Gon's Harem System
Chapter 156: I’m not sticking around

Chapter 156: I’m not sticking around

But that wasn’t what mattered.

The duke had brought him here, to a rival’s home, that meant something.

Maybe the old man was testing him, seeing if he could hold his own off the field.

Gon straightened in his chair, the system’s whisper a quiet hum in his head.

He’d prove himself, all right.

The marble floors shone, the tapestries hung heavy with old victories, the wine in his hand sat untouched, he was here to listen, not drink.

This was his chance to prove himself to his father, to show he could handle more than a battlefield.

The duke had brought him along after years of nothing, Gon wasn’t about to let it slip.

The heavy door at the far end of the hall swung open, Ethan Veyris strode in, his boots scraping the floor with that same cocky swagger Gon remembered.

His eyes landed on Gon, he rolled them hard enough to make a point, exasperation etched into every line of his face.

"Oh, perfect," he said, voice thick with annoyance. "Why’s he here?"

Lord Veyris turned, his silver brows drawing together as he set his wine glass down with a deliberate clink.

"Ethan," he said, his tone sharp and final. "Behave yourself. The fight’s done, over with. Duke Ardyn’s here for serious matters, not some childish squabble you couldn’t let go of."

His words landed like a slap, Ethan’s jaw clenched, his glare darting from Gon to the duke and back again.

Gon leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

He didn’t bother replying, just let Ethan simmer.

The guy had strutted into the first tournament like Gon was a joke, tossing spells and taunts until Gon put him in the dirt while Milo cheered.

Now Ethan stood there, still bitter about it.

The duke kept his eyes on his notes, scribbling away, Gon caught the slight straighten of his father’s shoulders.

This was his moment, Ethan’s little outburst only sharpened the spotlight.

Then she stepped in, Lyssia, Ethan’s sister, slipping through the door behind him like she’d been waiting for the right beat.

She was elegance in motion, dark hair pinned up, dress clinging just enough to turn heads.

But her eyes hit Gon like a blade, cold and cutting, promising trouble.

She stopped beside Ethan, arms crossed, the adults turned back to their talk, grain yields, border taxes, the usual.

That’s when she leaned in, her voice a whisper the grown-ups wouldn’t catch.

"Still riding that fluke, dukeling? Father says you’re a disgrace to your name."

Gon’s smirk didn’t budge.

He tilted his head, keeping his reply just as low.

"Funny, your brother said the same, right before I dropped him."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of anger cracking her composure, she flicked her hair and buried it fast.

The adults kept droning, oblivious, Ethan stalked off to a corner, sulking like a kicked dog.

Lyssia stayed, her next jab coming soft and sharp.

"Enjoy your little moment. It won’t last."

He met her gaze, steady and unblinking.

"We’ll see."

Ethan’s grudge was a dull ache, predictable and petty, Lyssia was different, sharp-tongued, elegant, hostile in a way that stirred something in him.

The duke wanted proof he could hold his own here, in this world of words and power.

Gon would give it to him, maybe take something extra from House Veyris while he was at it.

Gon watched as Duke Ardyn and Lord Veyris hashed out their business.

The two men stood over a table cluttered with maps and parchment, voices steady but firm, trade routes, tariffs, the kind of talk that kept an estate running.

Gon stayed in his chair, hands resting on his knees, taking it in.

Ethan stood near the hearth, arms crossed, Lyssia lingered by a tapestry, her posture stiff.

The air between them buzzed with leftover tension from downstairs, Gon kept his focus on the lords, waiting for a chance to prove he belonged here.

Lord Veyris paused, his silver hair glinting as he rubbed his temple.

The duke was laying out a point about border taxes when Veyris raised a hand, cutting through the discussion.

"Enough," he said, his voice sharp but weary. "I can’t hear myself think with you lot hovering. You three, Gon, Ethan, Lyssia, head upstairs. The children can sort themselves out while we finish this."

He waved them off, a clear dismissal, his eyes already back on the maps.

The duke grunted, a sound that might’ve been agreement, didn’t spare Gon a glance.

Gon stood, brushing his tunic straight, caught Lyssia’s quick, sidelong look, sharp, like she was sizing him up again.

Ethan unfolded his arms with a scoff, he moved first, stomping toward the wide staircase that curved up from the hall.

Gon followed, keeping a measured pace, Lyssia trailed behind, her steps light but deliberate.

The stairs groaned under Ethan’s heavy tread, the air growing cooler as they left the fire’s reach.

None of them spoke, the weight of their last exchange downstairs hung like smoke, Ethan’s bitterness, Lyssia’s venom, Gon’s quiet defiance.

They reached the top, stepping into a long hallway lined with closed doors and a single tall window spilling gray light across the floorboards.

Ethan stopped abruptly, turning on his heel to face Gon.

His face was twisted, brows furrowed, mouth a hard line, still sour from the tournament loss that gnawed at him.

His fists clenched tight, knuckles paling, he glared like Gon had stolen something from him.

"I’m not sticking around with you," he muttered, voice low and rough. "You only had luck, nothing else. Should’ve been me up there, not some fluke."

His words came fast, bitten off, like he’d been chewing on them since the fight.

Gon tilted his head, meeting Ethan’s stare without blinking.

He didn’t bother replying, let the guy stew in it.

Ethan’s chest heaved once, twice, he shook his head, muttering under his breath, "he only had luck," as he turned away.