My Scumbag System Chapter 472: We Bleed Extensively
Previously on My Scumbag System...
The succeeding three days dissolved into a grueling cycle of agony and slow, steady progress.
Intense training. Brief meals. Short sleep. This routine continued until my muscles screamed in protest and my body felt on the verge of collapse.
Natalia pushed me relentlessly, like a stubborn machine requiring aggressive recalibration. Each morning commenced precisely at 0530 hours with a punishing five-mile run along the island's coastal trails. This was immediately followed by sparring sessions with whoever was awake and willing to inflict pain for the sake of my education.
More often than not, it was Raphael, who derived an excessive amount of amusement from using me as a practice dummy.
Occasionally, I sparred with Hikari, an encounter that invariably led to me questioning my life choices and checking for fractured ribs.
There was one session with Isabelle, which left me on the floor, gazing at the ceiling as she calmly detailed seventeen distinct methods she could have employed to end me during our exchange.
Emi ensured I remained physically capable through continuous healing, her gentle encouragement somehow making the pain more manageable.
Skylar offered tactical evaluations, her typical deadpan commentary dissecting every flaw in my technique with surgical accuracy.
Celeste conjured ice dummies for me to practice against, devising increasingly intricate frozen constructs that compelled me to adapt my approach.
Even Maki contributed to the training, though her methods were characteristically peculiar. She would assume her cat form and position herself directly atop the equipment I needed, terming it "moral support" while I perceived it as "psychological warfare."
By Tuesday evening, my body felt as though it had been meticulously dismantled and crudely reassembled by someone who had misplaced the instruction manual mid-task. My ribs throbbed with each respiration. My arms ached with a bone-deep weariness that refused to dissipate. My legs threatened open rebellion.
However, I was undeniably faster. Quantifiably stronger. Objectively improved.
The System's statistics confirmed it—unyielding, numerical data displayed on the screen.
Every single attribute had reached its absolute limit at 7,750.
This was the highest possible value without triggering an advancement to the next level.
Nel repeatedly urged me to ascend to Level Four, her voice within my mind growing increasingly impatient with my persistent refusal. While a level-up would theoretically reset my stats to F-0 on paper, my concealed multiplier would increase exponentially, rendering me genuinely formidable by any objective measure.
The core issue was straightforward: I possessed absolutely no certainty regarding the effects of the physical transformation process on my body during an active combat scenario. If I were to collapse mid-evolution within the Crucible Arena, Reyna would pulverize me into mere paste before I could even begin to recover.
Therefore, I remained steadfastly at Level Three, with all attributes maximized, as prepared as I could possibly be.
Tuesday's dinner was unusually subdued, with each person processing their apprehension in their own manner.
The significance of Wednesday loomed over the table like a tangible entity.
Emi had prepared purely comfort food—a meal heavy on carbohydrates, conveying a message of "I am terrified, but I will nourish that feeling until it subsides." Macaroni and cheese. Chicken nuggets seemingly intended for actual children. Chocolate cake dense enough to serve as construction material.
Natalia sat closely beside me, her hand resting possessively on my thigh beneath the table, out of sight from others.
Skylar observed from her position across the room, her violet eyes meticulously tracking every subtle facial shift.
Celeste examined her plate as if it held the answers to fundamental cosmic questions.
Akari made a valiant effort to alleviate the heavy atmosphere with forced cheerfulness.
"So. Tomorrow is Wednesday. A very important day."
"Indeed," I responded flatly.
"Are you feeling any nervousness?"
"Completely terrified, beyond any rational thought."
"Good. A healthy fear sharpens the senses and prevents foolish mistakes." She leaned back with an air of deliberate casualness. "But you will still emerge victorious somehow."
"What makes you so confident?"
"Because you are far too obstinate to accept defeat. And because if you happen to perish, Natalia will undoubtedly ensure you face death again." She paused for dramatic effect. "Perhaps multiple times."
Frost began to spread across the table's surface originating from Natalia's spot, advancing outward in delicate, crystalline formations.
"I most certainly will. That is a solemn promise."
Emi reached over, placing her warm hand gently atop mine.
"You will perform magnificently tomorrow. I am certain of it. I have faith in you."
"Thank you, Emi. I appreciate the completely unwarranted confidence."
"And if your performance isn't magnificent, I will heal whatever injuries you sustain! That is my purpose here!"
Incredibly reassuring, truly.
Celeste finally lifted her gaze from her intense plate study, her periwinkle eyes meeting mine with uncharacteristic directness.
"Refrain from initiating any monumentally foolish actions tomorrow."
"You will need to provide a substantially more specific definition of 'foolish.'"
"Charging headfirst without a proper plan. Taking unnecessary damage just to show off bravery. Trying to demonstrate something that doesn’t need proving." Her eyes narrowed. "You have already proven more than enough." "Not to her, I haven't." "Then prove it with your mind, not by throwing your life away." Braxton materialized in the doorway, resembling a spectral figure worn down by exhaustion. "Satori. Come with me. Now." I rose, already anticipating an uncomfortable discussion. Following him outside, we stepped into the evening air that was rapidly growing cooler as the sun dipped below the horizon. A silent walk ensued, leading us to the precipice of the cliff that overlooked the vast, dark ocean, where the first stars were beginning to emerge in the deepening sky like luminous specks on dark velvet. "Are you prepared for tomorrow?" he inquired abruptly. "As prepared as I can possibly be, which is to say, likely not at all." "That’s not a real answer." "It’s the only truthful one I possess." With practiced dexterity, he retrieved a cigarette, the quick flare of his lighter momentarily illuminating his time-worn features. He inhaled deeply, the tip of the cigarette glowing an ember orange in the encroaching twilight. "I've witnessed numerous fighters throughout my career," he stated softly. "Skilled ones. Inept ones. Those who met their end, yet should have had the sense to withdraw while still ahead." He released a plume of smoke, which the wind swiftly dispersed. "You are unlike any of them." "In what way?" "You fight as if you've already experienced death and found it profoundly unpleasant." My entire body became rigidly still. My blood seemed to chill by several degrees. "What in the world makes you say that?" "The manner in which you engage in combat. There's no hesitation. No apprehension of death itself." He flicked some ash over the cliff's edge. "You fight like someone who fully comprehends the devastating cost of losing everything. And you would genuinely prefer to perish than to suffer that price once more." That was far too close. Uncomfortably, agonizingly close to a truth I couldn't afford to have revealed. "Perhaps I'm simply innately reckless. Some individuals are." "Reckless individuals do not strategize optimal attack vectors mid-swing while simultaneously evading. They don't intentionally absorb blows to build offensive momentum. And they certainly don't survive two separate A-Rank confrontations armed with merely a baseball bat and sheer defiance." He turned to face me directly. "You possess something that others fundamentally lack. An instinct that preserves your life when every logical projection indicates you should be deceased." "Good fortune?" "Complete nonsense." He dropped the cigarette, systematically extinguishing it beneath his boot. "Whatever you truly are, whatever you're concealing—it's sufficient. Have faith in that tomorrow when everything unravels." "And if it proves insufficient? If it fails?" "Then you pick yourself up and begin anew with the fragments that remain." He started walking back towards the house. "Because that is the way of true Hunters. We are struck down. We endure significant bloodshed. We shatter in peculiar ways. And then we rise once more and continue to strike until something finally breaks."