadn’t considered. Halloran divided incoming students into different tracks based on their entrance exam performance and projected career paths. There was no guarantee Sloane and I would even see each other regularly.

"We’ll figure it out," Sloane said firmly. "Whatever happens, we’ll make it work."

She was looking directly at me when she said it, and I recognized the determination in her eyes. The same look she got before attempting to master a new fighting technique or perfect a particularly difficult Detonation pattern.

Sloane Fitzgerald did not accept defeat gracefully. Which meant she wasn’t planning to let distance or different class assignments interfere with whatever we’d built here.

That should have worried me. Instead, it made me want to kiss her right there at the dinner table.

"Yeah," I agreed. "We will."

Diane was watching both of us with that knowing smile again, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she raised her wine glass in what looked suspiciously like a toast.

"To whatever comes next," she said.

We all drank to that, and I tried not to think about the fact that what came next was probably going to be a lot more complicated than any of us were prepared for.

But for tonight, sitting here with both of them, full of good food and wine and the satisfaction that came after really spectacular sex, complicated felt like a problem for future me to worry about.

Present me was doing just fine.