My Scumbag System Chapter 4: He Cleaned His Room, Is This the Apocalypse?

Natalia slumped down onto the floor, her back flush against the door. The enticing aroma of chicken and herbs slithered beneath her door, ensnaring her senses like a relentless specter. Her stomach let out another growl, even fiercer now, like a wild beast howling for nourishment.

"Traitor," she murmured to her belly.

She fished out her phone and launched the food delivery app. Pizza would require forty minutes. Sushi, a full hour. All the fast options were oily, bargain-bin junk that would weigh her down during tomorrow's training session.

Her finger lingered over the order button. Yet another rebellious grumble echoed from her gut.

The meal waited just beyond, in the kitchen. Food that genuinely smelled... appetizing. Not some nuked slop or takeout, but something crafted from real ingredients.

"This is absurd," she grumbled, jamming her phone back into her pocket. "It’s my kitchen as well."

She eased her door ajar, straining to hear. Nothing but silence. She peeked into the corridor—empty. With the stealth drilled into her by combat drills, Natalia crept along the hallway toward the kitchen, pressing close to the wall like she was dodging bullets.

The kitchen shone brightly under the embedded lights. No trace of Satori. A covered dish rested on the central counter, with a fork and knife arranged neatly alongside. Wisps of steam seeped from under the foil, bearing that intoxicating scent.

Natalia advanced warily, as though the plate could be rigged with explosives. She peeled back the foil. The dish was straightforward yet plated with surprising attention—a golden-brown chicken breast, cut open to show succulent white flesh, encircled by colorful roasted veggies. A delicate herb sauce glistened over it all.

It appeared... ordinary. Nutritious. Precisely the sort of meal her father would endorse for an aspiring Hunter.

Natalia shot a look toward Satori’s room. The door stood shut. No noise emanated from inside.

"This doesn’t signify a thing," she assured herself resolutely, hopping onto a barstool. "I’m simply starving."

The initial bite caught her off guard. The chicken proved succulent, perfectly spiced, the veggies crisp yet tender instead of soggy. It wasn’t fine dining, but solid home cooking. Since when had he picked up these skills? Had he secretly known all along? Was he concealing talents far beyond hitting up fast food joints?

She devoured it swiftly and methodically, just like she tackled every task. No need to linger over mere sustenance for the next day's workout. Still, she couldn’t ignore the harmonious tastes, the thoughtful effort. This wasn’t the work of someone indifferent.

Footsteps sounded, freezing her in place with fork en route to her lips. No time to escape now.

Satori emerged from the doorway to the compact home gym their father had set up. His hulking build dominated the frame, red hair damp with sweat and stuck to his brow. Sweat had fogged his glasses, and his cheeks burned a vivid red. He gripped a water bottle in his thick fist.

Natalia braced herself, bracing for the cocky remark, the creepy stare, the lame stab at chit-chat.

Nothing of the sort arrived.

His gaze locked with hers for a moment. He offered a brief nod, then strode past her toward his bedroom.

His bedroom door shut with a gentle click.

Natalia remained rigid, fork hovering motionless. What had just transpired?

She gradually lowered her fork, gazing at the half-finished plate. A core element had altered. The unspoken rules that had dictated their tense standoff for two years had abruptly, sans notice or debate, transformed.

This wasn’t the Satori she recognized. Her familiar Satori would’ve lingered, fumbling through small talk. He’d have probed if she enjoyed the food, angling for praise with that clingy, pathetic vibe that repulsed her.

This version of Satori had whipped up a dish, set aside her share, and carried on indifferently. As if her eating it mattered not a whit.

It felt... disturbing.

Once back in her room, she attempted to concentrate on her textbook—"Advanced Aspect Theory and Applications"—yet reread the same passage thrice. Her thoughts kept drifting to Satori.

"Pull yourself together," she chided. "It’s only one meal. One tidy room. It means nothing."

Yet a quiet voice in her head insisted otherwise. That a profound shift had rocked their home life. That the reliable loathing for her repulsive stepbrother was under siege.

Natalia shook her head decisively, banishing the notions. Bigger concerns loomed. Academy entrance tests approached. Her temporary ranking would solidify. She couldn’t afford to squander brainpower on Satori’s latest ploy.

Her phone vibrated with a message from Dad.

[How are things at home? All quiet?]

Natalia eyed the text. What to reply? That Satori had somehow swapped personalities? That he was abruptly tidying, cooking, and working out?

[All fine. Nothing to report.]

After sending the message, she fixed her gaze on her phone. Why the deception? Surely her father would be delighted to learn his stepson was at last displaying hints of accountability?

She refused to believe it. A shift this abrupt simply couldn't be authentic, and recognizing it would hand him leverage. She'd devoted far too much effort to stripping him of any.

Another message buzzed in.

[Good. I’ll call tomorrow. Love you, princess.]

Natalia set her phone aside and reclined on her bed, eyes locked on the ceiling. The meal's flavor lingered on, a solid echo of the night's bizarre events.

Just one meal. One tidied room. One feeble push-up, lame as it seemed.

It signified zilch. It altered zilch.

Still, as slumber claimed her, that nod replayed relentlessly in her head.

Inexplicably, it loomed more menacing than any utterance he might have voiced.