My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 239 - 239: The NEW Mission

Phei stopped dead in his tracks.

The notification had popped up without warning—text burning across his vision like a divine summons he hadn’t bloody asked for, but the universe had decided to deliver anyway:

[DING!]

[QUEST UNLOCKED: Stage Presence

Objective: At the assembly, take the spotlight, steal the stage from the academy president, and announce your debut in basketball!

Rewards: Cool Aura Wave (Single Use)

Note: This is a ONE-TIME USE ability. Choose your moment wisely]

Basketball?

Since when did the system give a toss about his athletic debut? And what the hell was a “Cool Aura Wave”—some kind of metaphysical flex that made everyone in the room spontaneously develop a smoking habit and a Phei fetish?

“Phei?” Sierra’s voice sliced through his confusion—sharp as ever, the kind of sharp that could open envelopes and egos with equal ease. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Or a really shite grade,” Maddie added, still leaning into him because her legs were apparently staging a protest after this morning’s kitchen demolition—a protest that involved wobbling like a newborn foal and occasional winces that were half pain, half smug satisfaction.

Delilah just watched him with those big cognac eyes, all soft concern and unspoken devotion—the kind of devotion that made you want to ruin her just to see if the devotion survived the wreckage.

Phei blinked the notification away.

“Do we have an assembly today?”

All three girls exchanged glances—then laughed.

“Of course we have an assembly,” Sierra said, one perfect brow climbing toward her hairline like it was auditioning for Mount Everest. “It’s been on the schedule for a week. Where have you been?”

Busy molting into a demigod and fucking you both into next Tuesday, he didn’t say.

“There’s supposed to be a surprise announcement too,” Maddie added. “Very hush-hush. The administration’s been tight-lipped, which means it’s either really good or catastrophically bad—like they’re announcing free tuition or that we’re all getting mandatory therapy for our collective Phei issues.”

“Surprise announcement?” Phei repeated.

Delilah nodded. “Some new changes. Student council, sports programs—there’s been rumours about both.”

Sports programs.

Basketball.

The system wanted him to announce his basketball debut at an assembly that already had a surprise announcement planned.

That isn’t coincidence.

That is opportunity.

His lips curved into something slow and dangerous—the kind of smile that made smart women do stupid things and stupid women do legendary things.

“Interesting.”

Sierra eyed him like he’d just announced plans to commit arson. “Why do I feel like you’re about to give me a migraine?”

“Because you know me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughed and started walking, his three women falling into step around him like they belonged there.

Which, he supposed, they did.

****

The Main Legacy Exclusive Common Room was, quite simply, obscene.

Not regular obscene. Not oh-that’s-a-nice-chandelier obscene. This was the kind of obscene that made you want to laugh and cry and maybe burn something down, all at once—six stories of white marble and golden light stretching toward a glass ceiling that probably cost more than the GDP of a small island nation, just so the elite could photosynthesize their superiority under natural light.

Spiral staircases curved up through the atrium like the ribcage of some beautiful dead god, pristine white against all that gleaming marble, and everywhere, everywhere, the quiet hum of money so old it had forgotten how to be loud—the kind of money that didn’t need to brag because it had already bought the room’s silence.

Each floor wrapped around the central void in open-air balconies, all glass walls so you could see exactly how the other point-zero-one percent lived—and judge them accordingly while pretending you were above it all.

Second floor: study rooms with tech built into the desks and acoustic panels that swallowed sound like hungry little mouths—because even studying had to be a luxury experience, apparently, complete with white noise that sounded suspiciously like servants whispering “yes, master.”

Third floor: a bloody science lab next to a tech section running software that wouldn’t exist for normal humans for another three years, holographic displays flickering with data that probably solved problems most people didn’t even know existed yet—like how to make champagne colder without offending its feelings.

Fourth and fifth: relaxation lounges and separate napping suites for boys and girls—memory foam beds, blackout curtains, aromatherapy diffusers pumping out lavender, probably servants who’d tuck you in if you asked nicely—or harshly, depending on your kink.

