My Scumbag System-Chapter 341: Post-Dungeon Clarity

Golden hour painted everything in shades of amber and rust. The city’s glass towers caught the dying light and threw it back in fragments.

My ribs ached.

My shoulders burned.

The regenerator brace under my shirt had given up the ghost about an hour ago and now served primarily as an uncomfortable reminder that I’d pushed my body past its warranty.

I leaned back against the seat and surveyed my team.

Monica had curled herself into a ball in the third row, her fern clutched against her chest like a child holding a teddy bear. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was too shallow for sleep. Every few seconds, her fingers would twitch against the pot, reaching for a network that no longer existed. She’d touched something vast in that dungeon. Something older than the machinery that had enslaved it. And now she was trying to figure out how to fit back inside her own skin.

Jacob sat two rows ahead, forehead pressed against the window. His datapads lay dark on the seat beside him for the first time since I’d met him. The city lights blurred past his reflection, and he watched them without seeing. That thousand-yard stare was familiar. I’d worn it myself plenty of times in my past life. The look of someone whose brain had processed too much input and was now running on fumes while it defragmented.

Emi occupied the seat directly across the aisle from me, her medical kit spread across her lap. She was reorganizing it. Again.

"The antiseptic goes in the left pocket," she muttered to herself. "No, wait. Right pocket. Because then the gauze is closer to the scissors and I can grab them both at once if someone’s bleeding out and I need to..."

She trailed off. Started over. The antiseptic went back to the left pocket.

And then there was Skylar.

She’d claimed the back corner of the bus like a cat staking out the highest perch in the room. Hood up. Arms crossed.

I could still taste her on my lips.

The Nectar hummed between us, a connection she couldn’t break no matter how hard she tried to pretend it didn’t exist. Every time the bus hit a bump and our eyes almost met, she’d find something fascinating about the ceiling tiles to study.

We’d need to talk about that eventually. But not tonight. Tonight, everyone needed sleep and food and the comfortable illusion that we were normal teenagers who’d just finished a rough school project.

My phone buzzed. I ignored it.

"You’re staring."

Natalia’s voice came from my right, low enough that no one else could hear over the bus’s engine. She hadn’t been sitting this close when we’d first boarded back at the Onyx Hounds compound. Somehow, over the course of the forty-minute drive back toward civilization, she’d migrated across the worn vinyl bench seat, inch by deliberate inch, until her thigh pressed firmly against mine. Territorial marking disguised as casual proximity. It was subtle as a sledgehammer to anyone who knew what to look for—which, thankfully, was only me.

And possibly Skylar, but she was pretending not to exist right now.

"I’m observing," I corrected without looking at her. My gaze continued its circuit of the bus’s interior, tracking the various states of post-combat processing among our little band of survivors. "There’s a difference."

"Is there?" The skepticism in Natalia’s tone was palpable.

"Staring is for entertainment. I am collecting tactical data." I paused. "Also, staring is what creeps do on subway trains. I have standards."

Natalia made a soft sound that might have been amusement or might have been exasperation. Probably both. Her purple eyes tracked my gaze across the bus’s interior, cataloging the same details I’d been mentally filing away. Monica’s still-trembling hands as they stroked that ridiculous fern. Jacob’s vacant, thousand-yard stare as he processed trauma through the lens of pattern recognition. Emi’s compulsive reorganization of her medical supplies, the third time she’d done it in the last twenty minutes. Skylar’s studied avoidance of looking anywhere in my direction.

A whole bus full of damage in various stages of processing.

"They held together," Natalia said after a moment, her voice carrying a note of something that might have been approval.

"Barely."

"Barely counts." Her shoulder shifted against mine, a small adjustment that somehow pressed us even closer together. "Most teams don’t make it through their first real run without someone breaking. We lost exactly zero people to panic."

I couldn’t argue with that assessment. The statistics on first-time Hunter teams were grim as hell. Personality conflicts that turned lethal under pressure, panic responses that got people killed, someone freezing up at exactly the wrong moment and creating a domino effect of failure. We’d had our share of close calls today—more than our share, if I was being honest—but when the critical moments came, everyone had pulled their weight.

Monica especially.

That thought kept circling back, demanding my attention. The girl who’d been used as a human shield by her own team leader just hours ago had stood in the heart of an ancient mechanical prison and commanded an entire hostile ecosystem to bend itself to her will. She’d turned a death trap into a garden, and she’d done it with the kind of raw power that made my System-enhanced instincts sit up and take notice.

Julian Valerius had called her weak.

Julian Valerius was a fucking idiot.

"She’s going to be a problem," I murmured, keeping my voice pitched for Natalia’s ears only.

Natalia’s eyebrow arched in that particular way that meant she was already three steps ahead of me and waiting to see if I’d catch up. "Monica?"

"Not that kind of problem. A good problem." I watched the botanical princess whisper something to her fern, her lips moving in what looked like a genuine conversation with a plant. "She touched something big in there today. Something fundamental. And whatever it was, it’s not going to stop growing just because we’ve left the Gate. I need to figure out how to channel that development before it channels her into doing something catastrophically naive."

"And Jacob?"

"Information overload. His brain’s still processing everything he saw. He’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep and approximately seventeen energy drinks."

"Emi?"

"Coping mechanism. Let her reorganize. She’ll calm down once her hands get tired."

Natalia’s voice dropped even lower. "Skylar?"

I didn’t answer immediately. Across the bus, Skylar’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She pulled her hood lower, hiding her face in shadow.

"Complicated," I said finally.

Natalia’s thigh pressed harder against mine. Not painfully, just... present. A reminder of exactly who I belonged to.

"I can imagine."