My Scumbag System Chapter 493: Statistically Improbable

Seven floors above the President's public office, Seraphina Vance occupied her private chamber. This was the true nexus of power, shielded from unwanted attention, recording devices, and the performative facade of government. The room’s design was stark, almost ascetic. White walls, dark wooden furnishings, and a single window displaying the intricate network of New Vein City below. Every element was intentional; every detail was under control.

A holographic display positioned before her desk flickered, presenting three distinct feeds, each revealing a different facet of the intricate problem that had occupied her mind for most of the afternoon.

On the left: Satori Nakano’s official Academy file—a collection of data points and carefully curated facts.

In the center: Surveillance footage from the Crucible duel, replaying his movements, his power, his eventual triumph.

On the right: A live view of Celeste’s current location. Her sister sat in her Onyx House room, illuminated by the soft afternoon sun filtering through the window. She appeared to be reading, though her focus seemed elsewhere. A book rested open on her lap, but her attention was captured by the two-tailed black cat nestled contentedly on her stomach, its eyes half-closed in feline repose as Celeste’s delicate fingers gently stroked its fur with an almost sacred tenderness.

Seraphina had been engrossed in these feeds for the past three hours.

Her assistant, a rather anxious young woman named Yuki, had brought tea on two separate occasions. Both cups remained untouched on the desk’s edge, the delicate porcelain cooling as the steam dissipated into the air. Seraphina had neither consumed nor acknowledged their presence.

Commander Graves stood rigidly by the door, maintaining a silent, statue-like posture. In her late fifties, Graves sported graying hair confined to a severe bun and wore a impeccably tailored dark suit. She possessed the authoritative presence of a soldier and the piercing gaze of an executioner—her pale gray eyes resembled cigarette ash. Her ability for unwavering patience, even if it required days of stillness, was one of her most valuable attributes, contributing to Seraphina’s decision to keep her in close proximity.

“What do you observe?” Seraphina inquired, still gazing at the screens, her voice placid and controlled, akin to a surgeon about to make the initial incision.

“Which feed requires your attention, Madam President?”

“All of them.”

Graves moved nearer, her polished shoes making no sound on the hardwood floor as she positioned herself beside Seraphina’s chair. She scrutinized the displays with her ash-gray eyes, her expression inscrutable, her mind already engaged in cataloging, cross-referencing, and analyzing.

“Subject Nakano. Age eighteen. A late manifestation at seventeen, which is statistically unlikely but not entirely outside the realm of possibility according to current Aspect theory models. His official Aspect designation is Thermal Incision, categorized as C-Rank, with an estimated A-Rank potential based on initial evaluation metrics.”

“Proceed.”

“His combat performance during observed engagements significantly surpasses his official registration parameters. The speed of his movements during the Hydra engagement suggests base physical statistics—specifically Agility and Dexterity—are at least one full tier higher than his listed attributes would indicate. Yesterday’s duel with Cabana revealed abilities not documented in his registered file—namely, what appears to be a form of electromagnetic absorption or redirection, temporary physical enhancements exceeding natural limits, and what our analysts are provisionally labeling as spatial manipulation.”

Graves paused, her gaze sharpening as she watched the repeated footage of Satori’s decisive strike against Reyna. “The young man’s speed in the final ten seconds of that bout was markedly greater than in the initial ten minutes. His body temperature elevated by three degrees Celsius within a two-second interval, indicating an active metabolic enhancement capability. Furthermore, the concluding blow—the one that disintegrated Cabana’s lightning construct—registered a kinetic impact reading that should have been physically impossible given his recorded Strength attribute.”

“Your conclusion?”

“Either the initial VHC evaluation conducted at the time of his registration was profoundly incompetent—an error so substantial that multiple redundant safety protocols must have failed concurrently—or Subject Nakano is deliberately obscuring his actual capabilities through undisclosed methods.”

“Which scenario do you favor?”

“The latter, Madam President. Without any doubt.”

Seraphina finally diverted her gaze from the screens to face Graves, raising one elegant eyebrow slightly. “Explain your reasoning.”

"Because such profound incompetence would have been detected by numerous departments within the first twenty-four hours of his enrollment. Because the VHC’s assessment protocols are engineered with triple-redundancy checks at every juncture to preclude such disastrous oversights. And because—" Graves paused, selecting her subsequent phrases with the meticulousness of a bomb disposal expert handling volatile ordnance. "Because I have dedicated twenty-three years to this profession, Madam President. I have encountered thousands of Hunters processed through our system. My evaluations have encompassed everyone from E-Rank failures to S-Rank prodigies. And I am intimately familiar with the indicators of someone manipulating our systems. I recognize the scent of deceit."

"Manipulation." Seraphina mulled over the term, letting it resonate on her tongue like a sip of venomous liquor. "An intriguing word choice."

She gestured towards the central display with a slender finger, and the holographic interface reacted instantaneously. The captured imagery expanded, dominating the screen with a still frame—Satori standing over Celeste in the Necropolis, his hand outstretched downwards, her hand reaching to meet it. The picture was remarkably clear, recorded by one of the Academy’s ever-present surveillance drones. Celeste’s expression in that captured moment revealed a complex mixture—relief and hope, certainly, but also something more. Something gentler, warmer. A sentiment that caused Seraphina’s chest to constrict with an unnamed, chilling apprehension.

Hazardous.

"He has rescued Celeste from peril on two separate occasions," Seraphina stated, her voice maintaining an unnerving calmness, a perfect control, even as her mind meticulously charted potential outcomes. "The first instance was in the Necropolis, when she was isolated from her squad and surrounded by a horde of Hollow Wraiths. The second occurred at Sector 7, when the Black Gate trapped them together for a duration of forty-eight hours."

"Indeed, Madam President."

"And now, my sister has affiliated herself with his organization. She resides under his dwelling. She undertakes training with his team." She increased the magnification on Celeste’s visage in the current recording, scrutinizing each minute facial movement, every subtle alteration in her sister’s typically unassailable composure. "She smiles when his familiar creature nestles in her lap."

The hologram shimmered momentarily, recalibrating its definition to match her adjustments.

"Celeste has been meticulously prepared for a predetermined destiny throughout her entire existence," Seraphina elaborated, her tone precise and detached, as though dissecting a complex mechanism rather than discussing her sole sibling. "Conditioned for a leadership role within the VHC. Every connection, every alliance, every segment of her life has been deliberately managed, artfully assembled to ensure her development into the leader Valoria requires. The leader I have spent sixteen years molding."

Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the desk's edge, the sole visible sign of the coiled tension within her. "And now she chooses to associate with an individual who displayed late potential, whose eyes conceal untold stories, and who seems to draw peril as readily as the ocean draws sharks."

"Your directives, Madam President?"