My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 344: The Declaration
The VP stepped onto the hardwood.
The elderly man looked small against the 200,000 people vastness in the stadium—gray hair, stooped shoulders, a face that had seen too many administrative headaches to be impressed by much anymore.
He wore his usual suit—conservative, boring, exactly what you’d expect from someone whose job was to keep a school full of Legacy brats from burning down the building (or each other).
A microphone was pressed into his hand.
The screens zoomed on his face, broadcasting his image to every corner of the stadium, to every streaming platform, to every viewer around the world who’d tuned in to watch whatever this was about to become.
He cleared his throat.
"Good afternoon, everyone."
His voice echoed—amplified by speakers hidden throughout the architecture, bouncing off the curved walls until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Welcome to Ashford Elite Academy Stadium."
Polite applause. A few whistles from the student sections. A drunk Legacy kid in the third row yelled, "Get on with it, old man!" and got shushed by his friends.
"Today marks a new phase for our institution. A celebration of excellence. A showcase of the incredible talent that our basketball program has cultivated over the years."
He paused. Adjusted his glasses. Continued.
"The Ashford Elite basketball team has brought more trophies to this academy than any other athletic program in our Academy history. Championships. National titles. Recognition that puts us on the map year after year. It is a legacy—" he smiled slightly at his own word choice, dry and knowing "—that we are immensely proud of."
Another pause.
"And it’s for this reason that we’ve decided to welcome this moment. When our very own team challenges each other to determine who is the best of the best. When we welcome a new player with incredible talent into our ranks. It’s only right to prepare something... special."
He gestured broadly at the stadium around them—grand, sweeping, like a king displaying his kingdom.
"This is the first event of its kind in Paradise’s history. The stakes are high. And I’ve been told..." He chuckled—dry, knowing, the sound of a man who’d seen every kind of teenage bullshit and still had to pretend he cared. "I’ve been told that bets will be placed."
Laughter rippled through the student sections. Everyone knew. Everyone was already calculating odds in their heads, already checking betting code shared to them on their phones on the entrance (Yuki’s work), already planning how they’d spend their winnings (or how they’d look at disappearing hundreds of thousands and millions because they chose wrong).
"Now, I know I can’t stop the betting." The VP’s tone turned wry, almost fond—like a disappointed uncle who still loved his degenerate nephews.
"Trying to stop Paradise from gambling is like trying to stop the tide with a tennis racket. But I ask you—please—do so responsibly. Don’t bet your college funds. Don’t bet your cars. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t bet your siblings."
More laughter. Louder this time. A few students whooped.
Someone in the back yelled, "Too late!" and got a round of high-fives.
"Save the siblings for poker night, at least, Ye?"
The crowd cheered—appreciating the old man’s effort, recognizing what he was doing. The speech was meant to ease the atmosphere. To replace the real reason this was happening with something more glorified, more acceptable, more palatable for the cameras and the sponsors and the families watching from their VIP boxes.
Everyone knew the truth.
A charity case had challenged the Prince of Earth.
One of them was about to be humiliated in front of the entire world.
And everyone—everyone—had shown up to watch.
They didn’t give a single shit about the sanitized version. They wanted blood. They wanted drama. They wanted to see someone’s world crumble while they ate overpriced popcorn and placed bets on the outcome.
The VP knew it too.
Which was why he wrapped up quickly.
"And now—" He turned toward the sideline where a figure was waiting, already bouncing on his toes like he’d been mainlining caffeine and ego for breakfast. "I’ll hand things over to the young man who’ll be taking you through today’s event. You know him. You love him. You’ve probably heard him spreading rumors about your love life at least twice this semester."
Laughter erupted—loud, genuine, the kind that said the old man had earned his paycheck today.
"Ladies and gentlemen—David Lockwood!"
The front of the stadium (students) exploded.
David bounded onto the court like he’d been born for this moment.
Which, honestly, he probably believed he had been.
The kid was a walking contradiction—student journalist, gossip king, the guy who knew everyone’s secrets and somehow made you like him anyway.
He had a face that made you want to trust him even while he was definitely memorizing your darkest confessions for later use. Six-foot-one of pure charisma, golden hair swept back like he’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial, grin wide enough to blind people in the nosebleeds.
