The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

I stared out at Verano from the backseat of Diane’s luxury sedan. The city skyline gleamed like it was built yesterday, all glass and steel reaching for the sky. Hero billboards plastered every available surface—Radiant’s perfect smile selling toothpaste on one corner, Grande Dame hawking athletic wear on another. The whole city ran on hero worship, and I was about to become an official part of that machine.

If I could just stop scowling first.

"You alright back there?" Sloane twisted in the passenger seat to look at me. Her pink hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she’d dressed up for the occasion in a blouse and dark jeans. Professional but still unmistakably Sloane.

I blinked, forcing myself to reset my expression. "Yeah. I’m good."

"He’s probably so overcome with excitement about having an Aspect that he’s overstimulated," Diane said from behind the wheel, her Southern drawl particularly pronounced as she navigated downtown traffic. She caught my eye in the rearview mirror and winked.

The only thing that’s overstimulating is you and your daughter’s bodies, I thought bitterly, then immediately hated myself for thinking it. The System was corrupting me faster than I’d realized.

No, the real reason for my shit mood was simpler: the bronze gacha pull I’d received this morning was absolute garbage. Total waste of my hard-earned quest rewards.

Twenty minutes earlier, I’d been sitting on my bed, excitement thrumming through me as I activated the bronze pull. The animation had spun up in my vision—lights flashing, particles swirling, the whole dramatic spectacle designed to trigger that dopamine hit. Then the card materialized, glowing a dull bronze, and flipped over to reveal:

Sexercise

Common · Passive Trait

The System’s belief that no effort should go unrewarded, especially that kind.

I’d stared at it in disbelief as the system cheerfully explained its function. Sex now counted as physical exercise. Sexual activity would generate a small pool of experience that would automatically distribute to my base physical attributes. The more intense and frequent the activity, the more gains I’d receive. Partner satisfaction provided additional multipliers.

"You’re fucking kidding me," I’d muttered, scrolling through the ability description twice to make sure I understood correctly. "This is what I get for my emergency quest? A passive that turns sex into stat points?"

The system had responded with its usual detached amusement.

〘 Sexercise synergizes effectively with Boundless Stamina, enabling prolonged activity without physical fatigue. Combined with your current heroine progression metrics, this represents a significant acceleration potential for attribute growth. 〙

"It’s like this scumbag system is actively trying to turn me into some kind of sexual playboy," I’d groaned, falling backward onto my bed. "Why not just give me something useful? Like actual combat skills?"

〘 Host appears displeased with acquisition. Note that progression speed without Sexercise would remain at standard metrics. With current baseline of approximately +1 attribute point per week of training, host would require 5.7 months to reach minimum Hero candidacy threshold for strength parameters alone. 〙

The system had paused, then added:

〘 Sexercise reduces this timeframe significantly depending on activity frequency and intensity. 〙

"So what you’re saying is I need to fuck my way into Halloran Academy," I’d muttered.

〘 That is an oversimplification but not technically incorrect. 〙

And now here I was, sulking in the backseat like a child while Diane drove us toward the IHL office for my official registration.

"We’re almost there," Diane said, pulling my attention back to the present. "Southern California Branch is just up ahead."

I leaned forward between the seats, forcing myself to focus on what mattered today. The IHL building rose before us, a gleaming thirty-story tower of blue-tinted glass and silver accents. The sun reflected off its surface almost painfully bright, like it was designed to announce itself to the city. Subtle, it was not.

"Lot of people," I noted, spotting the line that wrapped around the corner of the building.

"Friday is always busy," Diane said. "That’s the regular registration line. We won’t be using it."

She pulled into a special access garage beneath the building, showing her credentials to a security guard who waved us through with obvious recognition and respect. The Fitzgerald name carried serious weight in this world.

"Perks of being Diane Fitzgerald?" I asked as we parked in a reserved spot near the elevator.

"Perks of knowing which relationships to cultivate, sugar." She killed the engine and turned to me with a serious expression. "Now remember what we talked about. Clean answers, no elaboration unless asked, and let me handle anything complicated. This isn’t your first manifestation—it’s your only manifestation."

Sloane looked between us, confusion clear on her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Your mother thinks I’ll say something stupid and get myself flagged for additional testing," I said smoothly. The lie came easy now. "She’s been coaching me since breakfast."

"I know my boy," Diane said, sliding out of the car. "He overthinks."

Her boy. The possessive language wasn’t lost on me, especially with her Temptation Gauge hovering at 21% in my peripheral vision. The System was quiet for now, but I could practically feel its smug presence waiting for me to process that phrasing.

We took a private elevator up to the fifteenth floor, bypassing the crowded lobby entirely. When the doors opened, we stepped into a reception area that looked more like a luxury hotel than a government office. Plush couches, abstract art on the walls, and soft lighting created an atmosphere of exclusivity.

Behind the reception desk, a woman with bright green hair looked up and broke into a wide smile when she spotted Diane. "Mrs. Fitzgerald! We weren’t expecting you today."

"Cynthia, darling, I told you to call me Diane." She approached the desk with the easy confidence of someone who belonged anywhere she decided to be. "I have a special case for recording today. My ward has finally manifested."

Cynthia’s eyes widened as she looked at me, recognition dawning. "The Belmont boy? After all this time?"

I managed not to grimace at being called "the Belmont boy" to my face.

"Late manifestation at seventeen," Diane confirmed. "We’ll need Charles for this one."

"Of course. I’ll let him know you’re here." Cynthia picked up a phone, speaking quietly into it.

While we waited, I observed the room more carefully. Several Heroes in costume moved through the space—most wearing B or C rank insignias on their uniforms. Not the headline names from the billboards outside, but working Heroes handling paperwork, filing reports, or waiting for appointments.

One caught my eye—a man in his thirties wearing a sleek blue and silver suit with lightning bolt accents. He looked exhausted, slumped in a chair while typing on a tablet. According to the small ranking badge on his shoulder, he was C-32, which meant he was barely hanging on to his license. The haunted look in his eyes told me everything about what that position felt like.

That could be me in a few years if I screwed this up.

A door opened, and a tall, slender man with silver-rimmed glasses emerged. "Diane! What a wonderful surprise."

"Charles." Diane embraced him with the familiarity of old friends. "Thank you for squeezing us in."

"Anything for you," he said, then turned his attention to me. "And this must be young Mr. Belmont. I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years."

All of it about being Unmarked, I bet.

"That’s me," I said, extending my hand.

Charles shook it firmly, studying me with keen interest. "Late manifestation cases are always fascinating. Please, come into my office, all of you."

We followed him through the door into a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. One wall was covered with framed certifications and photographs of Charles with various ranked Heroes. The center of the room featured an examination table surrounded by sophisticated equipment—scanning arrays and projection tech for Aspect visualization.

"I’m Dr. Charles Weber, Aspect Recording Specialist," he said, gesturing for me to sit on the examination table.

"I’ll be handling your registration today."