Chapter 185: 186 | My To-Do List Now Includes "Don’t Get Murdered By My Half-Sister"
The morning sun hit me like a personal insult as I walked out of the gym. Four hours of sleep, one kiss from Noel that scrambled my brain worse than any punch, and a mysterious meeting with my estranged half-sister looming over everything like a storm cloud with daddy issues.
Just another Tuesday in the life of Rome D’Angelo.
My phone buzzed. Cheon.
YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE RESTING BEFORE TONIGHT.
I typed back while dodging a group of first-years who scattered like pigeons when they saw me coming. The whole "dangerous ability user who hospitalized the golden boy" reputation had its perks.
CAN’T SLEEP. BRAIN WON’T SHUT UP.
THAT’S BECAUSE YOU SPENT THE MORNING MAKING OUT WITH NOEL INSTEAD OF TRAINING.
I stopped walking.
HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT?
MERA TOLD ME. SHE SAW YOU THROUGH A PORTAL.
Of course she did. Privacy was a concept that simply didn’t exist in my life anymore. I had a girlfriend who could literally punch holes through space to spy on me and another girlfriend who organized surveillance like other people organized sock drawers.
TELL MERA TO STOP WATCHING ME KISS OTHER WOMEN.
SHE SAYS NO. ALSO SHE WANTS DETAILS ABOUT NOEL’S TECHNIQUE.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and kept walking. The campus spread out around me in all its expensive glory. Glass buildings caught the morning light. Manicured lawns stretched between walkways that probably cost more to maintain than most people’s annual salaries. Coastline Hero Academy existed to remind you that money bought everything including the chance to become powerful enough that money stopped mattering.
My phone buzzed again.
COME HOME. EAT SOMETHING. NAP. YOU HAVE EIGHT HOURS BEFORE YOU MEET YOUR CRAZY SISTER.
SHE’S NOT CRAZY. PROBABLY.
ROME. SHE SENT YOU A CRYPTIC MESSAGE DEMANDING YOU MEET HER ALONE AT NIGHT IN A CLUB CALLED THE CRIMSON LOTUS. THAT’S TEXTBOOK VILLAIN BEHAVIOR.
She had a point.
I pocketed the phone and changed direction toward the penthouse. Marco would be waiting with the car. The man had an uncanny ability to know exactly when I needed extraction from whatever situation I’d gotten myself into.
The walk took me past the main training grounds where a few early risers were already going through drills. I spotted Usagi in the distance, her distinctive bunny-ear hairstyle visible even from here. Our third teammate for the exhibition match. We’d trained together exactly twice. Both sessions had been awkward as hell.
She caught me looking and waved. I waved back.
Tomorrow we’d have to actually practice like a real team. Build trust. Learn each other’s abilities. All that wholesome cooperation stuff that didn’t come naturally to someone who’d spent his whole life treating other people as either obstacles or opportunities.
The system remained quiet. No notifications. No quests. No sarcastic commentary about my life choices.
I didn’t trust the silence.
Marco stood beside the Mercedes when I reached the pickup point. The man wore his usual black suit and expression of professional neutrality that revealed nothing about whatever he actually thought of my increasingly chaotic existence.
"Rough morning, sir?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"You have lipstick on your collar."
I glanced down. Noel’s shade. A soft pink that looked almost innocent if you didn’t know the context.
"Training accident."
"Of course, sir."
Marco opened the rear door and I slid inside. The leather seats welcomed me like an old friend. Air conditioning blasted away the morning heat. Tinted windows blocked out a world that demanded too much from me before I’d even had breakfast.
"Home," I said.
"Miss Cheon called ahead. There’s food waiting."
Naturally.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The drive would take fifteen minutes in light traffic. Enough time to organize my thoughts into something resembling a coherent plan for the day.
Step one: eat.
Step two: sleep.
Step three: don’t get murdered by my half-sister.
Step four: tell Noel all my secrets without scaring her away.
Step five: somehow win an exhibition match against an undefeated team with only three weeks of training.
Step six: convince the seventh heroine to join the harem without actively pursuing her because I’d promised to give her space.
Step seven: avoid the NEA’s increasingly suspicious investigation into my suddenly manifested abilities.
Step eight: figure out why the system had gone quiet when it usually couldn’t shut up about my protagonist percentage or relationship meters.
The list kept growing. I stopped counting after step twelve because thinking about it made my head hurt worse than Noel’s surprisingly vicious right hook.
The penthouse loomed into view through the windshield. Home. Or whatever passed for home in a world I’d been forcibly inserted into by some asshole wizard in a parking lot.
Funny thing about that word. Home.
I’d never really had one before. Not in my past life where I moved between hotels and temporary apartments depending on whatever job required my attention. Not in the original Rome’s life where Angelo Corp headquarters felt more like a prison than a residence.
But this place? With Cheon’s color-coded case files taking over the dining table and Mera’s vintage records stacked beside the sound system and throw blankets scattered across furniture because both women ran cold despite the California climate?
This felt like something.
Dangerous thought. The kind that got people killed when they started caring about things they couldn’t afford to lose.
I pushed it aside and got out of the car.
The elevator ride passed in comfortable silence. Marco stayed with the vehicle. He’d learned not to follow me upstairs unless specifically invited.
The penthouse door opened before I could reach for my key.
Cheon stood in the doorway wearing an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder and shorts that barely qualified as clothing. Her light blue hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail instead of her usual severe style. Without her contacts in, her grey eyes looked softer. Younger.
"You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too."
"It’s almost noon."
"Time is a social construct designed to oppress free spirits."
She stepped aside to let me in. The smell of food hit me immediately. Something savory. Probably whatever Cheon had stress-cooked while waiting for me to come home.
"Mera’s sleeping," Cheon said. "She used three portals last night tracking your location. Burned through most of her reserves."
"She was spying on me."
"She was worried about you. There’s a difference."
