My Scumbag System Chapter 487: Post-Traumatic Stress Massage

Isabelle made file the Gate report myself. So bullshit about "learning proper docuntation procedures" while she lounged against the wall with that almost-smile playing on her lips. I knew what she was really doing—watching squirm through VHC bureaucracy, looking for more tiny inconsistencies to add to her ntal dossier on .

"You missed section 8-C," she said, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the tablet. "Estimated monster population density."

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" I growled, scrolling back up. "I didn’t count every goddamn beetle in the dungeon."

"Approximately twenty-three," she supplied without hesitation. "Plus the Boss entity."

I gave her a flat look. "You counted?"

"I always count." She said it like I’d asked if she always breathed.

The ferry ride back to the Academy was quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts. Mine mostly involved imagining creative ways to escape if she ever cornered with her growing suspicions. Hers probably involved complex mathematical equations about how my bullshit didn’t add up.

We docked at the Academy pier just after noon. The sun beat down rcilessly, turning the white stone pathways into reflective strips of heat. Students milled around in their guild colors, most giving a second glance as we passed.

Famous now, aren’t you? Nel’s voice teased in my head. All it took was nearly dying on live broadcast.

Shut up.

Isabelle stopped at the fork in the path that would take her toward the administrative building. "Thank you for your assistance today, Nakano."

"Anyti." It wasn’t entirely a lie. Despite her uncomfortable perceptiveness, fighting alongside soone that competent was actually refreshing.

Those wine-red eyes lingered on for one more evaluating mont. "Be careful with what you’re doing," she said finally. "Secrets have weight, and yours seem particularly heavy."

She turned and walked away before I could respond, her posture flawless, like she had an invisible string pulling her spine toward the sky.

She’s dangerous, Nel comnted.

No shit.

I headed back toward Onyx House, my body aching but functional. The dorm building lood ahead, a brutalist concrete rectangle that had beco sothing close to ho over these past months. I was halfway across the courtyard when I spotted a familiar figure leaning against the entrance.

Skylar straightened when she saw , violet eyes narrowing slightly. She wore black shorts that showed off miles of toned leg, and a loose purple tank top with the Onyx Hounds logo. Her headphones hung around her neck as always.

"You," she said as I approached, "owe dessert."

I raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now. I want ice cream, and I want to hear about your little adventure with the Queen." She fell into step beside as we entered the building. "Did she try to recruit you for her philosophical debate team or whatever?"

"We just ran a Gate," I said, heading for the stairs. "Basic C-Rank. Nothing special."

"And yet you sll like a fight."

I glanced at her. Sotis I forgot that Skylar had senses nearly as sharp as Soomin’s. "Boss at the end. Standard stuff."

She humd noncommittally as we reached my floor. "So you’re fine? No injuries? No need for Emi to fuss over you?"

"I’m good." I paused at my door. "Let shower, then we can go get your ice cream."

"Fine. You have fifteen minutes." She headed toward her own room. "And you’re buying."

I unlocked my door, expecting Maki to be waiting for in so state of undress, but the room was empty. Unusual. The familiar was typically glued to my side when not explicitly ordered elsewhere.

The shower felt amazing against my battered muscles. The hot water washed away dried sweat and dust from the Gate, and I took a mont to inspect the damage. A large purple bruise blood across my right shoulder blade where I’d hit the crystal formation, but nothing was broken. Kinetic Absorption and Steel Body had done their jobs.

You know, we could optimize this build further, Nel mused as I toweled off. That girl—the Queen—her spear technique was incredible. We should learn that.

"I’m not taking spear lessons from Isabelle," I muttered, pulling on clean clothes. "She already suspects too much."

You’re no fun.

"And you’re a pain in my ass."

Soone knocked on my door just as I finished getting dressed. I opened it expecting Skylar, but found Natalia instead, her violet eyes blazing.

"You went on a Gate run without telling ," she said without preamble, pushing past into the room. "With Isabelle Okoye."

I closed the door, bracing myself for the storm. "Good afternoon to you too, Nat."

"Don’t ’Nat’ ." She spun around, frost literally gathering at her fingertips. "What were you thinking? You just fought Reyna yesterday. Your body needs rest."

