QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)
Chapter 200: Duke of Panthers heiress

Chapter 200: Duke of Panthers heiress

Felaris Academy, Phavia Kingdom

The golden gates of Felaris Academy creak open for another year—tall, baroque, and needlessly pompous. A small army of carriages lines up outside, one after the other, each bearing returning nobles swaddled in expensive silks and inflated legacies.

Tails flick. Ears twitch.

Students stretch their limbs and fan their furred ears in the late morning sun, exchanging hugs, gossip, and thinly veiled dominance displays. For most, the start of the term is a chance to reassert their rank, to parade their new feathers—literally, in the case of House Aeri.

But then—

The air shifts.

The breeze stills like prey sensing a predator.

A sleek, matte-black carriage veers out of formation and cuts the entire line without hesitation. It glides to a halt with the smoothness of a blade drawing across silk.

Everyone turns.

The door is kicked open from inside, hard enough to slam against the gilded frame, and from its shadow steps a girl.

No—a panther.

Her boots hit the marble with a sound that echoes. A long tail flicks behind her, sharp as a whip. Jet-black ears swivel, catching every murmur—though no one dares speak above a whisper.

Daphne Nyxclaw.

The second-year.

The Demonic Panther of the East.

She doesn’t look at anyone. Doesn’t need to. Her eyes are half-lidded, expression bored, as if the grandest academy in the kingdom is just another room to dominate. She adjusts her gloves. Rolls her shoulders. Walks.

Students part like a river around her.

The rumors return like old ghosts:

That she went home for the break and challenged her elder brothers for succession.

That she slaughtered four, and the fifth is still breathing through a tube.

That her father, the current Duke of Nyxclaw, handed her the family seal without so much as a protest.

No one’s confirmed the details—no one’s brave enough to ask.

But her aura, her presence, her scent—something predatory, spiced with blood and rain-washed stone—proves it.

Behind her, two struggling servants try to keep pace, dragging luggage that looks suspiciously like it’s carrying weapons, or bodies, or both.

When she disappears through the academy’s towering obsidian-glass doors, only then does the conversation resume.

***

Daphne POV

"And recently, Felix Leonhart was revealed to be the son of the late Prince Frederick Leonhart, he—"

"Wait," I cut in, mid-sentence.

The bunny flinches.

I haven’t even moved. These people are so dramatic.

Sure, I allegedly slaughtered four of my siblings over inheritance rights last summer, but that’s a little exaggerated. It was only two. And one of them still breathes, technically. You maim a few heirs and suddenly your name comes with ’demonic’ as a prefix.

I narrow my eyes at the bunny. He’s got droopy ears, soft fur, little trembling paws clasped in front of him like I’m about to devour him whole. Not in a sexy way. In a digestive

Honestly, if I wanted to eat him, I’d have done it already.

Since System 404 is still down—thanks, interdimensional bureaucracy—I’ve resorted to sourcing gossip the old-fashioned way. That is, politely coercing the weakest herbivore nearby to give me the noble gossip rundown.

"Tell me more about this Felix Leonhart," I say, popping a grape into my mouth with a lazy smirk.

He stammers. Rambling resumes.

---

Later

"You can leave now," I tell him, flicking my fingers.

He scurries off, tail tucked, like I might add him to the menu.

I lean back, alone again in my suite, and let out a soft sigh. My tail coils around the glass on the table and lifts it to my hand. Took me weeks to learn that little party trick. Worth it for the flair alone.

So. Felix Leonhart.

The new lion prince.

He started out as Felix Longear—some low-tier western bunny noble from a fertile line. (All territories have bunny nobles. They’re like garden weeds. Breed fast, loyal to whoever feeds them, and oddly polite.) But then, with suspiciously perfect timing, he’s revealed to be the lost son of Prince Frederick. Suddenly he’s stronger, faster, shinier, and swimming in royal blood.

Now? Third year. Popular. Rich. And somehow juggling five official girlfriends.

Five.

Like. Really?

Honestly? I’m going to enjoy watching his little harem unravel.

Out of principle.

And because five women is greedy.

I sip my water, tail still lazily swaying behind me. The afternoon light spills through the window, casting golden shadows on the floor.

Felix can wait.

What matters more... is my wife.

Somewhere in this overly lavish zoo of an academy—beastfolk of every type, noble and commoner, carnivore and herbivore alike—is the one I’ve been waiting for.

My wife.

She’s here. She has to be.

And hopefully not a bunny.

Please not a bunny.

I already feel bad for thinking about eating that information boy earlier. I don’t need another existential crisis with floppy ears attached.

...Wait.

Do we have chicken beastmen?

A horrifying thought strikes me. One of the retainers back home is eagle-type. Wings. Sharp eyes. Talks like she eats gravel for breakfast. Very majestic.

But... what if I’ve been mistaken this whole time?

What if she’s not an eagle?

What if she’s... a chicken?

Wouldn’t that make things awkward?

I really like chicken.

Like. A lot.

Grilled, fried, roasted with herbs...

I pause, mid-sip of water.

If I fall for a chicken beastwoman, does that mean I have to stop eating chicken?

Would that be considered... cannibalism-adjacent?

Would I have to make amends for every wing I’ve devoured in blissful ignorance?

I narrow my eyes at a flock of avian-types passing by the window. One of them struts. Literally struts. Tail feathers puffed out like pride itself. I swear to the gods, if that’s my destined wife, I’m jumping into the fountain and refusing to come out.

I rub my temples.

This is ridiculous.

I overthrew my brothers, challenged for heirship, and won a bloody duel with a smile on my face. I should not be this anxious about hypothetical poultry romance.

But here I am. Mentally spiraling over feathers.

Gods help me if she clucks.