Picking Up Girls With My Pickup System-Chapter 45: Impact Point.

Derek’s fist tore through the air like a sledgehammer.

Kent barely had time to breathe before the System flared crimson across his vision:

[Incoming Strike — Speed: 78% of Peak]

[Recommended Action: Evasion]

He dropped low. The knuckles hissed past his cheek, close enough to feel the heat of the swing. The crowd roared — half gasps, half cheers — as the blow smashed into empty air.

The shockwave of Derek’s miss rattled through Kent’s bones. If that had landed, his jaw would have shattered.

Phones shot higher, students screamed, the circle widened as Derek spun back around, face a storm of fury.

Jake’s voice cracked from somewhere in the mob: "DUCK AGAIN, BRO! JUST BE A HUMAN PINBALL!"

Kent’s pulse hammered, but he forced a grin, words spilling out before fear could shut him down.

"Is that it, Derek? You’ve got fists, but no aim?"

The crowd exploded. Laughter burst out, bouncing from one corner of the courtyard to the other. Even a few of Derek’s loyalists flinched, their smirks faltering.

The System pinged:

[Crowd Approval: +7%]

[Psychological Trap Effectiveness: 76%]

Derek’s nostrils flared. He lunged again, a blur of rage and muscle.

Kent sidestepped, his sneakers skidding on the concrete. The punch whistled past him, Derek stumbling half a step from the force of his own momentum. Gasps rang out — Kent hadn’t touched him, and yet Derek already looked clumsy.

"Careful!" Kent shouted, voice sharp, riding the wave of adrenaline. "Keep swinging like that, and you’ll tire yourself out before I even blink."

Another ripple of laughter, sharper this time. The courtyard wasn’t just watching anymore — it was enjoying the spectacle.

The System confirmed it:

[Public Perception Shift Detected]

Status: Predator → Doubtful]

Kent’s chest heaved. His strategy was working. But every dodge shaved seconds off his stamina, and Derek wasn’t slowing down.

The next swing came faster. Kent ducked — barely — and the fist clipped his shoulder instead of his jaw. Pain bloomed like fire, white-hot and merciless. He stumbled, biting back a cry.

The crowd gasped. Derek’s face split into a vicious grin.

"Finally," Derek growled, "you stopped running."

The System pulsed, almost coldly:

[Warning: Minor Damage Sustained]

[Integrity Check: Stable — Continue Maneuver]

Kent forced his legs steady. He could feel the bruise already swelling, but the fight wasn’t about bruises. Not yet.

No — this was still about breaking Derek’s mask.

Kent smirked through the pain, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Oh, I’m not running. I’m just giving you the whole courtyard to embarrass yourself in." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

The crowd erupted. Some clapped. Some howled with laughter. Even a group of freshmen chanted Kent’s name like they’d been waiting for permission.

Derek’s grin faltered. His jaw clenched, his next punch drawing back with lethal intent.

The System flared:

[Psychological Trap Effectiveness: 81%]

[Warning: Next Strike at 92% Peak Power]

Impact = Severe Damage Risk]

The courtyard wasn’t breathing. Phones locked on. Voices hushed to a knife’s edge of silence.

And Derek lunged again, this time faster than before.

The punch came like lightning.

Kent didn’t have time to think. Only the System’s glow seared across his vision:

[Incoming Strike — Max Force Detected]

[Options: Dodge / Redirect / Counter]

Dodge and I’ll look weak. Counter and I’ll get flattened. Redirect...

Kent’s mind snapped to the choice. He shifted sideways at the last second, not away from the punch, but with it, guiding Derek’s arm past him like water slipping around stone.

The crowd gasped as Derek’s own momentum betrayed him. His fist slammed into the steel support of a nearby bench with a sickening crack.

"AHH—!" Derek hissed, pulling back his hand. Pain flashed across his face, raw and unmasked.

Phones zoomed in instantly. The athletes on the east benches leaned forward, eyes wide. Even the cheerleaders whispered sharply among themselves.

