Investing In My Four Crippled Yandere Wives Get 1000x Returns
Chapter 9|Building Around the Broken

Chapter 9: 9|Building Around the Broken

The backyard of the Hegeville house was barely large enough to qualify as one — a small, overgrown patch of dirt and weeds hemmed in by a leaning fence — but it was private, and privacy, Myria informed him, was the first requirement for training someone whose ability nobody outside this party needed to know the details of yet.

"You throw things," she said, seated in her wheelchair at the edge of the yard, a stack of scavenged bottles and scrap metal piled beside her. "Show me."

Allen picked up a bottle, testing its weight in his palm, and hurled it toward the fence.

The bottle didn’t just fly. It ’cut’ through the air, faster and straighter than anything a normal throw should have managed, striking the fence hard enough to punch clean through the rotting wood and bury itself in the dirt beyond.

Myria’s eyebrows rose slightly. "That’s not F-rank output."

"I told the evaluator something’s changed," Allen said, picking up another bottle. "She just didn’t believe there was anything worth investigating."

"Do it again. Different target." Myria pointed toward a rusted can balanced on a fence post nearly thirty meters away.

Allen threw. The can didn’t just fall — it ’exploded’, torn apart by kinetic force far beyond what a simple throw should have generated, sending shredded metal scattering into the weeds.

For a long moment, Myria said nothing, simply staring at the destroyed can with sharp, calculating eyes.

"Precision Throw," she said finally, more to herself than to him. "Unique-tier, if the Association’s evaluation is to be believed. But that output isn’t Unique-tier. That’s closer to Rare, maybe even bordering on Mythic depending on how the force amplification scales with distance." She looked up at him. "What exactly changed, Allen?"

’Here’s the question I’ve been dreading.’ Allen hesitated, weighing how much to say. He trusted her — trusted all four of them, more than he probably should have this early into whatever this marriage actually was — but the systems felt like the one card he wasn’t ready to lay fully on the table yet, not until he understood them better himself.

"I unlocked something," he said carefully. "The night we arrived. I don’t fully understand it yet, but it lets me grow — quickly, and in ways that don’t follow normal rules. I’ll tell you everything once I actually know what I’m working with. I’m not hiding it to keep secrets from you. I just don’t want to promise something I can’t explain properly yet."

Myria studied him for a long moment, sharp blue eyes searching his face with the same intensity she’d used to size him up in the car on their first day. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Fair enough," she said. "I won’t push. But when you do know, Allen — tell us. All of us. Whatever this marriage is, secrets aren’t going to make it work."

"Understood."

She gestured toward the makeshift range again. "Then let’s work with what we can see. Precision Throw scales with focus and available ammunition, which means your effectiveness in a dungeon depends entirely on preparation and terrain awareness. You’ll need to carry throwing implements — proper ones, not scrap metal — and you’ll need to learn to read a battlefield well enough to always have something within reach."

"You make it sound like a real strategy."

"It is a real strategy," Myria said, a faint note of dry amusement slipping into her voice. "I built strategies for S-rank raid parties for six years before I lost the use of my legs, Allen. I don’t intend to lower my standards just because my current student throws bottles for a living."

Allen huffed a quiet laugh, picking up another bottle. "Noted, Coach."

---

Irene joined them an hour later, dragging a scorched piece of scrap metal behind her that she’d apparently decided made an acceptable training dummy, red hair tied back and sleeves rolled up with the kind of restless energy that suggested she’d been waiting all morning for an excuse to move.

"My turn," she declared, loud as ever, setting the scrap metal down with a heavy clang. "Myria’s good with numbers and strategy, but you need someone to actually show you what getting hit by something with a pulse feels like."

"That sounds ominous."

"It should." Irene grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Don’t worry, I’ll go easy. Probably."

She didn’t go easy.

The first flame she conjured — small, controlled, deliberately restrained — still sent Allen diving sideways out of pure instinct, the heat washing over his skin even from several feet away. He rolled, came up with a scavenged bolt in hand, and threw it on reflex.

It struck true, sailing past the flame and cracking hard against Irene’s shoulder. She yelped, more surprised than hurt, and the fire guttered out as she clutched the spot with an offended glare.

"Ow! Rude!"

"You said go," Allen pointed out, breathing hard.

"I said ’training’, not ’actually hit me’!" But despite the protest, Irene was grinning, something bright and delighted flickering behind her crimson eyes. "Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. That reaction time wasn’t bad for a guy who was throwing paperweights around an office a week ago."

They kept at it for another hour, Irene’s flames growing gradually more aggressive, Allen’s throws growing gradually more precise, until both of them were breathing hard and grinning despite the exhaustion, the tension of the morning’s confrontation with Edward slowly bleeding out of the air between them.

Everlyn appeared partway through with water and a plate of something that smelled like actual food rather than emergency rations, setting both down at the edge of the yard with a small, pleased smile as she watched the two of them spar. Vivian sat beside her, head tilted, listening intently to every clash and impact, occasionally offering quiet, unsolicited feedback about footwork and timing that proved sharper than anything Allen expected from someone who couldn’t see a single movement.

By the time the sun began dipping low over Hegeville’s crooked rooftops, Allen collapsed onto the dry grass, muscles aching in ways he hadn’t felt in years, and found all four women gathered loosely around him — not quite close, still cautious in the particular way they’d been since day one, but closer than they’d been that first cold car ride into exile.

[Investment Detected: Sustained Effort — "Building genuine trust and shared purpose through collaborative training."]

[Sincerity: High. Emotional Impact: High.]

[Reward Generated: +90 Investment Points.]

[Bonus Condition Met: Multiple dependents actively engaged in Host’s growth. Bonus Multiplier +1.5x applied.]

[Total Reward: 135 Investment Points.]

Allen let the notification fade, staring up at the darkening sky, listening to Irene still teasing him about the shoulder hit, listening to Everlyn’s quiet, satisfied humming as she gathered the empty plates, listening to Myria and Vivian’s low, focused conversation about tomorrow’s training regimen.

’A week ago I was being told I was worthless by my own family,’ he thought, closing his eyes. ’Now I’ve got four legends arguing about how best to make me stronger.’

’Funny how fast things can change.’