My Scumbag System-Chapter 282: The Scumbag’s Guide to Motivational Speaking

The bus wound its way up into the mountains, the scenery outside transforming from New Vein’s glossy urban sprawl to dense, mist-covered forest that seemed to swallow us whole. The pines were ancient here, their trunks thick as cars, gnarled and twisted like the fingers of buried giants reaching up from a forgotten grave. Their branches formed a suffocating canopy so dense that barely any light filtered through, casting everything in an eerie, green-tinted twilight. Fog clung to the forest floor, white and thick and moving in ways that seemed almost... deliberate. Like it had intentions. Like it was watching us.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching my breath fog the window in rhythmic pulses. The vibration of the engine hummed through my skull, matching the low thrum of anxiety coursing through my veins. This wasn’t my first rodeo with danger, but Gates were different. They weren’t just challenges; they were wounds in reality itself.

Inside the bus, the mood grew heavier with each passing mile. Conversations that had started animated and nervous gradually withered and died. One by one, my fellow passengers retreated into themselves. Some stared out the windows with glassy, unfocused eyes. Others fidgeted with weapons or equipment, obsessively checking gear that had already been checked a dozen times. A few just sat perfectly still, their faces blank masks hiding whatever terror or excitement bubbled beneath. The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

This was really happening. We were going into a Gate. A place where reality itself broke down, where the laws of physics were suggestions at best. Where monsters from nightmares prowled in flesh and blood, hunting for human prey. Somewhere in that dimensional tear was a Boss who needed killing, and if we failed... well, I’d seen the aftermath of a Gate Break on the news. Those evacuations never ended well for anyone.

Natalia slid into the seat next to me, her thigh pressing against mine. The contact sent a familiar spark up my spine, but I kept my face neutral. She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear, her perfume—something floral with an edge of ice—filling my senses.

"Worried about your stamina today?" she whispered, her voice honey-sweet with venom underneath. "I could help you... warm up."

Any other day, I’d have leaned into it. Played the game. Let my hand drift to that impossible curve of her hip, whispered something filthy back, watched the flush climb her cheeks even as she pretended to be scandalized. But not today. Today wasn’t about fun or pleasure.

Today was about survival.

I gently moved her leg away. "Not now, Nat. Head in the game."

She blinked, surprised. Then her eyes narrowed with understanding. This wasn’t the usual Satori—the one who teased her relentlessly, who made her knees weak with nothing but a look. This was someone else. Someone colder. More focused. The predator beneath the charming mask.

"Alright," she said softly. Her hand found mine, squeezed once, then let go. A moment of genuine connection before she slid back behind her own walls.

I stood up, grabbing a handrail as the bus swayed around a mountain curve. The road had narrowed, becoming little more than a ribbon of asphalt carved into the mountainside. Below us, the drop was enough to make even Raphael go quiet.

"Some of you think this is just a test," I said, my voice low but carrying through the rumble of the engine. "Some of you think it’s a chance to show off. To prove yourselves. To come back heroes."

I let my gaze sweep across each face.

"You’re wrong."

I glanced out the window at the Argent bus following behind us, its silver paint job gleaming even in the dim forest light. Through the reinforced glass, I could see Julian’s face, still watching me with that burning hatred. Good. Anger made people stupid.

"They think they’re better than us. They think they’re the heroes of this story, and we’re the comic relief. The sidekicks. The also-rans." I leaned forward, my hands gripping the rail until my knuckles turned white. "They’ve been told since birth that they’re special. That the world owes them greatness. That people like us exist to make them look good."

Emi flinched at that. Good. Better she hear it now than learn it the hard way.

"I don’t care about being a hero. Heroes die young and broke. They sacrifice everything for people who won’t remember their names six months later." I let my voice drop to something harder. "I like winning. It feels good. It pays the bills. But I despise losing. Losing is for people who play fair. Losing is for victims."

I straightened, looking at each of them in turn. "We aren’t victims anymore. We are the ones who knock. We are going into that hole, and we are going to strip it clean before the Sentinels even figure out which way is north."

The bus fell silent. Even the engine seemed to quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Emi looked a little scared, but there was determination in her eyes now—something harder beneath the cheerful exterior.

Skylar was smirking, clearly respecting the ruthlessness. Her knife had stopped spinning, held steady in her grip.

Raphael was nodding along, practically salivating at the thought of crushing the Sentinels.

Isabelle gave me an approving nod, recognizing a kindred spirit in the art of leadership. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

I’d done it. I’d focused their fear into something useful. Something dangerous.

Eight hours later, the bus lurched to a halt. My legs had gone numb somewhere around hour six, and I winced as blood flow returned with a vengeance of pins and needles. My lower back had fused into a solid mass of complaint, and my bladder was sending strongly worded letters to my brain about workplace conditions.

We stepped out into a VHC Exclusion Zone—a large clearing carved into a dense pine forest. The trees had been cut back in a perfect circle, stumps still visible beneath layers of packed earth. Military-style tents formed a perimeter around the center of the clearing, their dark green canvas snapping in a wind that seemed to come from nowhere. Armed guards patrolled with weapons that cost more than a year’s tuition at NVA—high-powered energy rifles, monster-hide armor, expressions of professional alertness.

The air felt wrong. Colder than it should be for the season, carrying the scent of ozone and something rotting just beneath that—something sweet and putrid, like flowers growing from a corpse.

The hair on my arms stood on end, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. My \[Protection from Arrows\] was tingling at the edge of my awareness, a low-level warning that something very, very dangerous was nearby.

And there it was. The Gate.