My Scumbag System Chapter 473: Just Come Back to Me

After him, I went back inside, my thoughts whirring at an incredible speed.

Braxton harbored a fundamental suspicion.

He did not yet grasp the specifics.

But he was definitely suspicious.

Maintaining that level of scrutiny was exceedingly perilous.

Back within the house, everyone had settled into their characteristic evening routines, characteristic of the comfortable disarray found amongst those who had learned to share close quarters.

Raphael was lifting weights with singular, unwavering focus.

Marco engaged in a card game with Malachi, the latter somehow emerging victorious despite appearing on the verge of sleep.

Jaime occupied himself with meditation in a corner, concurrently tensing various muscle groups, as if he possessed a physical inability to perform a single action at a time.

Isabelle was engrossed in reading something on her tablet with intense concentration.

Juan had naturally entered his state of vertical unconsciousness.

It was the typical, controlled chaos of the Onyx Hounds' communal area.

I made my way upstairs, my limbs heavy with exhaustion.

Natalia was waiting in the corridor outside my room, her posture casual as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Her luminous purple eyes followed my approach.

"Your room, or mine?" she inquired directly.

"Yours. Maki is in my room, and she's likely disrobed."

"Naturally." Natalia unlocked her door, the magnetic locking mechanism releasing with a subtle click. "You realize everyone is placing bets on tomorrow's outcome."

I followed her inside, carefully closing the door behind me. The hallway was unnervingly silent—any noise seemed capable of rousing the entire dormitory. "And who is favoring me?"

"Marco. Emi. Soomin. Hikari." She enumerated them on her fingers, then leaned back against her desk. The ambient lamplight highlighted the violet streaks in her hair, giving them a nearly silver sheen at the edges. "All the others are anticipating your utter defeat."

"My thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I did not state my personal opinion." She turned to face me fully, her arms crossing over her chest in that familiar defensive stance adopted when she exerted effort to conceal her worry. "I believe you will instigate something reckless. Something that flagrantly violates every established rule. And somehow, miraculously, you will emerge unscathed."

"That is indeed the intention."

"Your intentions are notoriously poor."

"Yet, they are effective."

"They are effective because I am present to rectify the inevitable fallout when they inevitably go awry." She covered the distance between us in two swift strides and seized my shirt, drawing me down to her eye level. The fabric bunched tightly within her grasp. "Give me your promise."

"That would depend entirely on the nature of the promise."

"Do not attempt to play the hero tomorrow. Simply secure victory. Your methods are inconsequential to me—whether you fight dirty, whether you cheat. I care not if the entire Academy condemns you for dishonor." Her grip intensified, her knuckles turning white against the dark fabric. Her voice descended to a pitch that was raw and fraught with desperation. "Just return to me unharmed."

I covered her hand with my own, sensing the faint tremor in her fingers that she desperately attempted to conceal.

"I promise."

"A falsehood."

"Most likely."

She kissed me.

With intensity.

As if striving to eternally etch the promise onto my very being, to impose her will upon my body through sheer force of determination and desperation. Her lips were demanding, their fervor bordering on painful. When she finally broke away, her eyes glistened—not quite shedding tears, but precariously close to that unbreachable boundary she never allowed herself to cross in the presence of others.

"This is insufferable."

"I comprehend."

"I detest this profound level of concern I feel." The words emerged choked, as if their utterance inflicted physical pain upon her.

"That too, I understand."

"Should you perish, I shall exact retribution by killing you." She attempted to infuse her words with her customary sharpness, but they emerged trembling.

"My acknowledgment is noted."

With a strength that belied her frame, she pulled me down onto her bed, practically dragging me by my shirt. "Occupy my bed tonight. Your survival is a necessity I must confirm."

"Natalia—"

"I implore you."

That specific word.

It was a word she never uttered.

Not to me. Not to anyone. Natalia Kuzmina did not plead; she commanded, she dictated, she claimed whatever she desired. Yet, now she was requesting, and the stark vulnerability in her voice caused a painful constriction in my chest.

I removed my shoes, letting them fall to the floor with dull thuds. Then, I climbed into bed beside her. The mattress sagged beneath our combined weight as she immediately pressed herself against my side, as if needing tactile confirmation of my presence.

Her head rested upon my chest.

Her arm lay across my stomach, her fingers digging into my shirt.

The Cryo-Lich Ring pressed its icy touch against my skin through the thin fabric, a persistent reminder of all that we had jointly established.

"I can discern the beating of your heart," she whispered into the enveloping darkness.

"An excellent sign. It indicates I am, as yet, alive."

"Refrain from jesting." Her arm tightened its embrace around me.

"My apologies."

In the darkness we lay, our quiet breaths mingling with the faint hum of the Academy’s environmental systems. The air was thick with her scent—a costly floral fragrance she would never admit to liking. Eventually, her breathing settled into the deep, regular rhythm of sleep, yet I found no such peace.

My mind relentlessly replayed potential confrontations.

Reyna’s constructs would ensnare me from three directions, sealing off all paths of escape.

Her lightning would strike me mid-evasion, the potent electricity searing me from within.

Her flawless technique would unleash unfamiliar attack sequences, transitioning between them with the fluid grace of someone molded by years of dedicated training since childhood.

Each imagined scenario concluded with me defeated on the ground, battered and bleeding, while the roaring crowd celebrated Valoria’s prized daughter.

Nel’s voice, a soft whisper in my mind, carried an unusual gentleness.

"I am merely acknowledging reality."

"I am not without ability; I am simply outmatched," I replied, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. The shifting shadows cast by passing vehicles outside danced across the surface. "There is a distinction to be made."

"Efforts are underway."

The passage of time felt excruciatingly slow. Each time my eyes closed, visions of crimson hair and crackling arcs of lightning consumed me. I must have drifted into unconsciousness at some point, as I awoke to the pale light of dawn filtering through Natalia’s curtains, washing the room in muted shades of blue and silver.

She was already awake.

Her intense violet eyes were fixed on me, as if she had been meticulously observing my every breath to confirm my continued existence.

"Good morning."

"Morning," I responded, my voice husky from sleep.

"Did you rest well?"

"No."

"Nor did I," she stated. Sitting up, the blanket slid from her shoulders, revealing she was still clad in the clothes from the previous night. "Let’s proceed to training."

"It’s barely five in the morning."

"And your match is at six this evening. Move," she commanded, already swinging her legs out of bed, her demeanor shifting to one of pure focus with the arrival of daylight.