My Scumbag System No Chapter 4: He Cleaned His Room, Is This the Apocalypse?

Chapter 4: He Cleaned His Room, Is This the Apocalypse?

Natalia slid down to the floor, her back pressed against the door. The chicken and herb aroma snaked under her door, wrapping around her senses like a persistent ghost. Her stomach growled again, louder this ti, an animal desperate to be fed.

"Traitor," she whispered to her abdon.

She pulled out her phone, opening the food delivery app. Pizza would take forty minutes. Sushi, an hour. Everything quick was greasy, cheap, and would sit heavily in her stomach during tomorrow’s training.

Her finger hovered over the order button. Another traitorous rumble from her stomach.

The food was right there in the kitchen. Food that actually slled... good. Not microwaved garbage or delivery, but sothing prepared with actual ingredients.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, shoving her phone back into her pocket. "It’s my kitchen too."

She cracked her door open, listening. Silence. She peered into the hallway—clear. Moving with the stealth her combat training had ingrained, Natalia slipped down the hall toward the kitchen, hugging the wall as if evading enemy fire.

The kitchen glead under the recessed lighting. No sign of Satori. On the island countertop sat a covered plate, a fork and knife placed neatly beside it. Steam escaped from beneath the foil, carrying that maddening aroma.

Natalia approached cautiously, as if the plate might be booby-trapped. She lifted the foil. The al was simple but arranged with unexpected care—a golden-brown chicken breast, sliced to reveal juicy white at, surrounded by roasted vegetables in varying colors. A light herb sauce drizzled across the top.

It looked... normal. Healthy. The kind of al her father would approve of for a Hunter-in-training.

Natalia glanced toward Satori’s room. The door was closed. No sounds ca from within.

"This doesn’t an anything," she told herself firmly, sliding onto a barstool. "I’m just hungry."

The first bite surprised her. The chicken was tender, properly seasoned, the vegetables crisp-tender rather than mushy. It wasn’t gourt, but it was competent cooking. When had he learned to cook like this? Had he always known how? Had he been hiding skills beyond his ability to locate the nearest drive-thru?

She ate quickly, efficiently, the way she did everything. No point savoring what was just fuel for tomorrow’s training. Yet she couldn’t help noticing the balanced flavors, the careful preparation. This wasn’t a al thrown together by soone who didn’t care.

The sound of footsteps made her freeze, fork halfway to her mouth. Too late to retreat.

Satori appeared in the doorway that led to the small ho gym their father had installed. His massive fra filled the space, his red hair darkened by sweat, plastered to his forehead. His glasses were fogged from exertion, and his face was flushed a deep crimson. He held a water bottle in one aty hand.

Natalia tensed, waiting for the smug comnt, the leering look, the pathetic attempt at conversation.

None ca.

His eyes t hers briefly. He gave her a short nod, then continued past her toward his room.

The door to his room closed with a soft click.

Natalia sat frozen, fork still suspended in midair. What just happened?

She lowered her fork slowly, staring at the half-eaten al. Sothing fundantal had shifted. The rules of engagent that had governed their hostile coexistence for two years had suddenly, without warning or discussion, changed.

This wasn’t the Satori she knew. The Satori she knew would have hovered, making awkward attempts at conversation. He would have asked if she liked the food, fishing for complints with that needy, desperate energy that made her skin crawl.

This Satori had cooked a al, left her portion, and gone about his business. Like he didn’t care whether she ate it or not.

It was... unsettling.

Back in her room, she tried to focus on her textbook—"Advanced Aspect Theory and Applications"—but found herself reading the sa paragraph three tis. Her mind kept circling back to Satori.

"Get it together," she scolded herself. "It’s just one al. One cleaned room. It doesn’t an anything."

But a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that it did. That sothing fundantal had changed in their household dynamic. That the comfortable certainty of despising her disgusting stepbrother was being challenged.

Natalia shook her head firmly, pushing the thoughts away. She had more important things to worry about. The academy entrance exams were coming up. Her provisional rank would be formalized. The last thing she needed was to waste ntal energy on whatever ga Satori was playing.

Her phone buzzed with a text from her father.

[How are things at ho? All quiet?]

Natalia stared at the ssage. What would she say? That Satori had undergone so kind of personality transplant? That he was suddenly cleaning and cooking and exercising?

[All fine. Nothing to report.]

She sent the ssage, then stared at her phone. Why had she lied? Wouldn’t her father be pleased to hear that his stepson was finally showing signs of responsibility?

She didn’t trust it. Change that ca this suddenly couldn’t be real, and the mont she acknowledged it, that would give him power. And she’d spent too long making sure he had none.

Another text ca through.

[Good. I’ll call tomorrow. Love you, princess.]

Natalia put her phone down and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The taste of the al lingered, a concrete reminder of the evening’s strangeness.

One al. One cleaned room. One push-up, pathetic as it was.

It ant nothing. It changed nothing.

Yet as she drifted off to sleep, that nod kept replaying in her mind.

Sohow, it felt more threatening than any words he could have said.