The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

"Right." I released her wrists and pushed myself up. "Sorry."

"Don’t be." She sat up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Was it my imagination, or were her cheeks pinker than usual? "Get the popcorn while I queue up the movie."

I retrieved our abandoned snacks while she fiddled with the remote. When I returned, she patted the spot next to her on the loveseat.

"Sit here."

"There are like twenty other seats in this theater."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to pass the popcorn back and forth across three rows? Sit down."

I settled beside her on the small couch, our shoulders touching. The loveseat wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t designed for personal space either. Every movement brushed us against each other.

The movie started with a dramatic opening sequence – some nonsense about ancient temples and forgotten martial arts techniques. I wasn’t really paying attention. Sloane had shifted so that our legs were touching from knee to hip, and she’d tucked her feet up under her, which somehow pressed her even closer to my side.

Ten minutes in, she reached for popcorn at the same time I did. Our hands collided in the bowl, and instead of pulling away, she let her fingers linger against mine for a moment before grabbing a handful.

This was new territory.

We’d lived in the same house for years. We’d watched countless movies together. But always with space between us. Always with the unspoken boundary that existed between two people who were practically family but not quite.

Now that boundary seemed to be dissolving with each passing minute.

Twenty minutes into the movie, the main character began training in an impossible sequence of moves that defied both physics and common sense. I glanced at Sloane, waiting for her inevitable critique.

"What?" she asked, catching my look.

"Nothing. Just waiting for you to explain why that triple spinning backflip would actually break his spine."

"I told you I wouldn’t complain." She shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

"The Sloane Fitzgerald I know physically cannot watch bad martial arts without commentary."

"Maybe I’m distracted."

"By what?"

She turned to face me fully, her knee now pressed against my thigh. "You manifested an Aspect today, Lukas. That’s kind of a big deal."

"Yeah, well. It’s still sinking in."

"How does it feel?"

"What?"

"Having an Aspect. Being able to move things with your mind. It must feel incredible."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "It’s... hard to describe. Like finding a limb you never knew you had."

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Spectral Reach did feel that way.

"I remember when mine manifested," she said softly. "I was six. Had a complete meltdown because Mom wouldn’t let me have ice cream before dinner. Blew out every window on the first floor."

I laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Mom wasn’t even mad. She just looked at me covered in glass and said, ’Well, that’s going to be expensive to train.’"

I tried to picture tiny Sloane surrounded by shattered glass, pink hair in pigtails, eyes wide with shock at her own power. The image made something twist in my chest.

"Must have been scary," I said.

"It was. For about ten seconds." She grinned. "Then it was awesome. I could make things explode with my hands. What six-year-old wouldn’t love that?"

"Fair point."

On screen, the hero was now fighting ten men simultaneously, his movements a blur of impossible gymnastics and power strikes. Sloane, true to her word, didn’t comment on the absurdity. Instead, she shifted again, this time leaning her head against my shoulder.

My body tensed involuntarily.

"Is this okay?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Yeah. Of course."

She settled more firmly against me. "Good."

We watched in silence for a few minutes, though I couldn’t focus on a single frame of the movie. All my attention was on the weight of her head on my shoulder, the scent of her shampoo, the way her body fit against mine like we’d done this a thousand times before.

"You know what’s weird?" she said eventually.

"What?"

"I always thought you’d manifest eventually. Even after all the tests came back negative. Even after you turned fourteen and the doctors said it wasn’t going to happen."

I felt another twist of guilt. "Why?"

"Because you’re too stubborn not to." She laughed softly. "Most Unmarked kids accept it. They find other paths, normal lives. But you always looked at Heroes like you were taking notes. Always watched the rankings. Always read about Aspects like you were studying for a test you weren’t allowed to take."

That sounded like the previous Lukas, the one whose body I now occupied. It struck me how little I actually knew about him beyond the surface details.

"And now it’s happened," she continued. "Just like you believed it would."

"Just in time for Halloran applications," I said, trying to keep my voice light.

She lifted her head to look at me, her expression suddenly serious. "That’s not why I’m happy about it."

"No?"

"No." She placed a hand on my arm, her fingers warm through my t-shirt. "I’m happy because you deserve it."

I couldn’t hold her gaze. The sincerity in her eyes made the lie taste bitter on my tongue.

"Thanks," I managed.

"And..." She hesitated. "I was worried about you."

"Worried?"

"Applying to Halloran as Unmarked was suicide. You know that, right? The entrance exam would have..." She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

"I would have found a way," I said.

"Maybe. But now you don’t have to." Her hand slid up my arm to my shoulder. "Now you’ve got an Aspect of your own. A real shot."

I forced myself to meet her eyes. "Does this mean you’re supporting my Halloran application now?"

A flicker of something—fear? Concern?—crossed her face. "I still think it’s dangerous. But at least now you’ve got a fighting chance."

On screen, the hero was delivering an impassioned speech about honor and discipline. Neither of us was watching.

"When should we go register your Aspect?" she asked. "Tomorrow?"

"Probably should. The sooner the better, right?"

She nodded, her eyes never leaving my face. "The IHL office downtown can handle it. I’ll go with you."

"You don’t have to—"

"I want to." Her hand moved from my shoulder to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. "I want to be there when they update your status from Unmarked to Channeler."

My pulse quickened. Her face was closer than before, though I couldn’t remember either of us moving.

"Sloane," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing?" 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"I’m not sure." Her eyes dropped to my lips. "Celebrating, maybe."

〘 Subject Sloane Fitzgerald’s Temptation Gauge has increased to 49%. Intimate contact threshold imminent. 〙

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〘Traore’s Thoughts〙

Hey guys, I decided to make a Power Stone Goal for this novel.

Every 200 Power Stones this week = +1 Extra Chapter. (MAX 14 ChapterS)

We can have the normal 2 Daily Chapters + 2 Extra Chapters Every Day, is all up to you ;)