The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

We headed to the arcade’s food counter, which offered standard fare—pizza, burgers, fries, and shakes. I ordered a double cheeseburger with extra fries. Sloane got the same plus mozzarella sticks.

"Where do you put all that food?" I asked as we carried our trays to an empty table. "You eat like you’ve got a black hole for a stomach."

"My Aspect burns calories," she explained. "Generating kinetic energy requires fuel. The more I use it, the more I need to eat."

We settled into a booth near the back of the arcade. The cushions were worn but comfortable, and our table had a decent view of both floors.

"So," Sloane said, dipping a mozzarella stick in marinara sauce, "admit you had fun."

"It had its moments," I said, taking a bite of my burger.

Her boot connected with my shin under the table. Not hard enough to actually hurt, but definitely hard enough to register her displeasure. "Say it properly."

"Jesus—fine. It was fun. Satisfied?"

"Extremely." A real smile broke across her face, softening the sharp lines of her jaw. Her eyes lost their competitive edge, catching the neon glow from the racing games and reflecting it back at me. "We’re doing this again."

"For science."

"Naturally."

We ate without talking much after that, the silence settling between us in a way that didn’t require filling. Around us, the arcade churned through its usual crowd—groups of teenagers clustered around rhythm games, a couple arguing strategy near the fighting game cabinets, someone winning enough tickets at the basketball hoops to make their friends jealous.

Sloane worked through her burger the way she approached most things: direct, efficient, no wasted motion. I took my time with mine, enjoying the fact that I wasn’t being asked to explain anything for once.

The mozzarella sticks disappeared at an alarming rate. Her Aspect really did burn through calories if this was maintenance eating rather than indulgence. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

"Sure."

"Why didn’t you tell me about your Aspect sooner? Why wait until after that training session?"

I nearly choked on a fry. The question came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t prepared with a good lie.

"I wasn’t sure it was real at first," I said carefully. "I didn’t want to get my hopes up, or yours."

She studied me, her gaze searching. "But you felt it happening before that, didn’t you? During our earlier sessions?"

"Maybe." I shrugged, trying to look casual. "It was building up gradually. Little tingles here and there. Nothing concrete until that night."

"Hmm. And now that it’s registered, how does it feel?"

"Different." At least that wasn’t a lie. "Like I’ve been walking around half-asleep my whole life and suddenly I’m awake."

She nodded slowly. "That’s how it feels for everyone. When I first manifested, it was like everything before had been in black and white, and suddenly the world was in color."

"Exactly."

"And the speed thing my mom mentioned—is that part of it too?"

I froze. Diane had told her about Blitz? So much for keeping that secret.

"It’s complicated," I said, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "The telekinesis is the main thing. The speed is... I’m not sure what it is. Maybe a secondary function."

"That happens sometimes with late manifestations." She took a sip of her soda. "The Aspect tries to compensate for lost time by developing multiple functions at once."

Thank god for pseudoscientific bullshit.

"Yeah, that must be it," I agreed quickly.

She leaned forward, her eyes intense. "You know you can trust me, right? With anything?"

"I know," I said quietly. "And I do trust you, Sloane. More than anyone."

That part, at least, was true. Despite everything—the System, the false Aspect, the manipulations—I did trust Sloane. She was real in a way nothing else in this world felt.

She reached across the table and took my hand. Her fingers were warm and calloused from years of training.

"Good," she said. "Because you’re going to need someone in your corner at Halloran. That place eats people alive if they’re alone."

"Are you volunteering for the job?" I asked with a small smile.

"Maybe." She squeezed my hand. "Unless you find someone better."

"Not possible," I said automatically.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she quickly released my hand to grab another mozzarella stick. "Don’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it."

"Who says I don’t mean it?"

She kicked my shin again, harder this time. "Shut up and eat your burger."

I grinned and took another bite. For a few minutes, we were just two teenagers enjoying food after playing games. Not a transmigrant with a gacha system and a girl with explosive powers. Just Lukas and Sloane.

〘 SLOANE FITZGERALD - TEMPTATION GAUGE: 67% (+3%) 〙

A commotion erupted from the entrance—people gasping and moving aside. Phones came out, capturing whatever was happening.

"Holy shit," someone nearby whispered. "Is that Grande Dame?"

Sloane’s head whipped around. "What?"

I followed her gaze, and sure enough, Grande Dame herself had just walked into the arcade. All five feet eleven inches of her, wearing skin-tight designer jeans and a purple crop top that showed off her perfect abs. Her jet-black hair fell in waves over one shoulder, and her violet eyes scanned the room like she owned it.

Which, given her net worth, she probably could if she wanted to.

"What’s she doing here?" I wondered aloud.

"PR stunt, probably," Sloane muttered, her expression darkening. "She does ’surprise appearances’ at popular spots to boost her approval rating."

Grande Dame moved through the crowd, stopping to take selfies with fans and sign autographs. Her smile never faltered, but something about it seemed rehearsed.

Then her eyes landed on our table, and her perfect eyebrows rose slightly.

"Shit," Sloane hissed. "She’s coming this way."

"Why would she—"

"Sloane Fitzgerald," Grande Dame’s smoky voice cut me off as she approached our table. "Fancy seeing you here. Your mother manage any other real Heroes yet, or is she still handling D-listers?"

Sloane’s hands clenched into fists on the table. "Grande Dame. Thought I smelled overpriced perfume."

Grande Dame laughed, a musical sound that somehow managed to be condescending. "Still got that sharp tongue, I see. You really should work on your public relations skills if you want to make it in this business."

Her violet eyes shifted to me, taking in my appearance with a slow, deliberate assessment.

"And who’s this?" she asked, her voice dropping to a purr. "New boyfriend?"