My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 286: The System’s Requirements and Specific Targets
Touch a woman and know—know if she was hungry, know if she was starving, know if some useless man had been neglecting her until her body screamed for attention louder than a car alarm at 3 a.m.
It didn’t level up.
Couldn’t level up.
It was like the other DxD Elements—fixed, fundamental, part of what made a dragon a dragon. The instinct to recognize treasure that was being discarded. To sense the women that lesser men had failed to handle, failed to protect, failed to satisfy.
Abandoned jewels, just waiting for someone worthy to claim them. That’s me, Phei thought. The worthy one.
Humble as ever.
[Healing Touch: Level 1]
Now this one bothered him.
Given its importance—given how it had saved his arse, how many injuries it had mended, how useful it would be in the fights to come—he should’ve leveled it up ages ago.
Should’ve pumped it full of EXP until it was stronger than any ability he had, until he could heal bullet wounds with a handshake and cancer with a high-five.
But when he’d tried—
[Note: Healing Touch level up is LOCKED! Hidden requirements must be met!]
—he’d gotten that.
The System wasn’t telling him what requirements. Wasn’t giving hints or guidance or even vague suggestions like "maybe try healing someone you actually give a shit about, dipshit." Just... locked. Figure it out yourself, mate.
But he could feel it.
Something in his bones, in the way the ability hummed when he used it, in the subtle shift of energy that happened whenever he healed—like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for him to get the punchline.
He was close.
Close to whatever breakthrough the System was waiting for.
Maybe when he finally unlocked it, he’d get healing better than any vampire ever known. Regeneration that could rebuild him from nothing. The ability to bring others back from the edge of death with a single touch—assuming they hadn’t pissed him off too badly that day.
Or maybe—
Add other possibilities later, he told himself. Stop theorizing like a conspiracy nut in a tinfoil hat. Start doing.
He chuckled softly—low, dark, the sound of a man who’d just realized his life was a porno written by a sadist with a thesaurus—and stood up from the chaise.
His clothes were ruined in a "aggressive sex in a hidden room." Stained in others that whispered "we didn’t even try to be subtle."
The kind of destroyed that would make a dry cleaner weep and charge double for the therapy.
The girls’ uniforms weren’t faring better—Sierra’s blouse was missing buttons like they’d defected to a better life, Maddie’s skirt had a tear that would make walking look like a drunk tango, and there were... fluids... on fabrics that probably couldn’t be saved without an exorcism.
Sexy.
Very professional.
Luckily, he had an assistant now.
Emily. Sweet, eager, desperately-his Emily, who’d do anything he asked and thank him for the privilege like he’d just handed her a winning lottery ticket instead of a laundry list.
He’d texted her earlier—asked her to grab fresh uniform sets for him and the girls from the Main Legacies common room.
The girls had spares stored there. For him too, actually.
They’d added his sets after realizing every fuck session around school ended in wardrobe casualties. Practical. Forward-thinking. The kind of logistical planning that said "we expect to be fucked senseless on a regular basis and have prepared accordingly, because we’re not amateurs."
God, I love them.
But Emily was taking forever.
He could guess why. The Main Legacies common room wasn’t exactly welcoming territory for a scholarship student playing errand girl. Even with Maddie and Sierra’s explicit permission to enter, the other Main Legacies would give her trouble.
Sneer at her. Make her feel small. Probably whisper "charity case" loud enough for her to hear while pretending it was an accident.
But she’d said she could handle it.
And he trusted her on that.
Mostly because the alternative was him walking in there himself, and that would end with someone’s ego in intensive care.
Speaking of Main Legacies.
Phei pulled up the mission details again, running through the numbers in his head like a bookie calculating bad bets.
He didn’t need to conquer all of them to complete the mission. Never had, really. The System had been specific about certain targets—family members, particular women, key figures in the Paradise hierarchy who probably tasted like old money and repressed rage.
But he’d wanted them anyway.
All of them.
Because the idea of any of those virgin beauties going to another man—giving themselves to some unworthy Legacy prick who wouldn’t appreciate them, wouldn’t satisfy them, would probably fumble the job like a drunk trying to thread a needle—
No.
