The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

The lights dimmed, and the air in the auditorium suddenly felt colder. It smelled of recycled air and the faint, coppery scent of collective anxiety.

A spotlight activated, illuminating the platform at the front. A woman walked out from stage left, her heels clicking against polished wood in a rhythm that commanded attention.

She was tall. Maybe five-ten without the heels, five-eleven or six feet with them. Orange hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves that looked effortless but probably took thirty minutes to style. Her outfit was professional in the same way a sword was professional. A fitted black blazer over a white blouse that showed just enough cleavage to suggest confidence rather than desperation. A pencil skirt that ended mid-thigh and left exactly zero questions about her figure.

She smiled at the assembled applicants. The smile belonged on someone who knew exactly what she was doing and enjoyed every second of it.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying through the auditorium without amplification. Must be an Aspect thing. "My name is Isabelle Crane. Most of you know me better by my hero name, Belle. Rank A, retired from field work three years ago to join Halloran’s faculty. I teach Hero Presence and Crisis Performance, which means I specialize in teaching you how to not look like idiots when the cameras are rolling."

A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd.

Isabelle’s smile widened. "Before we begin, let me be clear about something. This exam is not designed to be fair. It’s designed to filter. Out of thousands of applicants testing today across all fields, we will extend offers to approximately thirty-eight. That’s less than ten percent. Some of you will fail because you’re not strong enough. Some will fail because you’re not smart enough. Some will fail because you freeze when it matters. And some of you will fail for reasons you’ll never understand."

She let that sink in.

"The practical assessment is simple. You will enter a combat simulation field populated by robots of varying difficulty. Your objective is to destroy as many robots as possible within the time limit. Points are awarded based on the threat level of each unit eliminated. One-point robots are basic threats. Two-point robots require strategy. Three-point robots will hurt you if you’re careless."

The screen behind her lit up, displaying schematics of three different robot designs. The one-pointer looked like a humanoid frame with basic weapons. The two-pointer had more armor and what looked like projectile launchers. The three-pointer was bigger, bulkier, meaner.

"You will also encounter a zero-point unit," Isabelle continued. "This robot is classified as a natural disaster analogue. It is not designed to be defeated by individual applicants. If you see it, run. Attempting to engage the zero-pointer will not earn you points and will likely result in injury. We have medical staff on standby, but I’d prefer not to use them today."

Felicity leaned over again. "Okay but like, what if someone actually beats the zero-pointer? Do they get bonus points?"

Several people nearby turned to look at her.

Isabelle’s eyes found Felicity in the crowd. "If someone manages to defeat the zero-pointer, I will personally write their letter of recommendation. But in fifteen years of administering this exam, no one has succeeded."

"Bet," Felicity whispered.

I glanced at her. "You’re going to try, aren’t you?"

"I didn’t say that."

"You’re absolutely going to try."

She grinned. "Maybe."

Isabelle continued. "You have ten minutes to enter the simulation field and take your starting positions. The exam lasts fifteen minutes. When the alarm sounds, you stop immediately or you’re disqualified. Questions?"

A hand went up near the front. "What about teamwork? Are we allowed to coordinate with other applicants?"

"You’re allowed to do whatever you think will help you pass," Isabelle said. "But remember that your individual performance is what matters. Helping someone else won’t hurt you, but it won’t help you either unless it serves your strategy."

More hands went up. Isabelle fielded questions about Aspect restrictions, environmental hazards, and scoring breakdowns with the patience of someone who’d done this dozens of times.

I studied the robot schematics on the screen, running calculations. With Spectral Reach, I could engage from range. With Blitz, I could reposition faster than most applicants would anticipate. The one-pointers would be easy. The two-pointers would require focus. The three-pointers would be the real test.

And the zero-pointer. The thing they explicitly told us not to fight.

"Alright," Isabelle said, clapping her hands once. "Follow the staff to the simulation field. Try not to die. And remember—Halloran is watching."

The lights came up. Staff members in white uniforms appeared at the exits, gesturing for us to follow.

Felicity stood up, stretching in a way that was definitely deliberate. "Okay bestie, ready to absolutely slay some robots?"

"Define ’slay.’"

"Destroy them so hard they question their robot existence."

I couldn’t help but smile. "Yeah. Let’s do that."

We followed the crowd toward the exit, moving with the tide of nervous energy and forced confidence. Around us, applicants whispered strategies, adjusted their gear, and tried to project competence they probably didn’t feel.

The muttering guy from earlier was still going, now calculating optimal target prioritization based on point-to-difficulty ratios.

A girl with green hair and vine tattoos running down her arms cracked her knuckles, small flowers blooming between her fingers before wilting immediately.

A tall guy built like a tank rolled his shoulders, the movement producing a sound like grinding concrete. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

This was it. The practical assessment. The test that would determine whether I was actually ready for Halloran or just a kid with a gacha system and delusions of adequacy.

My upgraded Intelligence ran through scenarios, tactics, contingencies. Spectral Reach for ranged elimination. Blitz for repositioning and close engagements. Save stamina where possible. Maximize efficiency. Don’t reveal more than necessary.

The System had been quiet since Phase Two initialized. No quests beyond the side quest about making an impression. No commentary about optimal strategies or heroine interactions.

Just me and whatever came next.

We emerged into sunlight again, following the staff toward a massive structure that looked like a small city contained within walls.

"Thirty seconds!" a staff member called.

I stood at the entrance to Field 3, taking in what looked like a miniature urban landscape built specifically to be destroyed. Apartment buildings, storefronts, narrow streets, and open plazas – all designed for us to fight robots in. Clever.

Felicity bounced on her toes beside me, her breasts jiggling with each movement. "This is gonna be so fun! I can’t wait to see what your telekinesis can do."

"Keep your panties on," I muttered. "If they’re even wearing any under those shorts."

She gasped dramatically, then laughed. "Rude! I definitely have underwear on. Want to check?"

Twenty seconds.

"I’ll take your word for it."

My eyes scanned the field, mapping escape routes, choke points, and high ground positions. This wasn’t my first rodeo. Well, technically it was my first robot-fighting rodeo, but the principle remained the same: find advantages, exploit weaknesses, don’t die stupidly.

Ten seconds.

"Good luck," Felicity said, her smile turning serious for once. "Maybe we’ll run into each other out there?"

"If you hear screaming, that’ll be me succeeding spectacularly," I replied, crouching into a ready stance.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

A horn blared across the field, and chaos erupted. Students launched forward, some literally flying, others propelling themselves with various Aspects. I activated Blitz and shot twenty feet into the simulation in under a second.

Showtime.