My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 242 - 242: The Formidable Student Council President.

He was beautiful in the way that weapons were beautiful—all clean lines and lethal precision, with a face that belonged on classical sculptures and eyes that held the warmth of a winter grave—the kind of grave you’d willingly crawl into if he asked nicely, and thank him for the privilege afterward.

Tall. Broad-shouldered but lean, the build of someone who could break you in half but would never need to, because he could destroy you far more efficiently with words and influence and the sheer crushing weight of who he was—a weight that made lesser men feel like they were drowning in their own inadequacy.

Dark hair swept back from a face that could have launched ships or sunk them—probably both, depending on his mood, and you’d never know which until it was too late. High cheekbones. A jaw that could cut glass.

And those eyes—pale grey, almost silver in the auditorium’s golden light—that swept across the assembly like a general surveying troops he fully expected to die for him—and who probably would, with smiles on their faces and thank-you notes in their pockets, because dying for Marcus felt like an honor.

He wore the Ashford uniform like other people wore crowns.

The Student Council President.

The heir to a name that made even the other founding families flinch—the kind of name that came with whispers of old money so old it predated money, power so entrenched it had its own gravitational pull, dragging everything into orbit whether it wanted to be there or not.

The boy who bowed to no one even the Dean herself—and rumour had it, even she watched her words around him—probably because she’d learned the hard way that some students bit back, and Marcus’s bite could take chunks out of legacies and spit out the bones without bothering to chew.

He walked toward the podium, and every step was a proclamation.

The grace. The nobility.

The royal bearing that seeped from his very pores like he’d been born to rule and the universe had simply agreed—signed the contract in blood, sealed it with a kiss, and then knelt to thank him for the privilege.

He didn’t hurry. He didn’t need to.

Each footfall landed with deliberate, languid precision, as though time itself had been trained to slow for him—as though the entire auditorium were holding its breath, waiting for permission to exhale.

The VP—old Ashworth himself, who’d spent fifty years refusing to bend for anyone—actually composed himself as Marcus passed. Straightened his spine. Lowered his eyes. A man who’d stared down senators and billionaires without flinching, now reduced to the subtle, involuntary deference of a servant who knows exactly who holds the leash.

Because when it came to Marcus, even the Ashfords recoiled.

The name. The family. The power behind both.

It was the kind of influence that didn’t need to be explained—you either knew, and you feared, or you didn’t know, and you learned very quickly to start fearing—usually right before you disappeared from the social register, or from existence altogether.

Marcus didn’t acknowledge the bowed heads.

Didn’t register the lowered eyes.

Didn’t offer even the courtesy of noticing the room’s collective submission.

He expected it.

He deserved it.

And the world, in its infinite wisdom, had long ago agreed to give it to him without question.

Marcus reached the podium.

Placed his hands on its edges with the casual ownership of someone who had never once doubted his right to stand anywhere he chose—and who could probably make the podium apologize for existing if it dared to creak.

He paused.

Not for effect. Not for drama.

Just long enough to let his gaze drift across the bowed heads—slow, deliberate, like a landlord inspecting tenants who’d forgotten to pay rent in respect.

His lips curved. Barely. A fractional lift at one corner, the kind of expression that wasn’t quite a smile and wasn’t quite a sneer, but somehow managed to be both—superior, dismissive, the look of a man who had already decided the room was beneath him and was merely confirming it.

He didn’t nod. Didn’t acknowledge. Didn’t offer even the pretense of equality.

He simply waited.

Letting the silence stretch, thicken, suffocate, until the bowed heads dipped lower without being told, until shoulders hunched further, until the air itself seemed to bow deeper under the weight of his indifference.

And Marcus hadn’t even spoken yet.

Yet the room had already confessed its inferiority.

And he accepted it as his due.

Except the Main Legacies, who merely inclined their heads—the shallowest possible acknowledgment of an equal they couldn’t quite bring themselves to call superior—because admitting superiority would require swallowing pride, and pride was the only thing some of them had left.

And except—

The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop in the corridor outside.

So quiet that when a chair scraped against the floor in the back row, the sound echoed like a gunshot.

Someone started standing up.

In the back. Where no one important sat. Where the nobodies and the charity cases were meant to remain invisible and silent and grateful for whatever crumbs fell from the tables of their betters.

At this moment where not even, the Dean would dare enter, let alone stand before Marcus’s presence… where everyone was supposed to stay put, quiet and bowing, hoping to no get recognized by Marcus…

Someone stood up.

And kept standing.

Towering above everyone around him—when had he gotten so tall?—with shoulders squared and spine straight and purple eyes locked directly on the stage.

Directly on Marcus.

Something no one had ever dared to do.

The whispers started before the recognition hit.

“Who is—”

“—the back row, who would—”

“—is he insane—”

And then the recognition.

“Wait, is that—”

“—can’t be—”

“—Phei?—”

“—no way, he looks completely—”

“—what the fuck—”

Phei Ryujin Tiamat didn’t hear them.

Didn’t care.

He smiled—slow, dangerous, the smile of a dragon who’d finally decided to stop hiding in sheep’s clothing—

And started walking.

Towards the predator everyone in Paradise feared!