My Taboo Harem! Chapter 106: The Dragon's Metamorphosis 3

[Impress Valentina?] Done. 200 EXP, plus the mory of her giggling uncontrollably as he ran on the treadmill with her on his back like so kind of human rickshaw.

"You're insane!" she'd squealed, legs wrapped around his waist, tits pressed to his back, while he clocked 12 km/h without breaking a sweat.

He'd just grinned and said, "You asked for a challenge."

She hadn't complained when he carried her to the showers afterward.

[Kiss Maya's cheek in public?] Done. Her face had turned so red he'd worried she might actually combust. Worth it for the EXP and the way she'd stamred for the rest of the day, touching her cheek like he'd branded her.

[Hold Maya's hand for three consecutive days?] Done. Awkward as fuck, but done. She'd gone from aggressive flirt to shy schoolgirl overnight, squeezing his fingers like they were a lifeline while pretending it was all casual.

—and his abilities had skyrocketed.

[Dominance Aura: Level 5.

Current: 350/500 EXP to Level 6

Charm Speech: Level 5.

Current: 350/500 EXP to Level 6

Base effectiveness: 40% on all targets. Aroused targets: 80% Hostile targets: 15%]

The effects were... noticeable.

His voice had beco sothing almost musical. When he spoke, people listened. Not just heard—actually listened, leaning in unconsciously, hanging on every word like he was delivering prophecy instead of asking soone to pass the salt.

And the Dominance Aura?

Christ.

Boys parted for him in hallways now. Not dramatically, not falling to their knees or anything—but that subtle shift, that unconscious step to the side, that inability to et his eyes for too long. It happened every ti, with almost every male student he encountered.

Girls leaned toward him. Literally. Like flowers toward the sun, bodies angling in his direction even when their minds were focused elsewhere.

He'd caught more than one conversation dying mid-sentence as he walked past, the speakers forgetting what they were saying because so primitive part of their brain had decided he was more important.

The attention was intoxicating.

After years of being invisible, of being less than nothing, of being the human equivalent of a blank wall...

Yeah. He liked being seen.

Though sotis he snuck away from it. Found quiet corners. Enjoyed monts of solitude where he wasn't Phei the Rising Dragon or Phei the Charity Case Turned Campus Legend.

Just... Phei. Whoever that is now.

And then there was basketball.

Two days ago, his body had finally developed enough that the system unlocked additional skill integration. His Basketball Mastery had jumped from 10% to 20%, and the difference was staggering.

Dribbling that had been clumsy was now smooth. Shots that had been prayers were now calculated. Movents that had been hesitant were now instinctive.

He'd been practicing in secret. Late nights at the school court, after everyone else had gone ho, with only the janitor as witness.

Old Mr. Cruz—the cleaner who'd worked at Ashford for thirty years and had probably seen more teenage drama than any therapist—had watched these sessions with an increasingly slack jaw.

"Boy," he'd said last night, shaking his head in disbelief as Phei sank his fifteenth three-pointer in a row, "what the hell happened to you?"

"Growth spurt," Phei had replied with a grin.

The plan was forming. Solidifying. Almost ready.

Soon.

But all of that—the training, the sex, the scheming, the leveling—paled in comparison to the most visible change.

Charisma: 110.

One hundred and ten fucking points.

Phei chuckled at his reflection, the sound coming out smoother and richer than it had any right to.

The academy had noticed. Of course they had. Suddenly, the charity case was being called one of the most handso boys in school.

People whispered theories in the hallways:

"He must have been hiding it all along."

"His social status made us overlook him."

"Now that he's taking care of himself, you can really see it."

"He was always handso; we were just too prejudiced to notice because he's you know... poors."

As if beauty could be hidden by poverty. As if good bone structure only beca visible when paired with confidence.

Idiots. All of them.

But useful idiots. Their rationalizations let them accept his transformation without questioning the impossible speed of it. Without wondering how a scrawny, neglected teenager had beco... this.

