The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 307: 307 | I’m Going to Study Insurance Law Tonight

The room stayed quiet for about thirty seconds after Castillo left, which might be a record for twenty teenagers processing the death of their childhood dreams.

I watched Percy scribbling notes like his life depended on it, his pen moving with the kind of religious dedication usually reserved for cult members or people who actually read terms of service agreements. Rina sat beside him, her purple eyes tracking his writing with an expression somewhere between admiration and mild concern for his mental health.

"Well," Caden said eventually, leaning back in his chair until it creaked, "that was traumatizing."

"That was educational," Petra corrected, though her voice carried less conviction than usual. She’d been staring at her planner for the last five minutes without writing anything, which was probably the first time in her life that premium stationery had failed to provide adequate therapy.

"Same thing," Marco said cheerfully. "I’m going to have nightmares about contract negotiations."

Felicity stretched in her chair, the movement doing interesting things to her blouse that I definitely didn’t notice because I’m a professional. "At least we know why my mom complains about agency fees now. Apparently they’re stealing our souls through fine print."

"Your mom complains about agency fees?" Camille asked, her brown eyes finding Felicity with genuine curiosity.

"My mom complains about everything. Agency fees, costume approval processes, sponsors who want to put logos on inappropriate body parts." Felicity’s smile turned wicked. "She has stories about the early days that would make you lose faith in humanity."

"More faith than we just lost?" Theo asked.

"So much more."

I gathered my folder and stood, recognizing the conversation was about to devolve into shared trauma bonding over the death of our collective innocence. Also, I had somewhere to be, and if I stuck around much longer, either Camille or Petra was going to corner me for a conversation I wasn’t ready to handle in front of witnesses.

The Oracle Feed pinged softly, flagging movement patterns. Camille’s trajectory suggested she was calculating the optimal moment to intercept me before I reached the door. Petra’s suggested she was doing the same calculation but from a different angle. Felicity’s suggested she was waiting to see which one moved first so she could enjoy the show.

I moved toward the door before any of them could commit to their respective strategies.

"Lukas," Percy called after me.

I turned back. He was still seated, his notebook closed now, his expression carrying that particular intensity that meant he was about to say something that would either be brilliant or deeply uncomfortable.

"That insurance analysis Professor Castillo corrected me on. The Aspect classification risk categories." He paused. "Your file lists you as Unmarked."

The room went very quiet again, but this time the quality of the silence was different. Sharp. Interested. The kind of silence that meant everyone was suddenly paying attention to a conversation they’d been ignoring thirty seconds earlier.

"Yeah," I said.

"Insurance companies don’t charge premiums for Unmarked individuals in hero agencies. There’s no Aspect risk to calculate." His pen tapped against his notebook once. "But if someone’s file was inaccurate, and they were actually a high-risk classification, the agency could face retroactive premium adjustments. Penalties. Possible contract voiding."

He wasn’t accusing me of anything. Percy didn’t operate that way. He was simply observing patterns, connecting data points, and sharing his conclusions with the same clinical detachment he applied to everything else. The fact that his conclusions happened to be correct was just Percy being Percy.

Also, it was probably going to destroy my life.

"Hypothetically," I said.

"Hypothetically," he agreed.

"That would be a problem for the person with the inaccurate file."

"It would be a problem for everyone. The person, the agency, the academy that recommended them, the regulatory body that approved their license." Percy’s expression didn’t change. "Hypothetically."

The silence stretched. I could feel twenty pairs of eyes tracking between Percy and me like we were playing tennis with words that carried actual weight. Camille’s brown eyes had gone sharp with interest. Petra’s emerald ones carried calculation. Felicity looked like she was watching the season finale of her favorite show.

"Good thing my file is accurate then," I said.

"Good thing," Percy agreed. His pen tapped the notebook again. "I’m going to study insurance law tonight. It’s fascinating how many ways the system can fail when information is incomplete."

He stood, gathering his materials with his usual methodical precision. Rina rose beside him, her white hair catching the afternoon light as she moved. They walked toward the door together, Percy’s steady pace and Rina’s quiet presence creating a pocket of calm in the charged atmosphere.

As they reached the threshold, Percy paused and looked back.

"Lukas."

"Yeah?"

"If someone hypothetically needed to understand the regulatory implications of documentation discrepancies, I could help with the research. I like research."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

He nodded once and left, Rina trailing behind him with a small smile that suggested she found the entire exchange more entertaining than concerning.

The door closed. The room exhaled again, but this time the sound carried speculation rather than relief.

"Well," Caden said, his voice carrying that particular note that meant he was filing information for later analysis, "that wasn’t ominous at all."

"Percy doesn’t do ominous," Felicity said, though her blue eyes stayed fixed on me. "Percy does accurate."

"Same thing," Marco said, echoing his earlier comment. "Accuracy is way more terrifying than threats."

I headed for the door before the conversation could develop further. The Oracle Feed tracked movement behind me, flagging Camille’s trajectory shift and Petra’s decision to remain seated. Felicity’s pattern suggested she was debating between following me and staying to extract information from the others.

The hallway outside Room 316 was blessedly empty, the late afternoon light streaming through tall windows and casting everything in that golden hour glow that made even institutional architecture look decent. I walked toward the exit, my footsteps echoing off polished floors.

My phone buzzed. Text from Sloane.

Sloane: Survived. Barely. Need food. Meet me at the cafeteria in ten minutes?

Me: How was Radiant?

Sloane: Tell you when I see you. Also I cried. Don’t mention it.

Me: On my way.