I stared out at Verano from the backseat of Diane’s luxury sedan. The city skyline glead like it was built yesterday, all glass and steel reaching for the sky. Hero billboards plastered every available surface—Radiant’s perfect smile selling toothpaste on one corner, Grande Da hawking athletic wear on another. The whole city ran on hero worship, and I was about to beco an official part of that machine.
If I could just stop scowling first.
"You alright back there?" Sloane twisted in the passenger seat to look at . Her pink hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she’d dressed up for the occasion in a blouse and dark jeans. Professional but still unmistakably Sloane.
I blinked, forcing myself to reset my expression. "Yeah. I’m good."
"He’s probably so overco with excitent about having an Aspect that he’s overstimulated," Diane said from behind the wheel, her Southern drawl particularly pronounced as she navigated downtown traffic. She caught my eye in the rearview mirror and winked.
The only thing that’s overstimulating is you and your daughter’s bodies, I thought bitterly, then imdiately hated myself for thinking it. The System was corrupting faster than I’d realized.
No, the real reason for my shit mood was simpler: the bronze gacha pull I’d received this morning was absolute garbage. Total waste of my hard-earned quest rewards.
Twenty minutes earlier, I’d been sitting on my bed, excitent thrumming through as I activated the bronze pull. The animation had spun up in my vision—lights flashing, particles swirling, the whole dramatic spectacle designed to trigger that dopamine hit. Then the card materialized, glowing a dull bronze, and flipped over to reveal:
Sexercise
Common · Passive Trait
The System’s belief that no effort should go unrewarded, especially that kind.
I’d stared at it in disbelief as the system cheerfully explained its function. Sex now counted as physical exercise. Sexual activity would generate a small pool of experience that would automatically distribute to my base physical attributes. The more intense and frequent the activity, the more gains I’d receive. Partner satisfaction provided additional multipliers.
"You’re fucking kidding ," I’d muttered, scrolling through the ability description twice to make sure I understood correctly. "This is what I get for my ergency quest? A passive that turns sex into stat points?"
The system had responded with its usual detached amusent.
〘 Sexercise synergizes effectively with Boundless Stamina, enabling prolonged activity without physical fatigue. Combined with your current heroine progression trics, this represents a significant acceleration potential for attribute growth. 〙
"It’s like this scumbag system is actively trying to turn into so kind of sexual playboy," I’d groaned, falling backward onto my bed. "Why not just give sothing useful? Like actual combat skills?"
〘 Host appears displeased with acquisition. Note that progression speed without Sexercise would remain at standard trics. With current baseline of approximately 1 attribute point per week of training, host would require 5.7 months to reach minimum Hero candidacy threshold for strength paraters alone. 〙
The system had paused, then added:
〘 Sexercise reduces this tifra significantly depending on activity frequency and intensity. 〙
"So what you’re saying is I need to fuck my way into Halloran Academy," I’d muttered.
〘 That is an oversimplification but not technically incorrect. 〙
And now here I was, sulking in the backseat like a child while Diane drove us toward the IHL office for my official registration.
"We’re almost there," Diane said, pulling my attention back to the present. "Southern California Branch is just up ahead."
I leaned forward between the seats, forcing myself to focus on what mattered today. The IHL building rose before us, a gleaming thirty-story tower of blue-tinted glass and silver accents. The sun reflected off its surface almost painfully bright, like it was designed to announce itself to the city. Subtle, it was not.
"Lot of people," I noted, spotting the line that wrapped around the corner of the building.
"Friday is always busy," Diane said. "That’s the regular registration line. We won’t be using it."
She pulled into a special access garage beneath the building, showing her credentials to a security guard who waved us through with obvious recognition and respect. The Fitzgerald na carried serious weight in this world.
"Perks of being Diane Fitzgerald?" I asked as we parked in a reserved spot near the elevator.
"Perks of knowing which relationships to cultivate, sugar." She killed the engine and turned to with a serious expression. "Now rember what we talked about. Clean answers, no elaboration unless asked, and let handle anything complicated. This isn’t your first manifestation—it’s your only manifestation."
Sloane looked between us, confusion clear on her face. "What are you talking about?"
"Your mother thinks I’ll say sothing stupid and get myself flagged for additional testing," I said smoothly. The lie ca easy now. "She’s been coaching since breakfast."
"I know my boy," Diane said, sliding out of the car. "He overthinks."
Her boy. The possessive language wasn’t lost on , especially with her Temptation Gauge hovering at 21% in my peripheral vision. The System was quiet for now, but I could practically feel its smug presence waiting for to process that phrasing.
We took a private elevator up to the fifteenth floor, bypassing the crowded lobby entirely. When the doors opened, we stepped into a reception area that looked more like a luxury hotel than a governnt office. Plush couches, abstract art on the walls, and soft lighting created an atmosphere of exclusivity.
Behind the reception desk, a woman with bright green hair looked up and broke into a wide smile when she spotted Diane. "Mrs. Fitzgerald! We weren’t expecting you today."
"Cynthia, darling, I told you to call Diane." She approached the desk with the easy confidence of soone who belonged anywhere she decided to be. "I have a special case for recording today. My ward has finally manifested."
Cynthia’s eyes widened as she looked at , recognition dawning. "The Belmont boy? After all this ti?"
I managed not to grimace at being called "the Belmont boy" to my face.
"Late manifestation at seventeen," Diane confird. "We’ll need Charles for this one."
"Of course. I’ll let him know you’re here." Cynthia picked up a phone, speaking quietly into it.
While we waited, I observed the room more carefully. Several Heroes in costu moved through the space—most wearing B or C rank insignias on their uniforms. Not the headline nas from the billboards outside, but working Heroes handling paperwork, filing reports, or waiting for appointnts.
One caught my eye—a man in his thirties wearing a sleek blue and silver suit with lightning bolt accents. He looked exhausted, slumped in a chair while typing on a tablet. According to the small ranking badge on his shoulder, he was C-32, which ant he was barely hanging on to his license. The haunted look in his eyes told everything about what that position felt like.
That could be in a few years if I screwed this up.
A door opened, and a tall, slender man with silver-rimd glasses erged. "Diane! What a wonderful surprise."
"Charles." Diane embraced him with the familiarity of old friends. "Thank you for squeezing us in."
"Anything for you," he said, then turned his attention to . "And this must be young Mr. Belmont. I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years."
All of it about being Unmarked, I bet.
"That’s ," I said, extending my hand.
Charles shook it firmly, studying with keen interest. "Late manifestation cases are always fascinating. Please, co into my office, all of you."
We followed him through the door into a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. One wall was covered with frad certifications and photographs of Charles with various ranked Heroes. The center of the room featured an examination table surrounded by sophisticated equipnt—scanning arrays and projection tech for Aspect visualization.
"I’m Dr. Charles Weber, Aspect Recording Specialist," he said, gesturing for to sit on the examination table.
"I’ll be handling your registration today."
User Comments
0 comments from readers