He snatched the microphone from the VP with the confidence of someone who’d never experienced a single moment of self-doubt in his entire life.
"ASHFORD ELITE!"
The student sections detonated—twenty thousand voices turning into a single, primal roar that shook the obsidian walls.
"PARADISE!"
Louder.
"DOWNTOWN!"
Even louder.
"AND EVERYONE WATCHING FROM HOME—" He spun in a slow, theatrical circle, pointing at every camera he could find, eyes sparkling with manic glee. "I SEE YOU! DON’T THINK I DON’T SEE YOU! MY ANALYTICS ARE GOING TO BE INSANE AFTER THIS!"
The crowd lost its mind—laughter, cheers, whistles, a few people actually screaming his name like he was a rock star.
David grinned—sharp, knowing, absolutely in his element—then threw his head back and let out a howl that echoed through the speakers.
"Y’ALL READY FOR THIS?!"
"YESSSSS!"
"I SAID—ARE YOU READY?!"
The stadium answered with a sound that could crack glass.
David raised his arms like a conductor about to begin a symphony, then dropped them dramatically.
"Alright, alright, settle down, you beautiful disasters. We’ve got a game to watch, history to witness, and bets to lose. Let’s make this interesting, yeah?"
He paced the center circle—slow, deliberate, mic in one hand, the other pointing at random sections like he was picking out victims.
"First things first—shoutout to the VP for that beautiful speech. Sir, you tried. You really tried. But we all know why we’re here, right?"
The crowd roared—knowing, hungry.
"We’re not here for ’excellence’ or ’legacy’ or whatever corporate bullshit they fed you in the program notes." He cupped his ear, leaning toward the student section. "We’re here to watch a so-called charity-case nobody try to humble the Prince of Earth in front of two hundred thousand people and a livestream that’s already trending worldwide!"
The arena exploded again—cheers, boos, laughter, bets being screamed across sections.
David spun—pointing toward the tunnel where Phei would emerge.
"Now listen—y’all know the stakes. If the prince wins, it’s just another day in Paradise. Legacy kid crushes outsider, film at eleven, everyone goes home happy. But if our fav Phei wins..." He paused, grin turning wicked. "If my boss Phei wins, the Heavenchilds get publicly embarrassed, the Ashfords look like geniuses for letting this happen, and every single one of you who bet on the underdog gets to flex on your rich decision with hundreds of thousands in returns for the rest of the semester."
He cupped his ear again.
"WHO BET ON PHEI?!"
Half the student section screamed their lungs out.
"WHO BET ON MARCUS?!"
The other half—but louder—answered.
David laughed—bright, infectious, the sound of a man who lived for chaos.
"Beautiful. I love democracy. Now let’s talk about the man himself."
He turned toward the tunnel—spotlight already swinging that way.
"Phei Ryujin Tiamat." David announced as had been instructed by Emily. "The kid who walked in here ten years ago with nothing—no name, no money, no connections—and suddenlt, three weeks ago had somehow turned the entire academy upside down. The kid who got the Paradise princesses head-over-heels, made the entire school body love him and his wave of change, and now has the balls to challenge the Prince of Earth to a one-on-one in front of the whole world."
He paused—letting the name hang.
"Some of y’all call him a charity case. Some call him a legend in the making. Me? I call him dangerous."
The crowd buzzed—anticipation thick enough to choke on.
David paced again—slow, predatory.
"Because here’s the thing: Marcus Heavenchild is the best player this academy has ever produced. Undefeated. Untouchable. He’s got the skills, the legacy, the name. He’s the Prince of Earth for a reason."
He stopped. Turned to the crowd.
"But Phei?" David’s grin turned feral. "Phei doesn’t play by the rules. He doesn’t care about your name, your money, your bloodline. He cares about one thing: winning. And if he steps on this court today and puts Marcus on his ass..."
He let the silence stretch.
"...then Paradise is about to learn what happens when a nobody becomes a somebody."
The arena erupted—cheers, boos, laughter, bets flying across sections.
David raised the mic one last time—voice dropping low, almost intimate.
"So, let’s get this straight, Paradise. Today isn’t just a game. It’s a statement. It’s a declaration. It’s the moment we find out if the Prince of Earth can handle the kid who refuses to bow."
He spun toward the tunnel—spotlight hitting the entrance.
