VILLAIN'S HAREM IN OTOME GAME

Eren propped himself up on one elbow, staring down at the absolute peak.

Violet was sleeping peacefully.

Her frame was completely cocooned within the blanket, curled up against his flank like an exhausted kitten after raiding a house. Her soft purple hair was splayed messily across the pillow, a faint, contented smile gracing her lips, and her breathing fluttered against his ribs. She had taken everything he had to offer, her pussy still dripping with his essence, yet she looked peaceful.

Eren mused with a fond grin.

Suddenly, a sharp, disorienting spike of dizziness pierced right between his temples.

His vision blurred into double and triple exposures, warping the room like a melting canvas before snapping violently back into focus. He blinked hard, raising a hand to thump the side of his skull twice, beating like a dying remote.

"Ugh, great. Now my vision is glitching," he muttered, shaking his head.

The strange dizziness settled. Eren let out a quiet sigh, his blue gaze softening as he gently reached down to brush a stray violet curl away from her porcelain cheek.

Truth be told, he had never planned to build a harem. He was a cynical pragmatist trying to dodge execution flags and save the princess. Yet fate kept finding every conceivable angle to shove him into the arms of terrifyingly competent, dangerously gorgeous women until surrender was the only option.

’Alright, fine. I’m a shameless degenerate too,’ he admitted freely to himself. ’Can’t exactly play the saint after everything I’ve done.’

Still, as he traced her jaw, the humor faded.

She was precious. Just like Aria, Emma, Mira, Norelia, and Carolynn, she had handed him her heart and stepped into his chaotic orbit. He had made a vow the moment their bodies connected: he would protect her. He would never let her regret choosing him.

Right on cue, a smooth, melodious, thoroughly smug female voice echoed directly in his mind.

[Ding!]

[My, my, Host... what exquisite lines. I’m practically weeping tears at this display of noble chivalry.]

The System teased with amused sarcasm.

Eren didn’t even flinch, keeping his reply strictly within his mind. ’If you’re here to distribute the reward, do it quietly, you glorified AI. Don’t disturb my moment with her.’

[Well, ok. Processing debauchery dividends now...]

[Harem Bond Criteria Met!]

[Achievement Unlocked: Corrupting the Innocent Kitten into a Certified Degenerate.]

[New Harem Bond Registered: Violet Lavenza]

[Reward: +2,000 Fate Points]

[Current Fate Point Balance: 8,600 FP]

[Executing Data Retrieval...]

[Accessing Violet Lavenza’s primary skill archive...]

[Randomizing active draws...]

[New Skill Unlocked: Burst]

Eren’s brow furrowed upward. ’Burst? What kind of skill is that? Does it detonate mana circuits, or did I inherit her panic reflex?’

[Skill details are accessible via the status interface, Host.]

[Though considering your schedule tomorrow evening, might I remind you of your pending requisitions?]

’Right. Kiliyan’s ambush, and I need an edge for my girls,’ Eren thought. ’System, execute the purchase for the two items we flagged on the reserve list.’

[Inquiry: Confirming purchase of two reserved gift items? Total cost: 4,500 Fate Points.]

A smirk returned to Eren’s lips as he looked across his sleeping girl toward the moonlit window.

’Confirm the purchase,’ Eren commanded silently. ’And pull up the full Skill Shop Menu. Let’s see what kind of things I could buy for the chaos tomorrow.’

****

Twelve hours before the raid, Midwest sector.

The air was still chilled and blurry with morning fog, the sun barely up, colouring the sky pale orange and twilight indigo. Most of the city was still dead asleep.

Down within the alleys of the Midwest sector, the sewer grates exhaled damp vapor and the cobblestones stayed slick with grime.

A figure stood against the brick wall, draped in white robes that seemed almost bright against the filth, head hidden beneath a deep white hood. Underneath, the person wore a pale, stylized skull mask.

Glancing past the street corner toward an upscale, discreet townhouse, the skull-masked scout walked into an adjoining alleyway.

"Target is exiting," the scout reported in a flat whisper. "Rear entrance."

Another figure propped casually against the rotting wheel of a broken wooden cart.

This person throws the still-burning cigarette onto the ground, grinding it beneath the boot. Reaching to a belt loop, the figure raised a polished golden mask, concealing the face securely.

"Move in," the golden-masked figure muttered.

Down on the street, the second personal aide of Baron Kiliyan stepped through the reinforced rear door of the private residence. He was a middle-aged, portly man dressed in a fine coat that reeked faintly of cheap perfume and expensive brandy. Buttoning his thick wool coat against the biting morning breeze, he let out a wide, shuddering yawn, his heavy eyelids drooping from a night of lavish luxury.

He took three sluggish steps down the narrow alleyway, his leather boots crunching faintly over gravel.

Then, the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.

The silence of the district suddenly felt too absolute. The suffocating drop in atmospheric pressure made the hair on his arms prickle with cold dread.

The aide whipped his head around.

Nothing.

"Just your nerves, you idiot," he tried to reassure himself, quickening his pace toward the main thoroughfare. "The carriage is only two blocks away—"

Then a boot click behind him shattered the illusion. The aide panicked. His eyes dilated in terror, his hangover instantly vaporized by adrenaline, and he broke into a desperate sprint, clutching the heavy purse at his hip.

He didn’t make it five yards though. Poor guy.

From the rooftops of the adjoining corridor, five white-cloaked figures dropped like hunting falcons, their boots hitting the stones without a sound.

Before the aide could even scream, the lead skull mask swept low across the cobblestones, a short hooked blade catching him behind the right knee. Tendons snapped, sickeningly.

"Aaargh—!"

The aide’s shriek was cut short as a second guy struck from his left, kicking into his other knee joint with shattering force. His legs gave out completely. His portly bulk slammed hard against the jagged stone pavement, knocking the breath from his lungs in a wheezing, pathetic gasp.

The aide dragged himself forward by his fingernails, scraping his knuckles against the stones as a trail of dark blood smeared behind his ruined legs.

"P-Please—mercy! I have coin—I have imperial money—" he cried.

A third figure in white robes stepped into his path, blocking his desperate crawl. Without remorse, that person reached down, grabbing the aide’s greased hair, and ruthlessly yanked his head backward until his neck bones popped.

The aide let out a choked shriek of agony as the operative forced him up onto his knees.

The black-maske stepped out from the fog, arms loosely folded, tilting their head as they looked down at the shivering, bleeding middleman.

"Please....I don’t know anything—money. I would give everything I have. Please leave me," the aide begged desperately, the value of his life made him forget the pain.

The black masked man just stared at him in cold silence for a moment and nodded.

"The substance...where is it?"