The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 311: 311 | This Was a Brand Decision [CASTLE BONUS]

"Your rights do not extend to harassing my students on their way to class." Steele’s presence expanded, Ring Presence radiating outward in ways that made the nearest reporters step back without consciously deciding to. "I will not repeat myself."

The reporters retreated slightly but didn’t disperse. They had the specific persistence of people who made their living being annoying in ways that couldn’t be legally prevented.

"There," someone pointed, "more students."

The crowd surged toward a group of first-years emerging from the east dormitory. Percy and Rina walked together, Percy’s notebook clutched to his chest and Rina’s white hair immediately visible in the morning light. The reporters descended on them with the coordinated aggression of sharks sensing blood.

"Are you students of Radiant?"

"Can you describe what it’s like being taught by America’s greatest hero?"

"Is it true he’s training a secret elite squad for high-threat operations?"

Percy’s face went pale. Rina’s horns seemed to glow in the morning light as her Aspect responded to stress, wool beginning to manifest around her shoulders in soft white clouds. Her expression shifted from confusion to fear as the reporters pressed closer, cameras in her face and microphones thrust toward her mouth.

Steele moved through the crowd with the kind of directional momentum that suggested anyone who didn’t get out of her way would regret it. "Back away from my students. Now."

More students arrived from various directions, all of them immediately targeted by the reporter swarm. Caden and Marco found themselves surrounded, Caden’s usual easy grin replaced by something closer to bewilderment. Camille emerged from the training facility and immediately adopted a defensive posture, her eyes scanning for threats in a way that suggested she was seriously considering whether rivets would be appropriate responses to aggressive journalists.

"This is getting out of hand," Felicity murmured beside me.

A group of three reporters broke off from the main cluster and headed directly toward us. Their eyes locked on Felicity specifically, probably because she was blonde and photogenic and made good camera footage.

"You there! The blonde girl! Can you tell us about your experience with Radiant?"

"What’s it like being taught by America’s greatest hero?"

"Do you feel safe knowing such powerful protection is watching over your education?"

They closed in fast, cameras raised and microphones extended. Felicity’s expression shifted from concern to something I recognized from her Aspect profile, the specific focus that preceded illusion generation.

"Oh my god," she gasped, pointing over the reporters’ shoulders with convincing panic. "Is that Radiant? Flying away toward the south campus?"

The reporters spun. In the distance, clearly visible against the morning sky, a figure in white and gold streaked through the air with the specific visual signature that everyone in America associated with their greatest hero. The silhouette was perfect, the movement flawless, the golden light catching exactly right.

Six of the reporters immediately took off running, cameras raised toward the retreating figure.

"Follow him!"

"Get footage before he disappears!"

"Radiant! Radiant, can we get a statement?"

They sprinted toward the south campus, chasing an illusion that would lead them on a very entertaining wild goose chase before dissipating somewhere around the athletic fields.

Felicity caught my eye and winked. Her smile was small and satisfied, the expression of someone who had just deployed their Aspect for maximum entertainment value.

"Nice," I said.

"I contain multitudes."

The remaining reporters had noticed the commotion and were splitting their attention between the "departing Radiant" and the students still present. The chaos created openings. Students slipped through gaps in the crowd, making their way toward the academic building while the journalists argued about which direction to focus their pursuit.

Steele’s voice cut through the noise again. "All students proceed directly to your scheduled classes. Security will handle the media presence."

I started moving toward the entrance, Felicity still linked to my arm. We made it approximately fifteen feet before a reporter stepped directly into our path.

She was mid-thirties, professional in a sharp charcoal blazer and heels that clicked against the walkway with authority. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, and her eyes had the quality of someone who made careers by asking uncomfortable questions at inconvenient times.

"You. The dark-haired one." She thrust a microphone toward my face while her cameraman positioned himself for the best angle. "You’re a student here, correct? First-year Combat Operations?"

"Media inquiries go through the public relations office," I said, echoing Steele’s earlier deflection.

"I’m not interested in official statements. I’m interested in the student experience." She smiled, and the expression was friendly and calculating simultaneously. "Just a few questions. What’s it like being taught by Radiant? How does it feel knowing America’s greatest hero is personally invested in your education?"

The camera light blinked red. Recording. Live feed, probably, streaming to some news network’s morning broadcast. Thousands of people watching, waiting to see what some random first-year student had to say about their national hero.

Diane’s voice echoed in my memory. Every action you take will be documented, analyzed, and discussed. Successful heroes learn to see these implications before acting rather than after.

Professor Crane’s lecture followed immediately. You are not training to become warriors or protectors. You are training to become brands. Products. Commodities that the public will consume.

The reporter was still waiting, microphone extended, camera rolling. Felicity’s hand tightened on my arm, warning pressure that suggested she thought I should extract myself from the situation immediately.

But I was thinking about something else entirely.

Radiant had inspired Sloane when she was seven years old. He’d shown up during a flood, saved two hundred and sixteen people, and created a generation of heroes who wanted to be just like him. That was the power of symbols. That was what it meant to be the face that people trusted.

And symbols were made, not born. They were constructed through moments exactly like this one.

I straightened slightly. Let my expression settle into something confident and approachable, the specific balance that Diane had demonstrated in every client meeting I’d ever witnessed. Warm enough to be genuine. Controlled enough to be trustworthy.

"It’s an honor," I said, and my voice carried clearly for the microphone. "Radiant represents everything the hero profession is supposed to be. Selfless service. Genuine protection. The willingness to put yourself between innocent people and danger without hesitation."

The reporter’s eyes sharpened with interest. This wasn’t the defensive deflection she’d been getting from other students. This was an actual answer.

"And how does his teaching style compare to your other instructors?"