Kent straightened, heart hammering, forcing himself to look calm. Then he said it—loud enough for everyone.

"Wow. You swing at me, and the furniture takes more damage. Maybe the bench should be worried, not me."

The courtyard erupted. Laughter tore through the crowd, wild and merciless. Some students even pounded their tables. A few chanted, "Bench! Bench! Bench!" like a stadium cheer.

The System pulsed in triumph:

[Humiliation Trap Activated]

Crowd Approval: +18%]

Derek’s Dominance Aura: Shattered (32% Integrity)]

Jake’s jaw dropped, his phone half-raised. "Bro... you just turned him into a meme. A bench meme."

Derek’s face burned scarlet. His jaw worked furiously, teeth clenched as if holding back the scream in his throat. His crew shifted uneasily behind him. They weren’t laughing anymore—they were watching the crowd’s reaction with something like... doubt.

Mia’s voice cut through the noise, steady and sharp. "He’s bleeding momentum, Kent. Don’t let him get it back."

The System agreed, spitting text like a battle drum:

[Opportunity Window: 12s]

Action: Twist Knife (Verbal Assault) or Escalate (Physical Follow-Up)]

Kent’s lungs heaved, every instinct screaming at him to play it safe. But safe wouldn’t win this. Safe wouldn’t end Derek.

So he raised his voice again, riding the wave of laughter until silence bent toward him.

"Look at him! Big bad Derek—’the lion,’ right? But lions don’t punch benches. Lions don’t flinch. You’re just another wannabe with fists too slow and a brain too small."

The words landed like daggers. The laughter this time wasn’t wild—it was sharp, cutting. Mockery, pure and merciless.

The System chimed:

[Verbal Strike Landed]

Psychological Trap Effectiveness: 89%]

Rival Ego Integrity: Critical Damage]

Derek’s entire body shook. His hand throbbed, his pride cracked, his control slipping. He lunged again, raw fury blazing in his eyes—

—but the crowd was no longer fully with him.

They weren’t chanting his name.

They weren’t waiting for his victory.

They were waiting to see him fall.

And Derek, blind to it, was walking straight into Kent’s jaws.

Derek lunged again, wild and unrestrained.

This wasn’t the careful predator’s swagger anymore—this was a wounded animal thrashing, pride bleeding out in front of everyone.

The System screamed in Kent’s vision:

[Enemy Attack Pattern: Reckless]

Prediction Success Rate: 76%]

Opportunity: Exploit Momentum]

Kent moved, not backward, not away—forward. He stepped off the bench and dropped low, letting Derek’s second swing cut through nothing but air.

The bigger boy overextended, his own weight betraying him.

Kent’s shoulder rammed into Derek’s ribs, not hard enough to knock him flat, but enough to stagger him sideways into the courtyard wall with a loud, humiliating thud.

The crowd roared.

"Ohhh!"

"Did you see that?!"

"Derek’s swinging like a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving!"

Phones caught every angle. Derek’s aura wasn’t just cracking—it was collapsing.

The System pulsed furiously:

[Public Perception: Turning Tide]

Crowd Loyalty: 61% → 74% (Kent)]

Rival Aura of Fear: Critical — 14% Integrity]

Emily’s voice rang from the sidelines, sharp as a blade: "Look at him! He can’t even land a hit!"

Her words hit the crowd like fire on dry grass. The chant started small, from the gamer section:

"Can’t hit! Can’t hit!"

Then it spread.

Cheerleaders. Freshmen. Even some of Derek’s usual followers.

"CAN’T HIT! CAN’T HIT! CAN’T HIT!"

Jake’s jaw nearly unhinged. "Oh my god, they’ve turned him into a glitched boss fight!"

Derek’s face twisted with rage. His eyes darted across the courtyard, desperate, furious, searching for anything to claw back his control.

And Kent saw it—the break.

Not in Derek’s fists.