Sixth floor was supposedly a rooftop garden with a meditation pavilion and a bloody koi pond, but Phei had never been high enough in the hierarchy to confirm, and honestly, if someone told him there was a private zoo up there with endangered species trained to fetch slippers, he’d believe it without blinking.

The ground level sprawled beneath it all like someone had let a luxury hotel fuck a spaceship and then raised the baby on caviar and contempt.

Potted trees everywhere—actual trees, indoors, full-grown and perfectly manicured, because nature was just another thing rich people could buy and cage and make stand pretty in corners.

Designer furniture in creams and greys soft enough to drown in, the kind of couches that cost more than a year’s rent in a normal city—and probably judged me for not having a yacht.

Marble tables worth more than most people’s organs on the black market.

A café station near the eastern wall staffed by actual trained baristas in crisp uniforms, because god-fucking-forbid a Main Legacy dirty their manicured fingers making their own flat white—that’s what the poors were for.

Intimate conversation pods tucked into every corner—little bubbles of privacy where deals were made, secrets traded, futures decided over lattes that cost more than a working person’s lunch budget for a week.

Hanging pendant lights descended from the soaring ceiling at staggered heights, casting warm pools of illumination that made everything look soft and expensive and vaguely dreamlike—like a fever dream of privilege.

Everything was curved edges and warm lighting and the kind of aggressive comfort that whispered you belong here, you’ve always belonged here, the world was made for people like you.

Phei had spent years watching this world from the outside. Pressing his nose against the glass. Being reminded at every turn that he was lesser, unwanted, a charity case cluttering up the edges of a universe that would never truly accept him.

Or come here for beating from the boys.

Funny how things have changed for me.

This space wasn’t for regular students.

Wasn’t even for Immediate Legacies—the backup heirs, the spare parts, the almost-but-not-quite-good-enough.

This was Main Legacy territory.

Firstborn blood. The crowned little princes and princesses whose surnames decorated hospital wings and probably a few monuments to human greed scattered across the globe—the kind of monuments that came with plaques reading “In loving memory of tax write-offs.”

Three weeks ago, Phei wouldn’t have dared breathe too close to this door. Security would’ve had him by the collar before his shadow touched the marble—escorted out like a bad smell in a perfume factory.

Now?

Now he strolled in like he owned the deed, three Main Legacies draped over him like living trophies—and not a single soul tried to stop him.

Because Phei no longer gave a single, solitary fuck.

The room was mercifully sparse.

Most Main Legacies hadn’t arrived yet—still recovering from last night’s exclusive parties, or exercising their god-given right to be fashionably late to their own education—probably nursing hangovers that cost more than every cent I have ever made.

Which meant the only witnesses to the current shitshow were exactly the people Phei wanted watching.

Danton sat in his usual throne—oversized leather armchair, central seating area, the spot no one else dared touch—but he looked diminished. Smaller somehow, like someone had let the air out of him and forgotten to plug the hole.

The bruise on his jaw from Harold’s dinner-table assault was fading to sick yellow-green—the color of cowardice trying to hide under concealer—and his eyes kept darting toward the door like he expected daddy to materialise and finish the job.

His usual entourage had thinned considerably—the hangers-on could smell blood in the water, and rats always knew when to abandon a sinking ship—especially when the ship was captained by a guy who’d just discovered his twin sister preferred the charity case’s dick.

The mighty Danton Maxton, reduced to a nervous wreck jumping at shadows.

How the mighty fall. Usually with a pathetic little whimper.

Then his gaze found Phei.

Found Delilah. Found the way his twin sister was wrapped around the charity case like a second skin—arm looped through his, head on his shoulder, whole body radiating the kind of bone-deep contentment that only came from finally, finally getting something you’d wanted for years—and getting it good, in ways that would make family dinners eternally awkward.

Danton’s face went on a journey.

Confusion first—genuine bewilderment, something that didn’t compute, like his brain had encountered a fatal error in the incest subroutine.

Then recognition, pieces clicking into place with almost audible horror—the girl he’d fantasized about in secret, the twin whose every curve and laugh had fueled his twisted midnight confessions to his hand, was now pressed against the family reject like she’d found religion in his cock.