My Scumbag System Chapter 498: I’ll Take That Bet

The way she uttered "reasonable" carried a sharp edge, bordering on an insult.

My status screen illuminated, displaying my current Schema Point total. It read 3,015, a figure unchanged since I had expended a thousand points on Apollo's tournament banner. New abilities pulsed faintly within me: Lightning Rod, Kinetic Absorption, Steel Body, and Sovereign’s Mandate, which promised to transform my connections into strategic advantages.

I possessed the necessary capabilities.

The real question lingered: did I have the courage to utilize them?

"What's the deadline for accepting this offer?" I inquired.

"Sunrise," Nike replied, indicating the window where the initial hues of dawn were just beginning to paint the sky. "In about four hours, the sun will ascend, the tournament will commence, and this opportunity will vanish. You must commit now, or this chance will never return."

"Why me?" The words escaped my lips, rougher than intended. "Seriously. Within this academy, there are prodigies with decades of rigorous training. S-Rank potentials hailing from lineages that have nurtured champions for countless generations. Why would you choose to invest in a street urchin with a fraudulent Aspect and a troubled history?"

Nike's movement brought her closer, her presence overwhelming my field of vision. The air around her carried the scent of ozone, triumph, and a distinct metallic tang that evoked the smell of blood.

"Because prodigies are monotonous," she stated plainly. "Their victories are preordained, expected. Their success has been meticulously crafted from the moment of their birth. Their triumphs are predictable, almost mundane."

She tapped my chest, directly over the regenerator brace.

"But you? You are a source of intrigue. You are the underdog, the outcast, the Zero who defies existence. Each victory you achieve is a defiant gesture against the established order. Every instance you survive against all odds serves as proof that individual merit surpasses the significance of bloodlines." Her voice softened to a whisper. "And when you ultimately seize the championship, when you stand triumphant and demonstrate that a stray dog from Graystone Park holds more value than all their cherished legacies combined? That's when such a victory truly resonates."

Gazing into her molten gold eyes, I saw my own reflection staring back. Bruised. Exhausted. Adorned with hickeys and scratches, bearing the undeniable marks of far too many battles in far too brief a span.

Yet, still standing.

Still fighting.

Still too foolish or too resolute to yield.

"Nel," I spoke, my eyes never leaving Nike's intense stare, "what are the probabilities?"

Nel's voice responded, soft and almost gentle. "Statistically speaking? If you engage in a fair and honorable contest, your chance of victory stands at thirty-seven percent. This assumes peak performance from every member of your team and critical errors from your adversaries."

"And if I deviate from the rules?"

"Then the odds become whatever you choose to make them." Nel paused. "However, you already understand this. You are seeking reasons to decline."

"Are you attempting to dissuade me?"

"No. Because we both recognize that your answer will be affirmative. You are too much like him to act otherwise."

She was referring to Kaelen.

The past version of myself. The one who had infiltrated the yakuza headquarters armed with nothing but a blade and sheer audacity, who had gambled his life on a World-Ranked Hunter choosing not to end him, who had survived by fully committing when others wavered.

I released a long, slow breath, allowing my final rational objections to dissipate.

"Very well," I declared to Nike. "I accept. I will emerge victorious in your tournament. I will command it with such overwhelming dominance that the Sentinels will be entirely erased from memory. And when I defeat Julian in the grand finale, I will ensure that everyone comprehends that lineage is irrelevant when one is face-down, gazing at the heavens."

Nike's smile became brilliant, triumphant.

"Excellent." She extended her hand. As I clasped it, a powerful energy coursed through our linked connection. The quest solidified within me, imprinting a weight upon my very being—a burden heavier than any title or ability.

"Then let us forge you into a champion."

The notification, rendered in bronze and gold, expanded, occupying my entire field of vision.

[Nike’s Challenge: Accepted]

[Objective: Win the Inter-Guild Tournament]

[Sub-Objectives:]

Remain undefeated throughout all preliminary matches

Secure victory in at least 80% of individual challenges

Ensure Onyx Hounds maintain first-place ranking throughout tournament

Personally defeat Julian Valerius in single combat during finals

[Additional Condition: The Watcher’s Eye]

[Nike will observe your performance directly. Cowardice, surrender, or failure to commit fully will result in immediate quest failure and penalty application.]

I sensed her presence enveloping me, akin to a protective casing. It wasn't controlling or restrictive, simply present—observing, anticipating whether I would fulfill the belief she had placed in me.

"Just one more detail," Nike interjected, her voice cutting through the surge of power. "Your women. The five souls intertwined with yours. They too will be competing tomorrow. Some will fight alongside you, while others will be separated by the tournament's structure. You must grasp this."

She drew near, close enough that the golden depths of her eyes revealed flecks of bronze.

"Victory requires sacrifice. Sometimes, the path to winning involves letting another take the blow. Other times, it means witnessing the ones you care for spill their blood. If you attempt to shield everyone equally, you will falter. If you prioritize their safety over allowing them to fight, failure is assured. You must have faith in their strength to endure without your constant guidance."

Memories surfaced: Natalia, intercepting a fatal beam meant for me. Cel, confronting the Arborist while I was occupied with destructive flames. Skylar, Emi, and Akari, all choosing to remain by my side, fully aware of my nature.

"They are not fragile," I declared. "Every one of them is a killer."

"Good," Nike responded, stepping back as her form began to dissipate. "Then demonstrate it tomorrow. Allow the world to witness your pack's prowess when they are unleashed."

She was nearly invisible, a mere refraction of bronze and gold in the atmosphere, when my voice cut through the air.

"Nike. Wait."

The shimmering intensified, coalescing slightly.

"Why do you concern yourself with me? Truly. You embody Victory itself, having observed countless champions ascend and subsequently vanish. What distinguishes me from the rest?"

Her voice seemed to emanate from all directions and none simultaneously.

"Because you bear a resemblance to someone. Someone else who clawed their way up from obscurity, who gathered the damaged and the discarded, and whose brilliance blazed so fiercely that even the gods took notice."

And then she was entirely gone, leaving behind only the sharp tang of ozone and the immense burden of expectations that seemed beyond reach.