Couldn’t live with that.
Wouldn’t.
Wait.
How were they even still virgins?
These girls—rich, beautiful, surrounded by boys who’d kill (or at least bribe heavily) for a chance with them.
In any normal world, they’d have been deflowered years ago. Would’ve experimented, explored, figured out what they liked with fumbling teenage partners who didn’t deserve the privilege and probably lasted thirty seconds.
But this wasn’t a normal world.
This was Paradise.
And in Paradise, virginity was currency. Power. A bargaining chip to be preserved until the right alliance, the right marriage, the right strategic fucking that would benefit the family bloodline more than the actual participants.
These girls had been trained since birth to guard their purity like dragons guarding gold—except the dragons were the ones being guarded, and the gold was between their legs.
And who better to steal that gold than an actual dragon? Phei grinned, sharp enough to cut glass. Couldn’t have it any other way.
The overwhelming joy when he finally deflowered them—when he took what they’d been saving, what they’d been told to protect with their lives, and made it his—his name carved into their first screams, their first shudders, their first "oh fuck yes"—
His inner dragon stirred at the thought. Rumbled with anticipation like a furnace kicking on in winter.
Down, boy. Focus. Horny later.
The math was simple.
Dean mission: Gave him a 50% complete of the mission.
Aunt Melissa, Sierra, Maddie: 20% added.
Soon—Delilah. His beloved cousin, the one who’d been grinding on his cock in the garden like it was the last ride at the fair, the one who’d begged for it in her childhood bedroom before Sienna cockblocked them like a jealous hall monitor.
When he finally took her virginity, that would push things to 80%.
One more Legacy after that: 90%.
But here was the thing—the implication the mission had been very clear about, in that cold, clinical System way that made everything sound like a tax audit.
Certain figures were non-negotiable.
Family members. Specific targets. Women the System had flagged as essential to whatever grand, fucked-up design it was working toward.
He could fuck a hundred Legacies and the mission would still sit at 90% unless—
Unless I get her.
A face swam up in his mind. Curves that didn’t quit. That attitude of her’s. The hot rude neighbor who looked at him like she wanted to slap him.
Ms. Adriana.
Brett’s mother.
Amber’s mother.
The System had been very specific about that one.
There’s a certain beauty who needs my cock deep inside her, Phei thought, even if she doesn’t know it yet. Even if she hates me. Even if she’s married to a man who probably hasn’t made her come since the Clinton administration.
He could already imagine it. The married woman. The MILF next door. The forbidden fruit that would taste sweeter than anything because she shouldn’t want him, shouldn’t need him, shouldn’t be spreading her legs for the charity case her son despised—
Fuck.
His dragon stirred again. Harder to ignore this time. Practically purring like a chainsaw on low.
Focus.
The mission existed. The requirements were clear. And even though he no longer wanted to fuck women just for completion percentages—even though his motivations had evolved into something messier and more genuine, something that felt dangerously close to actual caring—
The existence of the mission still pumped him up.
Still fired something primal in his blood.
And he was going to finish it.
Before this week ended.
All of it.
But first—a mission that wasn’t from the System.
The apology letters.
He’d promised. He’d committed. And today, he was going to the Ashford estate to deliver them personally.
What he didn’t know—
What he couldn’t know—
Was that the moment he arrived at that estate today, everything would change.
The Ashford Madam was waiting.
Elena was waiting.
The One Above and the Supreme Crimson Consort were waiting.
Because somewhere in that house—in those halls that had seen generations of Legacy schemes, betrayals, and the occasional quiet murder—someone who could slice the skies themselves was sharpening her patience like a blade.
Waiting for him to walk into her den.
Their den.
Today, Phei’s survival couldn’t be guaranteed.
Not with predators circling.
Not with powers beyond his understanding preparing to judge whether he was worthy of their world—or needed to be removed from it like a stain on silk.
His life was about to end.
Or change forever.
Probably both, some dark part of him whispered, the part that still remembered the rooftop and the cold concrete that had waited for him below.
Probably both.
****
A/N: The wait is over! Next comes the teacher illicit, Amber, the Ashfords, Consort and One Above and the Awakening
