My Scumbag System-Chapter 274: Operation: Weaponize the Simps

The morning after our return from the mainland, Braxton stood before us in the Onyx Hounds’ common room. Gone was his typical lazy slouch and perpetual boredom. His spine had straightened, shoulders squared, jaw set. He looked like a completely different person—a commander, not a burnout.

The air reeked of cheap coffee and nervous sweat. No one spoke. Even Raphael had stopped his usual posturing and muttering. We all sensed something had changed.

"Listen up, puppies," Braxton began, his voice cold and flat. "This isn’t a field trip. The academy calls this a ’joint training exercise.’ That’s a lie. This is a public execution, and you’re the ones on the chopping block."

Juan yawned from the back of the room. "Drama queen much?"

Braxton’s eyes snapped to him. "A C-Rank Blue Gate opened last night on the northern edge of the training grounds. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be entering it alongside the Argent Sentinels."

That got everyone’s attention. The tension in the room thickened. I watched Isabelle’s eyes narrow slightly, calculations already running behind that royal facade.

"This is a race," Braxton continued. "Both teams enter at the same time. First team to kill the Boss and retrieve its Core wins. Winners get 500 points for their guild. Losers get nothing but public humiliation."

"Sounds fair," Raphael said, a feral grin splitting his face. "We’ll crush those prissy bastards."

"Shut up." Braxton’s voice cut through the room like a knife. "The Sentinels are a well-oiled machine of pedigreed prodigies. They will not help you. They will not wait for you. If one of you gets cornered, they will walk right past and let the monsters eat you if it gives them a ten-second advantage."

Beside me, Soomin paled visibly, her fingers clutching the hem of her cardigan. Hikari bounced on her heels, somehow looking more excited at the prospect of imminent death.

"This isn’t about cooperation," Braxton finished. "It’s about survival. Don’t be the one who gets eaten."

He looked at each of us, one by one, his gaze lingering on me a second longer than the others.

"Only seven of you will go. The highest-ranked based on this week’s performance. The rest stay behind." He checked his watch. "You have seven days to prepare. Dismissed."

As everyone dispersed, muttering anxiously, I caught Natalia’s eye across the room. Her lips curved into a smile that promised both danger and delight.

Game on.

===

Day Two

"Pull the string back to your cheek. Not your ear, your cheek." I stood behind Emi in the basement training room, watching her form. "Now breathe out slowly and... release."

The arrow flew straight and true, sinking into the center of the target with a satisfying thunk. Emi’s sapphire hair bobbed as she jumped in excitement.

"I did it! Did you see that, Satori? A perfect bull’s-eye!"

"A natural," I said, placing my hand on her bare shoulder. I let my fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. Her skin was warm, soft.

The effect was immediate. Her bouncing stopped. Her breathing hitched. Her pupils dilated so wide her reddish-brown eyes looked almost black.

"T-thank you," she stammered, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

I watched with clinical interest as the endorphin rush flooded her system—part genuine pride, part chemical addiction to my touch. The [Nectar of the Gods] trait worked even through casual contact, it seemed. Not as potent as a kiss, but enough to create a craving.

"Again," I said, stepping back. "Let’s see if you can split that arrow."

Her face fell slightly at the loss of contact. "Right. Yes. I’ll try."

She fumbled with the next arrow, her hands visibly shaking.

Perfect.

===

Day Three

"Focus, Soomin," I said, my voice deliberately low and soothing. "I know she wants control, but you’re stronger than she is."

Soomin knelt on the floor of the training room, her entire body trembling. Her pink hair was halfway to white, her eyes flickering between their natural blue and a glowing ethereal shade. The single white tail behind her lashed in agitation.

"I... can’t..." she gasped. "She’s so angry today."

I crouched in front of her, meeting her gaze directly. I pushed a fraction of my will into the [Siren’s Gaze] trait, watching her pupils respond.

"Look at me. Only me. I’m your anchor, remember? Let her feel the power, but don’t let her take control."

Soomin’s breathing slowed. Her eyes locked onto mine with desperate intensity.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small piece of dried fruit—the same kind we’d shared on the ferry.

"Open," I commanded softly.

Her lips parted obediently. I placed the fruit on her tongue, my fingertips brushing her lower lip as I withdrew.

The moment the fruit touched her tongue, a visible shudder ran through her entire body. Her eyes widened then fluttered closed. A small, involuntary sound—halfway between a gasp and a moan—escaped her throat. The glow faded from her eyes. Her hair returned to pink. The tail dissipated into sparkling motes.

When she opened her eyes again, they were clear, focused, and filled with something new. Adoration, yes, but with an edge of desperate hunger.

"How do you feel?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Better," she whispered. "So much better. What... what was that?"

I smiled. "Just a focusing technique. We’ll try it again tomorrow."

She nodded eagerly, her gaze never leaving my face. Another piece captured.

===

Day Four

Skylar and I circled each other on the training mat, both of us breathing hard. Sweat plastered her indigo and pink hair to her forehead. Her violet eyes tracked my every move with predatory focus.

She jabbed with her left—telegraphing the move just as I’d spotted yesterday—and I slipped inside her guard. My hand shot out, aiming for her throat. She grabbed my wrist, twisted, tried to throw me. I countered, using her momentum to drag her down. We hit the mat together, her on her back, me above her, our faces inches apart.

"Draw," I said, releasing her and rolling away.

She sat up, scowling. "Again."

"We’ve been at this for two hours. Take a break."

I grabbed two water bottles from my bag, tossing one to her. She caught it one-handed, still glaring.

I took a long drink from mine, watching her over the rim. She hesitated, then unscrewed the cap and took a sip.

The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Her eyes widened fractionally. Her throat worked as she swallowed. Her tongue darted out unconsciously to catch a drop on her lower lip.

"You’re telegraphing your left jab," I said casually, taking another drink.

She scowled, defensive. "No, I’m not."

"Three times in the last match. Your shoulder tenses half a second before you throw it."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Took another drink instead. Another, deeper one. Her eyes never left the bottle. Confusion flickered across her face—why did water suddenly taste so damn good?

"Fine," she conceded. "Show me what you mean."

I hid my smile behind the water bottle. "Finish your drink first. Hydration is important."

She drained the bottle in long, eager gulps.