Chapter 877 - 876- Parents who need some Lessons

Chapter 877: Chapter 876- Parents who need some Lessons

Her belly bulged. I could see it—the outline of my cock beneath the skin of her lower abdomen, pushing and retreating with each thrust. The head hammered her cervix with each stroke. The pressure was building. In both of us.

I slammed. One final, total thrust. My cock buried to the root. My balls pressed against her ass, tight and full. The head, which had been hammering her cervix, pushed through. Into her womb. The walls, which had been clenching, convulsed.

I came.

The cum, thick and hot, pumped into her. Rope after rope. The first shot hit her womb and she screamed—a sound that tore through the night air. The second filled her deeper. The third made her belly swell visibly. I held her. My hands on her waist. My cock twitching inside her. Each twitch sent another pulse of cum. Her eyes rolled. The whites showed. Her mouth fell open. Her tongue, pink and wet, extended. Her body, which had been rigid, went limp.

"Ah... ah... ahh..."

The sound was barely human. A breath. A sigh. The sound of a woman whose consciousness was slipping. Her eyes fluttered. Closed. Her head fell against my shoulder. Her arms, which had been around my neck, loosened. Her legs, which had been around my waist, went slack.

She was out.

I held her. My cock, still inside, softened slowly. The cum, which had filled her, leaked around the shaft and ran down her thighs in white streams. I pulled out. The cock emerged with a wet, sucking sound. The cum, white and thick, poured from her pussy in a slow flood that dripped from her lips and pooled on the balcony floor.

I lifted her. Princess carry. Her head lolled against my arm, mouth slightly open, breath shallow. Her body, small and limp, weighed nothing. I walked her to the bed and laid her down. Her legs fell open. The cum, which was leaking steadily, pooled on the sheets beneath her.

I looked at Sofia. She was standing by the desk, watching. Her body, which was naked, was still flushed. Her eyes, which had been glazed, were clear. Alert. Waiting.

"Clean her," I said. "And tell her something when she wakes up."

Sofia tilted her head.

"Tell her that from now on, she’s mine. If she wants help for Aldric, if she wants her parents protected, she comes to me. Not to the infirmary. Not to anyone else. Me."

Sofia nodded. The motion was small. Obedient. "I understand, Lord Viktor."

I pulled on my shirt. Buttoned it slowly, one button at a time. My pants, which had been on the floor, went on. I tucked the shirt in and adjusted my coat. The man in the mirror—had there been one—would have looked like a professor leaving a late study session. Composed. Professional. Unmarked. Not a hair out of place.

"Where are you going?" Sofia asked.

"To visit Yuki’s parents." I checked my cuffs. "The meeting is tonight. And I have a debt to collect."

I smiled. Not the professor’s smile. The other one.

"From the mother."

I vanished. The air where I’d been standing folded inward, a brief compression that made the candle flames gutter, and then smoothed flat. The room was empty except for two naked women and the smell of sex.

The capital city spread beneath me like a lit wound.

I stood on the clock tower at the city’s center, my coat whipping in the night wind. The stone beneath my boots was cold and slick with condensation. Below, the streets should have been empty. It was late. The lamps were lit. The shops were closed.

But people were moving.

Not the usual evening traffic—servants running errands, guards on patrol, the occasional noble’s carriage rolling past with a lazy arrogance. These were clusters. Groups. People standing in the streets and talking with the kind of body language that meant fear. Hands gesturing. Heads shaking. Eyes darting toward the palace district and then away, as if looking too long might draw attention.

I caught fragments as the wind carried them up.

"—the royal faction has separated from the Noble Council. The announcement came this morning—"

"—civil war. They’re saying civil war. The king recalled the southern garrisons—"

"—trades are frozen. The merchant guilds don’t know what to do—"

"—the Ktorian family moved their assets east. If you have coin in their banks, it’s gone—"

Good. Everything was moving. The pieces I’d set in motion weeks ago were falling into place like dominoes in a line that I’d spent months arranging. The championship at the academy would serve as the spark—the event that scattered students into the forest, created casualties, and gave me the cover I needed. The civil war would follow. And in the chaos, the women I’d claimed would be mine permanently. Not because I’d forced them. Because they’d have nowhere else to go.

But first, the Tanabe family.

I found their mansion three blocks from the merchant district. It was modest by noble standards—two stories, stone and timber, a small garden behind a wrought-iron gate. The kind of house that a successful merchant family might own in good times and struggle to keep in bad.

These were bad times.

The windows were lit. The gate was manned by two guards who looked like they hadn’t been paid in a week—slouching, thin, their uniforms patched at the elbows. I dropped from the roof and landed in front of them. They jumped. Hands went to swords.

"State your—"

"Viktor Ktorian."

The name hit them like a physical force. The guards, who had been reaching for weapons, went still. Their faces, which had been hard, went pale—the kind of pale that comes not from fear of violence but from fear of consequence. The Ktorian name meant money. Money meant power. Power meant the ability to end careers with a word.

They looked at each other. At me. At the name.

"Lord... Lord Ktorian. Please. Please come in." The guard’s hand, which had been on his sword hilt, dropped like it was weighted. He fumbled with the gate latch. The iron swung open with a creak that needed oil.

I walked through. The path to the front door was cracked. Weeds grew in the gaps between the stones, some of them waist-high. The garden, which had probably been maintained once, was overgrown. The fountain in the courtyard was dry, its basin cracked, leaves collecting in the empty bowl.

A maid met me at the door. She was old, tired, and terrified. She curtsied so deep I thought she might not come back up.

"Lord Ktorian. Please. The master and madam are in the parlor. I will announce—"

"No need."

I walked past her.

Through the hall. Past the portraits of ancestors that hung on walls that needed paint—faded faces in gilded frames that were tarnishing at the corners. Past the furniture that had been polished but was old, the wood dull, the cushions thin. Past the signs of a family that had been comfortable once and was now holding on by its fingernails.

The parlor door was open. I stepped through.

Two people were inside. A man—Mr. Tanabe, Yuki’s father. He was thin, grey-haired, with the kind of face that had once been handsome and was now drawn with worry. He sat in a chair by the fireplace, one hand on his knee, the other on his wife’s shoulder. The fire was low. The room was dim.

His wife. Mrs. Tanabe.