My Taboo Harem System

Chapter 123: Hello

"Hello, father."

Patrick’s voice cracked against the silence of the room, and he got nothing back for it. The door had barely finished shutting behind the man before the village chief crossed to the chair at the bedside, movements unhurried, deliberate, the kind of calm that belonged to someone who had never once needed to hurry for anyone. He lowered himself into it, crossed his left leg over the right, and let his eyes drag slowly down Patrick’s battered frame — head to toe, toe to head — as if cataloguing every bruise for a ledger only he could read.

’He’s not going to make this easy,’ Patrick thought, throat tightening.

"How have you been?" Patrick tried, the words thin and useless the moment they left him.

His father’s jaw worked once, twice, like he was chewing on something far heavier than the bread in his hand. "How," he said. Just that. A single word dropped like a stone.

Patrick waited, half-expecting more to follow, some clarification, some mercy — but none came. The silence stretched until he couldn’t hold it anymore.

"How... was?" he managed.

"How did this happen to you." Not a question this time. A demand wearing the shape of one.

"I just — " Patrick’s hands twisted into the sheets. "I got attacked. Ruffians. You know how the streets have gotten, they’re not safe anymore, not like they used to—"

His father said nothing. He only stared, chewing slow, deliberate, each bite somehow louder than anything Patrick could say in his own defense. Then he leaned forward, the chair creaking under the shift of weight, and his voice came low and cutting.

"You want to tell me the prodigy son was beaten half to death by bandits?"

Patrick opened his mouth. Closed it.

His father tilted his head, almost gentle, almost sorry — and then he wasn’t. "Lie to me again, Patrick, and believe me, you will not like what comes next." He let that sit in the air between them like smoke. "So I’ll ask you again. How."

Patrick met his eyes and understood, in that instant, that this was not posturing. It was not a father’s temper. It was something colder, something that had already decided what would happen next depending on the answer given. He looked away first.

"I challenged an enemy to a duel," he said, quieter now. "I underestimated him. He cheated — he cheated and he won. I swear that’s what happened." He said it loud, like volume could stand in for truth.

His father didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept staring, unmoved, until he leaned in closer still, close enough that Patrick could smell the bread on his breath.

"This enemy. Does he know about my business? Does he know about the drugs?"

"No." Patrick shook his head fast, too fast. "No, he doesn’t. I swear it."

His father held his gaze a moment longer, searching for the crack in it, then eased back into the chair. "I’m not going to feel easy knowing he’s still out there." He rose to his feet, adjusting the line of his coat. "Once you’re cleaned up from here — take care of him."

He turned and walked toward the door.

Patrick’s teeth ground together, the shame of it curdling in his chest, the shame of his father seeing him like this, broken and lied-about and small. "I’m doing well, Dad," he called after him, too fast, too eager. "They say I’ll be healed up pretty soon."

His father stopped at the door. Turned his head just enough for one glance back — and in that glance, Patrick searched for something, anything, some flicker of worry, of love, of fear for his son’s life. There was none. No tear threatening the corner of his eye. No softness waiting beneath the surface.

He said nothing. He opened the door, stepped through, and shut it behind him.

Patrick was alone again, the silence of the room pressing in around him, and the only thing left circling in his mind was the weight of what his father truly was.

But what truly gnawed at him was a name which rang through his mind, infuriating him with every ring.

"Denzel!"

***

Some hours had passed since Antonia’s treatment, and between her care and the abilities the system had rewarded him with, Denzel felt his strength fully returned to his limbs. He left her home and started the walk back toward his own, the evening air doing little to cool the satisfaction humming under his skin.

’She really pulled out for me,’ he thought, rolling his shoulders as he walked. ’

Healing me that efficiently, and I never even got to ask her how.’ The thought snagged on itself.

’She started healing me while I was unconscious.’

A slow grin spread across his face.

’So does that mean she smooched me before I even woke up? Dirty girl.’ He huffed a quiet laugh at himself.

’And I’d bet that wasn’t just a second kiss either.’ The grin lingered.

’Looks like there’s more of a story to go with her than I thought.’

He let the thought settle, then pushed it aside for now.

’Well. Until then — at least I can scrape the Patrick duo off my list.’ He counted it off in his head.

’Now all that’s left is Terra, and the mystery harem member.’

He paused mid-stride.

’Or is that already her?’ The realization needled at him.

’She’s the one who carried me from the fight to Antonia’s. That would mean she’s not a threat.’ His brow furrowed.

’But she still left before I woke, still wants me to find her instead of just — showing herself.’ He shook his head slowly.

’And what the hell was that sigil burned into that note and why do I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before?’

The question circled without an answer, and his thoughts finally quieted as he came to a stop at the edge of his street, his house rising ahead of him with moonlight cascading down its roof in pale, silver sheets.

’That’ll be a problem for tomorrow,’ he decided, the smile creeping back onto his face.

’Right now, I’ve got some milfs that crave my attention.’

With that thought settled warm in his chest, he stepped up to the door.

"I’m home," Denzel said, pushing it open and stepping inside.