Phei leaned closer to the mirror, examining the face that stared back at him.

Who even are you anymore?

The answer was simple.

His hair fell across his forehead in waves of ink-black silk, each strand catching the light like it had been painted by an artist obsessed with shadows.

Not styled, exactly—more like tad chaos, falling wherever it wanted but sohow landing perfectly every ti.

So pieces draped over his eyebrows in artful wisps, others framing his face in layers that added depth and mystery. Sexy bed-head, lissa had called it once, right before she'd yanked him back into bed to "ss it up properly."

But the hair was just the fra.

The eyes were the masterpiece.

Athyst.

Not purple. Not violet. Athyst—that specific, impossible shade that existed sowhere between gemstone and twilight, luminous and deep and absolutely fucking unnatural. They caught light and held it hostage, reflecting it back with an intensity that made people forget what they were saying mid-sentence.

Like staring into a storm, you wanted to get lost in.

The iris seed to shift depending on the angle—darker purple at the edges, lighter toward the pupil, with flecks of sothing that might have been silver or might have been starlight.

His lashes were thick and dark, framing those impossible eyes like curtains around a stage. The kind of lashes girls paid good money for and boys secretly envied.

Below those eyes, his bone structure had sharpened into sothing almost aggressive. Cheekbones that could cut glass, set high and prominent. A jawline that could have been carved from marble, defined enough to cast shadows even in soft light.

His nose was straight and refined, the kind of nose that photographers would kill for—neither too small nor too prominent, just perfectly proportioned.

His lips had filled out slightly, the lower one fuller than the upper, naturally tinted a soft pink that looked almost bitten. There was a slight pout to them in repose, sothing that hovered between innocent and sinful depending on his expression. The kind of mouth that made people think about kissing. Or being kissed. Hard.

His skin had cleared completely—no acne, no blemishes, no evidence of the stress and malnutrition that should have left marks. Instead, it was smooth and luminous, almost glowing with health, pale but not sickly, touched with the faintest warmth across his cheeks.

And underneath it all, a new sharpness to his features. A predatory edge that hadn't existed before. Sothing in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, in the set of his jaw, in the ghost of a smirk that seed permanently etched into the corner of his mouth.

Handso didn't cover it anymore.

Beautiful was closer but still insufficient.

Devastating might work. Dangerous definitely applied.

He looked like the protagonist of a dark romance novel—the kind where the love interest was probably going to ruin the heroine's life but she'd thank him for it afterward. On her knees.

Phei stepped back from the mirror, letting his gaze travel down to take in the full picture.

The Ashford Academy uniform hung differently on this body. The white shirt stretched slightly across his newly broadened shoulders and developed chest, the fabric pulling just enough to hint at the muscle underneath without being obscene.

His tie hung loose as always—he'd never be a "proper knot" kind of guy—and two buttons remained undone at his collar, exposing the hollow of his throat and the first suggestion of collarbones.

The blazer sat draped over his arm rather than worn. Partly style, partly comfort, mostly because he liked the way people's eyes traveled over his torso when there wasn't a jacket blocking the view. Let them look. Let them want.

His trousers fit properly now—filled out by thighs that had actual muscle on them, hanging correctly instead of loose and sad. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine, because lissa had taught him that details mattered and he was nothing if not a quick learner.

He looked like money. Like power. Like trouble walking on two legs.

Not bad for a charity case, Phei thought, that smirk finally spreading into a full smile. Not bad at all.

His reflection smiled back—athyst eyes glittering with amusent and ambition, beautiful face arranged in an expression that promised nothing good for anyone who got in his way.

One week ago, he'd been invisible.

Today, I am undeniable.

Phei grabbed his bag, took one last look at the stranger-who-was-himself in the mirror, and headed for the door.

Tuesday.

Let's see what fresh chaos today brings.

He was betting on plenty.

And he couldn't wait to watch it burn.

****

A/N: Next chapters will introduce us to the Paradise Princesses.