Gon's Harem System
Chapter 123: Surprise at the courtyard.

Chapter 123: Surprise at the courtyard.

The kingdom stage loomed on the horizon, and the Duke clearly intended for Gon to be ready, whether he liked it or not.

He lay there for a moment longer, staring up at the ceiling of his chamber.

The weight of expectation settled over him again, familiar and heavy.

But beneath it, that fire still burned—the same fire that had driven him through the tournament, the same fire that had carried him this far.

He might grumble and groan, but deep down, Gon knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

This was his chance, his shot at proving himself on a stage far bigger than the duchy.

And he would seize it with both hands, no matter how tired he was, no matter how many early mornings awaited him.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of bed, his muscles protesting as he stood. "Alright," he muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Let’s get this over with."

He sighed again softly to himself as he dismissed Ana with a casual wave. "Off you go," he said, his voice light but firm, already turning his attention to the pile of clothes strewn across his bed.

Ana lingered for a moment at the doorway, her footsteps hesitating on the stone floor.

Then, as if a sudden thought struck her, she rushed back toward him, her shoes tapping quickly against the ground.

Before Gon could react, she planted a swift peck on his cheek, her lips brushing his skin for the briefest second.

Then she spun around and darted out of the room, the door banging shut behind her in her haste.

Gon shook his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Women," he muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

He reached for his tunic, pulling it over his head with quick, practiced movements, his fingers fumbling slightly as he tied the laces.

As he rushed to dress up, his mind wandered to the kingdom stage of the tournament.

The duchy stage had been wild enough, full of fierce battles, unexpected twists, and so many strong mages that he’d barely kept up.

If that had been so intense, so packed with talent and chaos, the next stage was bound to be even more overwhelming.

He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of fighters he’d face, what kind of power they’d bring to the arena.

He tugged on his boots, stomping his feet to settle them properly, his thoughts still spinning.

He wondered if he would actually be able to last against any of them, those mages with their flashy spells , those warriors with their gleaming blades.

The idea sat heavy in his chest as he grabbed his cloak, swinging it over his shoulders with a flourish.

Soon, Gon was all dressed up, the fabric of his tunic settling against his skin, the weight of his boots grounding him.

He stepped out of his room, the wooden door creaking as he pulled it shut, and headed for the courtyard, his steps echoing faintly in the empty hallway.

The courtyard was a mess, nothing like the orderly scene it had been yesterday.

The seats, once neatly arranged in rows, had been mostly removed, leaving only a few scattered benches behind.

Workers were hauling them away, their arms straining as they stacked the wooden frames into uneven piles.

Strewn banners littered the ground, their bright colors dulled by dust and footprints, and the aftereffects of feasting were everywhere, crumbs of bread, spilled wine staining the dirt, scraps of meat picked over by stray dogs.

The workers moved about slowly, clearing up as much as they could, their stony faces set in grim lines.

They grumbled to themselves, their voices low and rough, muttering about inconsiderate humans who left such messes behind without a second thought.

Gon smiled as he walked past, his boots crunching over the debris-strewn ground, the sound mingling with the workers’ complaints.

He didn’t linger, heading instead to a more secluded part of the arena, a quieter corner tucked away from the bustle.

The air there was cooler, the noise of the courtyard fading into a distant hum.

As he approached, he spotted his new swordmaster standing tall, his broad shoulders squared, his hand resting on the hilt of a blade.

But then Gon’s eyes caught something else, and his mouth dropped open in half surprise, half annoyance, his jaw hanging slack for a moment.

Standing right beside the swordmaster, with a look of pure boredom etched across his sharp features, was none other than Milo.

Milo’s arms were crossed, his posture lazy, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead.

He didn’t even glance at Gon, just stared off into the distance as if the whole scene was beneath him.

Gon’s stomach twisted at the sight—Milo, of all people, here in this quiet corner, beside the swordmaster.

The surprise hit him first, sharp and sudden, followed by a slow burn of irritation.

Milo had a way of getting under his skin, always had, and now here he was, intruding on what was supposed to be Gon’s moment.

Gon’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening as irritation flared in his chest.

"What are you doing here?!" he demanded, his voice sharp and edged with frustration.

Milo didn’t even flinch. Instead, he just shrugged, completely unbothered by Gon’s hostility. "Where else would I be?" he asked, his tone light, almost amused.

Gon’s jaw clenched, his irritation deepening. Of course Milo would act like this was nothing. Like his presence wasn’t the last thing Gon needed right now.

"I don’t know," Gon shot back, his voice rising. "Probably somewhere far away from me?!"

Milo’s expression didn’t change, but something about the way he tilted his head made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

That only made Gon angrier. He exhaled sharply, turning away from him and facing the sword master instead.

The older man had been watching the exchange silently, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between the two of them with mild confusion.

"He shouldn’t be here," Gon said firmly, motioning toward Milo without looking at him. "Tell him to go."

The sword master didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on Gon, then shifted to Milo, as if weighing the situation carefully.