My Taboo Harem System

Chapter 135: Generous

The moment his hand drifted lower, Denzel kept his expression neutral. Professional. Like he’d done this a hundred times.

Her lower back. Right. Sure.

His palms settled just above the curve of her hips, thumbs pressing slow circles into the muscle there, and he could feel the tension knotted beneath the skin — real tension, the kind that didn’t lie. His eyes stayed forward. Focused on the wall behind her head.

She wasn’t wearing the towel properly.

He’d noticed that immediately. The cloth was bunched at her waist, leaving the rest of her bare — the smooth lines of her ass cheeks visible above the thin strip of her panties, catching the light from the ceiling panel above the slab. Denzel had filed that observation away the moment it registered and moved on. Professionalism was a skill. He was getting good at it.

’She seriously doesn’t know who she’s dealing with,’ he thought.

"As you wish, ma’am," he said.

"Would you like some ointment?" he asked, hands resting just below the curve. "Or — " and this part came out quieter, steadier than he expected — "did you want me to go lower?"

She answered before the sentence was fully out of his mouth.

"No, don’t worry about that."

Ding.

The notification cracked into his vision like a door slamming open.

[SKILL ACTIVATION — ERROR]

[Processing... 7%... 66%... 100%]

[SKILL CANNOT BE APPLIED TO TARGET]

[Reason: Target classification exceeds user threshold. Skill use on superior-ranked targets is restricted.]

Denzel blinked.

He read it again.

’Superior,’ he thought flatly. ’She’s superior ranked. Of course she is.’

He kept his hands moving. Slow, even pressure. Nothing changed in his face.

"Something wrong?"

Her voice came from below him. No confidence marker this time — just a direct question, her head still turned to the side, watching him from the corner of one eye.

"No," Denzel said. "Nothing wrong."

He pressed his thumbs deeper into the muscle along her spine and felt her exhale, slow and measured. The room was quiet for a moment. Just the hum of the ventilation and the soft sound of his hands working across her back.

Then she spoke again.

"Has she agreed yet?"

He didn’t pretend not to know what she was asking.

"No."

A beat.

"She told me to go fuck myself," he said. "And she wasn’t joking."

The knight was quiet. He continued working — lower back, the ridge of muscle above her hips, steady and deliberate, the kind of rhythm that was supposed to make people talk or stop talking. He wasn’t sure which outcome he was hoping for.

Then she exhaled through her nose.

Not a sigh exactly. More like something being set down.

Without a word, she shifted. Her palms pressed flat against the slab and she pushed herself upright, swinging her legs off the side in one smooth motion, sitting up to face him, her supple breasts now in full view in front of him.

The knight looked at him for a moment. Just looked — the way someone does when they’re deciding how much to say.

"I don’t know what your plan is," she said. "But I’d strongly recommend you reconsider. People who refuse invitations from the academy tend to find that the world gets... smaller. Doors close. Opportunities dry up." She tilted her head slightly. "Your colleague... the receptionist there is sharper than she looks. It would be a shame if her career stalled before it started."

Denzel held her gaze.

He didn’t say anything.

"I’m not making idle conversation," The knight added.

"I know," he said.

Another silence. She watched him the way a person watches something they haven’t fully figured out yet. He let her watch. There was nothing on his face worth reading — he’d made sure of that the moment the skill notification had died in his vision.

’No skill,’ he thought. ’Fine. If I can’t use my skill, then I don’t need to be here.’

He was done.

"You need to leave," he said.

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The session’s over." He stepped back, creating professional distance between them. "You need to get dressed and go."

The knight stared at him — topless, unhurried, entirely unbothered by the situation in a way that was almost impressive. "And why exactly would I do that?"

"Because," Denzel said, keeping his voice flat, "you’re propositioning a staff member. That’s a complaint. I file it, management reviews it, and whatever arrangement you have with this place becomes complicated." He paused. "So. You leave now, I file nothing. You stay — I file everything. Or —" he let the third option sit for a moment — "You kill me. Your call."

She looked at him.

Then she smiled — slow, like something privately amusing had just confirmed itself.

"Lucky for you," she said, "I’m in a generous mood today."

She reached for her clothes.

Denzel turned to face the opposite wall. He heard the soft sounds of fabric — the shift and rustle of her dressing — and kept his eyes fixed on the panel in front of him like it contained something worth studying.

He almost managed it.

Almost.

One glance. Involuntary. The brief, smooth curve of her ass as the fabric came up — and then it was covered, and she was pulling her top over her head, and by the time he’d turned back she was fully dressed, armour and all, as composed as she’d walked in.

She picked up her coat from the hook by the door.

"I’ll be waiting," she said, turning back to face him one last time. "Till morning. After that —" a small lift of her shoulders — "the offer changes shape."

Then she left.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Denzel stood in the empty room for a moment. He exhaled — slow, through his nose — and shook his head.

’Damn it. Now of all times... I couldn’t use the skill.’

He stared at the door.

’That means I have to work with the next best option. I’ll make that high and mighty knight submit.’

A beat.

’I’ll just have to use my normal skills.’