QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 207: Life is over

Chapter 207

Poppy

I don’t know why she picked .

What’s going on?

My feet carry forward before I can think too hard about it. Hesitant. Careful. I keep my head low, ears angled down—not submissive, not entirely—but cautious. Controlled.

It’s been a long ti since any predator played jokes on . Not since Felix turned. Not since he chose , claid , let on his lap in front of everyone else.

Predators don’t ss with what’s his. That’s the unspoken rule.

But Daphne Nyxclaw?

She doesn’t play by any rules. Or maybe she’s above them.

Even the lecturers are afraid of her. You can feel it in the way their voices get thin around her, how they look anywhere but directly at her. There are rumors—so many rumors—but none of them ever sound like lies. Just warning signs.

I remind myself to breathe.

I’ve earned my place next to Felix. No one handed it to . I clawed and kissed and worked my way to where I am. I know my strengths, and I know my weaknesses too.

So if this is a ga, I’ll play it.

I straighten a little as I approach her table. Not too much—just enough to remind everyone watching that I belong here. That I have value. Even if my heart’s thudding like I’m about to get eaten.

I smile just a little. Controlled. Sweet. Neutral.

If I’m about to be humiliated, I’ll at least make it look graceful.

"Miss Nyxclaw," I say with a soft curtsy, voice light, as if we’re just two girls chatting in the gardens and not predator and prey on a glass-thin bridge.

Her eyes—those yellow cat eyes—slide to slowly. Lazily. Like she’s already decided how this ends and is just waiting for the punchline to land.

I ignore the way my spine stiffens and my ears twitch low against my head.

She’s about to respond, lips curling like a cat about to toy with sothing soft and squeaky, when another bunny approaches the table.

And just like that, I’m no longer the center of attention. Thank heavens.

Daphne’s gaze flicks past like I’m old news. She taps the seat beside her, not even bothering with words, and the other Longear hesitates.

She’s farmiliar.

We’ve crossed paths before—sa herbivore dorm floor, shared shifts in the dining hall. She’s the quiet kind. Keeps her ears low and her head down. She’s nothing special.

And yet—

A sleek feline tail wraps around her waist the mont she sits down. Possessive. Casual. Terrifying.

I swallow down the flicker of relief that I’m not the one pinned in place.

"Take a seat," Daphne says offhandedly, motioning toward the empty chair across from them.

My legs move before my brain can weigh the risk. I sit. Carefully. Spine straight, ears tilted low—not submissive, not quite—but cautious.

Daphne leans back, lounging like she owns the whole damn cafeteria. Her arm drapes casually over the back of the other bunny’s chair like it belongs there. Like she belongs there. Like the rest of us are just set dressing in her private stage.

"And please," she adds, voice smooth as syrup and twice as sticky, "just call Daphne. You guys are my seniors, after all."

A lie. Or a joke. Or both.

The other bunny doesn’t respond. She’s frozen stiff, poor thing, ears slightly trembling and Daphne’s fingers have found a lock of her hair and are twirling it idly, like she’s already decided this one’s hers.

She has her attention. How unfortunate.

"So," Daphne says, tone flipping breezy, "you heard the professor. Group project."

I blink. "Group project?"

"Mmhmm. You two are my other mbers." She says it like it’s a done deal. A law passed and signed without vote.

Her yellow eyes find mine—lazy, but sharp beneath the calm.

"Any problem?"

I school my expression. "Not at all."

Not if I want to live.

***

Nima

Heavens, why have you forsaken so?

Good news: I’ve finally figured out who the predator is. You know, the one behind that ever-present, soul-searing gaze that’s been haunting for weeks?

Bad news: It’s Daphne Nyxclaw.

So, yes. My life is over.

She’s terrifying. And not just in the usual predator way. No. Daphne Nyxclaw is a different breed of terrifying. She’s not loud or explosive or aggressive. She just is. Like gravity. Like a natural disaster. Like fate.

There are stories about her, you know? Whispers. Legends. So say she once made a senior cry just by smiling at them. Others claim a teacher fainted mid-lecture after calling on her. And now—now—she’s looking at .

Interacting with .

Has in a group project.

Sat next to .

And placed her tail around my chair like so sort of claiming ritual.

I’m sweating so hard I think my soul is trying to exit through my pores.

I don’t even rember how I got to this table. One minute I was blending into the background, doing what we Longears do best, and the next I was being escorted like a sacrificial offering to the panther queen herself.

And now I’m here.

Sitting still.

Breathing shallowly.

Trying very, very hard not to make eye contact.

She’s not talking right now. She’s just playing with a strand of my hair.

Which is, you know, completely normal behavior for soone you’ve never properly spoken to before.

Her fingers are deceptively gentle, like she’s petting a particularly delicate feather.

I think I might throw up.

Or cry.

Or maybe both. At the sa ti. In a dignified, quiet way. Like a bunny should.

The worst part? Even if her interest is fleeting—which I pray it is—now that I’ve had her attention, every predator in school is going to start looking at differently. Like I’ve been tagged. Like I’m now part of so invisible food chain hierarchy I never signed up for.

I can feel their eyes already.

Curious. Intrigued. Calculating.

If Daphne Nyxclaw decides she’s bored? Drops like last season’s fashion trend?

I’m done.

I’ll be free ga.

I ca to this school to blend, not beco the opening act of so predator drama saga. I had a plan: finish my studies quietly, graduate with average grades, and live a peaceful, unremarkable life full of vegetables, sunlight naps, and absolutely zero apex flirtations.

But no. The universe said no.

Now I’m seated beside the embodint of my worst nightmare wrapped in silk and sarcasm, with her tail around my chair and her fingers casually threading through my hair like I’m her favorite stuffed toy.

So yes.

My life is over.

I just had two more years.

Two simple, humble years of peace.

Was that too much to ask?