Not in his body.

In his eyes.

The lion wasn’t feared anymore. The crowd didn’t see a predator. They saw a cornered bully, flailing under the spotlight.

The System blazed across Kent’s vision:

[Victory Condition: 1 Action Remaining]

Finish the Trap — Deliver Final Strike (Verbal or Symbolic)]

Kent’s lungs burned. His pulse thundered.

This was it. The last move.

He stepped into the center of the courtyard, raising his voice above the chant.

"Derek Lorn! The guy who ruled this school with fear, fists, and fake swagger... and now? Everyone sees the truth. You’re not a king. You’re not a lion. You’re just another clown—"

He pointed at Derek’s swollen, trembling hand.

"—who can’t even hit the target."

The chant exploded into laughter, cheers, and merciless echoes of his words.

"Clown! Clown! Clown!"

The System flared brighter than ever:

[Final Strike Landed]

Rival Aura of Fear: 0% Integrity — Broken]

New Title Earned: The Trapmaster]

Public Reputation Surge: +35% (Dominant Narrative Secured)]

Derek froze in the middle of the courtyard, his power shredded not by fists, but by humiliation. His crew didn’t step forward. They couldn’t—not against the roar of the school, not with the tide fully turned.

And Kent... Kent stood taller than he ever had, chest heaving, sweat dripping, but a fire in his eyes that no one—not Derek, not anyone—could deny anymore.

The predator had been unmasked.

The crowd had chosen.

And the school... would never fear Derek again.

The chant didn’t stop.

"CLOWN! CLOWN! CLOWN!"

It rolled through the courtyard like thunder, bouncing off the walls, shaking even the teachers peeking from the windows. Phones waved in the air, capturing Derek’s humiliation frame by frame.

His fists trembled at his sides. His face flushed a dangerous red. For a moment, Kent thought Derek might still swing—might try to claw back even a scrap of dignity with one last blow.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because every eye in the courtyard wasn’t waiting for Derek to win anymore. They were waiting for him to fail.

The System pulsed in Kent’s vision, merciless:

[Rival Dominance Shattered]

Derek Lorn — Status: Publicly Defeated]

New Condition Applied: Aura of Fear Disabled (Campus-wide)]

Emily’s smirk cut through the chaos. "Checkmate."

Jake gawked, still hugging his hoodie like a shield. "Holy crap... I think we actually broke the final boss."

Samir’s voice was calm, but his eyes shone with quiet awe. "Not by fists. By spectacle. By seizing the narrative first."

Mia stepped closer to Kent, her hand brushing against his wrist for just a second—a grounding spark. She didn’t smile, but her voice carried the quiet certainty of someone who had seen the outcome all along.

"You won."

Kent’s chest heaved, every muscle trembling from adrenaline, but her words sank deep. He had won. Not because he was stronger, but because he refused to play Derek’s game.

The courtyard was his now.

Derek’s crew shifted uncertainly behind him, loyalty wavering, cracks in their unity spreading like spiderwebs. Even they couldn’t shield themselves from the crowd’s verdict.

And Derek—once the predator, once the king—stood frozen, fists clenched, trapped in the echo of the chant that would haunt him for weeks, maybe longer.

Clown. Clown. Clown.

Kent didn’t need to say anything more. The school had already spoken.

The bell rang, slicing through the storm of voices. But even as students began to scatter—some laughing, some still buzzing, some rushing to post clips—the verdict lingered in the air like smoke after a fire.

Derek Lorn had fallen.

And Kent Gilbert... had taken the stage.

The System flashed one last notification:

[Main Questline Milestone Complete]

Arc Title: Predator’s Stage → Closed]

New Questline Unlocked: Aftermath of the Crown]

Kent wiped the sweat from his forehead, meeting his friends’ eyes. For the first time, the weight pressing down on him wasn’t fear. It was something else—responsibility.

Because tearing down a tyrant was one thing.

But whatever came next... would be harder.