"It was a C-Rank. Barely a workout."

"That’s not the point!" Frost crept along the floor from where she stood. "The point is you didn’t tell ."

I crossed my arms, leaning against the door. "I didn’t realize I needed your permission."

Wrong thing to say. The temperature in the room plumted.

"Permission?" Her voice was deadly quiet. "Is that what you think this is about?"

I sighed, uncrossing my arms and taking a step toward her. "No, that’s not what I think. I know you were worried."

"Worried doesn’t begin to cover it." She advanced on , jabbing a finger into my chest. "I woke up, and you were gone. Celeste was in your bed—"

"That was just sleeping—"

"I don’t care about that!" The frost retreated slightly. "I care that after watching you nearly die yesterday, I couldn’t find you this morning. No one knew where you’d gone. Then Emi finally told you went on a Gate run with Isabelle, of all people."

I caught her wrist, gently pulling her finger away from my sternum. "I’m sorry, okay? It was last minute. She asked, I went."

Natalia’s eyes narrowed. "Why did she ask you specifically?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe she was impressed by my performance against Reyna."

"Or maybe she’s suspicious," Natalia said, echoing my own concerns. "She watches everything, analyzes everyone. She’s dangerous, Satori."

"I know that."

"Do you?" She searched my face. "Because you keep taking unnecessary risks. The Hydra, Reyna, now running Gates with soone who might expose everything we’ve built."

I still had hold of her wrist, and I used it to pull her closer. "I’m being careful."

"No, you’re not," she said, but she didn’t resist the pull. "You’re reckless and arrogant and—"

I kissed her. Partly to shut her up, partly because anger made her cheeks flush in a way that was genuinely distracting. For a mont she remained rigid, still furious, but then she lted against , her free hand coming up to grip my hair almost painfully.

When we broke apart, she was breathing hard, her pupils still blown wide with anger and sothing darker, her chest heaving in a way that made it difficult to focus on damage control.

"I hate you," she whispered, but the words carried zero weight.

"No, you don’t." I released her wrist, letting my hands settle instead at the flare of her hips—familiar territory now, a claim I could make without thinking.

"Fine." She exhaled through her nose. "But I’m still furious with you."

"I know." I pressed my forehead against hers, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her flushed skin. "I should have at least sent a ssage. Left you sothing so you didn’t spend the morning panicking."

"Yes. You should have." She pulled back just enough to look at properly, her hands sliding up to grip my shoulders. Her expression shifted imdiately, eyes narrowing. "You’re hurt."

"Just sore," I said, too quickly. "Got thrown into a stone column during the fight. It’s nothing."

The concern in her eyes hardened into sothing sharper—that particular blend of anger and possessiveness that always made my chest tighten. "Take off your shirt."

"Natalia, I’m fine—"

"Now, Satori."

I knew better than to argue when she used that tone. I pulled the hoodie over my head, then tugged off the shirt beneath, letting her see the damage. The sharp intake of breath told it looked worse than it felt.

"Just sore," she repeated flatly, her fingers hovering over the massive purple-black bruise that wrapped around my left side like a sash. When she finally touched it, her fingertips were impossibly gentle, tracing the outer edge of the discoloration with clinical precision. "This is from blunt force trauma. High impact. You could have broken ribs."

"But I didn’t."

"That’s not the flex you think it is," she muttered, but her touch remained gentle as she probed the area. "At least nothing feels broken."

"Told you."

She tugged my shirt back down. "Sit on the bed. Face the wall."

I raised an eyebrow but complied, settling on the edge of the mattress. "What are you—"

"Shut up and don’t move."

The bed dipped as she climbed on behind . Then her hands were on my shoulders, thumbs digging into the tense muscles with surprising strength.

"Holy shit," I groaned as she found a particularly tight knot.

"You’re a ss," she said, working thodically across my upper back, careful to avoid the bruise. "When was the last ti you stretched properly?"

"Dunno. Before the tournant prep maybe?"

She made a disgusted noise. "Idiot. No wonder you’re all locked up."

But despite her harsh words, her hands moved with amazing skill, finding each point of tension and systematically destroying it. I let my head hang forward, surrendering to the massage.