My Scumbag System Chapter 492: The Case of the Stray Dog

The unspoken accusation lingered in the air, heavy between them.

Professor Petrova settled back into her chair, her gaze unwavering, those pale eyes fixed on his face. "I need you to carefully consider what you experienced during the Necropolis event two weeks prior."

A leaden weight dropped into Julian’s stomach. A pact had been made—by the entire class—to remain silent about the true events within that Black Gate. The VHC had solidified this pact with stringent non-disclosure agreements and ominous hints about 'jeopardizing national security.'

"Professor," he began, his voice catching as his mouth turned instantly dry, "we gave our word to the VHC. We are bound not to—"

"I am not asking you to breach that agreement," she interjected with practiced smoothness. "I am not requesting details of what transpired inside the Gate. My query is about contemplating the implications of what you already comprehend."

She allowed the statement to settle for a moment before proceeding.

"Nakano preserved Celeste Vance's life," she stated, enumerating points on her fingers. "He preserved your life. He annihilated an A-Rank Anomaly—a phenomenon that, based on all available data, should not have existed in that specific locale. And when the VHC investigative unit surveyed the Gate post-incident, they discovered... nothing. No evidence. Not a trace. No discernible explanation."

Julian felt a trickle of sweat make its way down his spine, defying the cool atmosphere of the office.

"Professor," he responded slowly, "what exactly are you implying?"

With a gentle slide of wood against wood, Professor Petrova opened a drawer in her desk, retrieved a substantial manila file folder, and placed it on the desk between them.

"I am suggesting," she uttered softly, "that we face one of two scenarios. Either Satori Nakano is the most extraordinarily fortunate individual in Valoria’s entire chronicles—" She tapped the folder with a fingertip. "—or we are confronting an entity significantly, profoundly more perilous than anyone within this Academy suspects."

A pause followed, her eyes flashing with an emotion that could have been admiration or perhaps apprehension.

"And having served in this capacity for an extended period," she continued, "I can discern that luck does not escalate with such relentless momentum. Not without external influence."

The file folder slid across the desk’s polished surface.

Julian hesitated for a split second before reaching out and opening it.

Within lay a collection of photographs. Dozens of them. Each bore a timestamp, sourced from surveillance footage captured by various monitoring systems strategically positioned across the Academy grounds.

Satori Nakano entering the Arboretum Gate solo, his expression stern and resolute.

Satori Nakano exiting the same Gate an hour later, Monica Von Astrom beside him, the young woman emanating a palpable golden luminescence, gazing at him as if he had revealed the divine.

Satori and Celeste Vance in the infirmary post-Black Gate incident, seated adjacently on a recovery bed, their hands clasped, engaged in what appeared to be a deeply personal and significant exchange.

Satori amidst a gathering of women—at every meal in the refectory, during every training session in the gymnasium, in every tranquil interval between lectures. Celeste. Monica. Emi Aoyama. Skylar Amane. Akari Miyamoto. Even Isabelle Okoye, the formidable leader of the Onyx Hounds, regarding him with an expression that was neither outright respect nor outright caution.

Julian slowly turned the pages of the photographs, his hands beginning to tremble subtly as the emerging pattern became undeniable.

"He is assembling something," Professor Petrova stated in a low tone, her voice slicing through Julian's strained breaths. "And whether it manifests as a guild, a cult, or something altogether different, he is orchestrating it directly under our observation. Directly under your perception."

She leaned forward once more, her pale eyes piercing his.

"Therefore, I shall pose the question one final time, Julian. What is your decision regarding this matter?"

Julian snapped the file shut with more force than required, his jaw tightening further. "What do you wish for me to do?"

"Triumph."

The single word was stark, unambiguous, and utterly unyielding.

"The inter-guild competition commences in three weeks," Professor Petrova elucidated, her tone shifting to resemble a tactical briefing. "I require you to confront whatever personnel Nakano has rallied—this improbable assembly of rejects and castaways he has transformed into a formidable force—and I expect you to dismantle them."

She paused, her smile adopting the sharp, chilling quality of frozen blades.

"And should you fail to dismantle the team—" She let the silence hang for a beat. "—then dismantle him personally."

Julian regarded her, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Professor, he possesses... a strength that belies his appearance. Superior to his documented rankings. I have witnessed this firsthand."

"Then you must cultivate a strength surpassing his," she replied with marked simplicity, as though addressing a mundane observation.

"What if I absolutely cannot?" The inquiry escaped him, imbued with a vulnerability he despised, and self-loathing washed over him.

Professor Petrova’s expression remained impassive, yet a frigid finality descended into her gaze.

"Then your existence is of no use to me, Julian. And I harbour no need for instruments devoid of utility."

Her pronouncement struck him like a physical blow, expelling the very breath from his lungs.

He surged to his feet, the chair screeching obnoxiously across the floorboards. His jaw clenched so fiercely it felt as though his teeth were on the verge of shattering. Turning, he moved with haste toward the exit, his vision narrowing, every fibre of his being alight with shame, fury, and a nascent darkness he refused to acknowledge.

"Julian."

He halted, his hand already grasping the gleaming brass doorknob, his knuckles turning stark white.

Without turning back, he remained stationary.

"This presents your sole opportunity," Professor Petrova declared from behind him, her tone softening infinitesimally—just enough to suggest a flicker of humanity. "A chance to mend your tarnished reputation. To demonstrate you are more than merely the boy who faltered when it mattered most. To prove your continued worthiness of the Valerius lineage."

A brief silence enveloped the room.

"Do not squander it."

Julian ripped the door ajar and departed without uttering a word, his footfalls echoing with undue loudness in the cavernous marble corridor as he retreated. His hands trembled. His chest felt constricted. And deep within his core, beneath the layers of resentment, mortification, and wounded pride, a cold, malevolent presence began to take root.

Satori Nakano had plundered him of absolutely everything.

His social standing. His dignity. His aspirations. Even his fundamental sense of self-value.

Within three short weeks, Julian vowed to reclaim it all.

Every iota. Every single fragment.

And should Satori Nakano sustain harm during this endeavor? Should he be irrevocably shattered?

Well.

Julian’s lips contorted into a semblance of a smile, devoid of mirth.

Incidents are prone to occur during tournaments.

This happens with considerable frequency.