Gon's Harem System
Chapter 177: Apologizing to her

Chapter 177: Apologizing to her

The room smelled of drinks, roasted meat from a spit in the back, and the faint musk of too many people packed too close.

Gon sat at a table near the wall, Milo lounging across from him, both nursing mugs chipped from rough use.

He leaned back, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword propped against the bench, its familiar weight a steady anchor.

Milo was mid-rant, something about a card game gone sour, but Gon’s attention drifted. His eyes roamed the hall, catching on faces in the crowd, some familiar, some not.

Zara flickered into his thoughts, not her words, nothing sharp enough to stick, but her presence.

That wild red hair, the way her green eyes flashed with fire, her attitude bold and untamed.

He’d seen her earlier, maybe, cutting through the yard with that scar on her jaw catching the light.

She’d stuck in his head, a spark he couldn’t quite place, though he didn’t dwell on it long.

The hall’s chaos pulled him back, a swirl of motion and noise, and then he saw her, Lena, moving through the throng.

She stood out, calm where others stumbled, her dark hair catching the glow of a torch as she wove past a knot of drunken mages.

Poised, steady, like she belonged here but wasn’t part of the mess.

He set his mug down, the thud lost in the clamor, and pushed off the bench.

"Hold that thought," he told Milo, who waved him off with a grin and a muttered, "Go get her."

Gon didn’t rush, his stride was easy, deliberate, cutting through the crowd with a confidence that didn’t need to shout.

She was halfway to the far door when he stepped into her path, blocking her without crowding her.

His grin was there, but softer, dialed back from the cocky edge he usually wore.

"Hey," he said, voice low enough to carry over the noise but not loud enough to draw eyes. "About the garden, I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself."

It wasn’t remorse, not really, just a nudge to smooth things over, to pull her back into his orbit.

He’d kissed her there, too fast, too bold, and he’d felt the way she’d stiffened before she’d slipped away.

Now, he wanted her close again, not out of guilt but because she was still a pull he couldn’t ignore.

Lena tilted her head, her gray eyes narrowing as she studied him.

She crossed her arms, a shield against the chaos around them, and her voice came cool, guarded.

"Didn’t expect an apology from you." There was a question in it, a test, and he caught the faint curve at the edge of her lips, like she wasn’t sure if he meant it.

He shrugged, easy, letting his hands hang loose at his sides. "Surprise, then," he said, his tone smooth, a thread of charm weaving through it.

"I didn’t mean to throw you off." Her stance softened, just a fraction, and she dropped her arms, her gaze flicking over his face like she was weighing him.

Then, quieter, almost lost in the hall’s roar, she said, "I actually liked it... after the shock."

The admission hit him like a spark, lighting something in his chest.

He stepped closer, not crowding, just enough to shrink the space between them.

The noise of the hall faded, a dull hum at the edges, and he let his voice drop, low and warm. "Want to try it again?"

Her eyes flicked up to his, and there it was, a flicker of heat, small but real, cutting through her calm.

She nodded, barely a tilt of her chin, but it was enough.

He didn’t hesitate, he leaned in slow enough to let her pull back if she wanted, and kissed her.

It was firm, deliberate, not the rushed grab from the garden.

Her lips were soft, warm, and he felt her breath catch as he pressed closer, one hand settling light on her waist.

She didn’t pull away.

Her hands found his chest, fingers brushing the rough fabric of his tunic, then gripping tighter as she kissed him back.

He deepened it, tilting his head, his other hand sliding to her hip, steady but not possessive.

The hall’s chaos melted away, there was just her, the heat of her mouth, the way her breaths came faster, matching his.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him in, and he let it build, lips moving harder, a hungry edge creeping in.

His tongue brushed hers, testing, and she met it, a soft sound slipping from her throat that sent a jolt through him.

They were making out now, right there in the crowd, but it didn’t feel like anyone else existed.

His hand tightened on her waist, her nails digging into his chest, and the air between them crackled, thick with want.

He pulled back first, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against hers for a beat.

Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, and he could feel her pulse under his fingers where they lingered on her side.

The hall roared back into focus, someone whooped nearby, a mug crashed to the floor, but he kept his voice low, a murmur just for her.

"Come to my room," he said, the words soft, coaxing. "Let’s kiss properly. You never know if we’ll be rivals or enemies after this tournament."

She blinked, the heat in her gaze cooling to wariness, and she stepped back, breaking the contact.

"Just kissing?" she asked, her voice steady but edged with doubt, like she was testing the line he’d drawn.

He grinned, charming, letting it light his face.

"For starters," he said, keeping it light, playful, but with a promise underneath. "I swear you’ll like it." His eyes held hers, steady, and he let the silence stretch, giving her room to decide.

She bit her lip, glancing away, toward the crowd, the door, then back to him.

Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave a small nod, barely there, but it was enough. "Alright," she said, quiet, and he felt the win settle in his gut, warm and sure.

He stepped aside, gesturing her ahead with a tilt of his head, and they slipped through the throng together, the noise of the hall swallowing them as they went.