QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 230: Caught up

Chapter 230

Nima

"Guess it’s going good?" I say, my voice light, but inside there’s a twist I can’t untangle.

Poppy is sitting beside under the —our tree. Or at least it was mine before Daphne claid it. Technically, I liked this spot long before she ever stretched herself lazily across its branches, but ever since then, the tree feels... hers. I half expect her to drop down right now, tail swishing, ears perked, and demand to know why I’m here with soone else.

But the branches stay empty.

I have to admit it to myself, though the thought makes my chest ache—I miss her.

Poppy doesn’t answer my question at first. She’s busy tilting her little handheld mirror, fixing the soft curl of her ears and tucking a strand of hair behind them. Her brown eyes catch the light, and she looks more nervous than she wants to admit.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says primly, smoothing her skirts.

I open my mouth to tease her further—because I do know what I’m talking about, and so does she but she suddenly shoves her mirror and bag into my hands like I’m her personal servant.

"Oh, he’s here," she mutters quickly. Then she’s on her feet, brushing invisible dust off her uniform.

I follow her gaze.

Isaac.

The boy with the soft brown hair and those ridiculous polished antlers that catch every shard of sunlight. He walks toward us with his usual hesitant steps, adjusting his glasses like he always does when he’s nervous.

And despite myself, I can’t help smiling.

***

Isaac

"You’re here," Poppy says, her tone brighter than I expected.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling my cheeks heat. It’s embarrassing how easy she makes lose composure.

She’s cute. Too cute.

When the Duchess first told to do this, I thought it was a joke. Be Poppy Longear’s escort? Pretend to woo her? Play the sacrificial lamb in so elaborate sche to provoke the prince?

I didn’t even have a choice. You don’t say no to Daphne Nyxclaw. Not unless you want to find out firsthand what those claws can do.

At first, I treated it like an act. Just a role. A mask to wear for survival. But sowhere between her shy little smiles and the way she tries to hide her ears when she’s flustered, I started losing track of what was fake and what was .

Honestly, it’s not a bad deal.

Poppy isn’t a walkover. She has fire. She knows how to hold her own even when she looks fragile. And as for ? Well, my spouse was never going to be my choice anyway.

That decision would co from my father... or the Nyxclaws.

If it’s her, I think I can live with that. No—more than live with it. I’d be glad.

I push my glasses up higher on my nose and reach for her hand. Her fingers slip into mine so easily it feels natural.

"Let’s go," I say.

I can’t help the blush spreading across my face, though. I hate it—my lack of a poker face, how easily I look like so innocent shy boy. It isn’t really . Not completely.

But right now? It’s useful. She thinks it’s endearing. And I like how she smiles when she sees flustered.

We fall into step together, our hands brushing, shoulders bumping. The walk to my dorm isn’t long, but we fill it with small talk—safe things, easy things. She teases about my antlers, I tease her about the carrots she keeps sneaking into her als. Our words weave with innuendos, the kind of light touches that promise more without saying it out loud, I have high hopes for tonight.

But then—

He’s there.

The air changes instantly.

The little lion prince himself.

Felix Leonhart.

The way he appears—blocking the path, golden eyes locked on us—would be intimidating if I hadn’t grown up around panthers. A lion may roar, but it’s nothing compared to the silent weight of a panther’s gaze on your throat.

Still, I feel Poppy’s hand tighten in mine. She shifts closer to , like she’s bracing against a storm.

"Poppy, we need to talk," the prince says.

His voice is low, sharp, and dangerous.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t shrink.

Instead, she squeezes my hand harder, shoulders squaring as she says, "We have nothing to talk about."

I glance at her from the corner of my eye—this little rabbit, who half the school calls weak. But right now? She’s braver than most predators I know.

I step forward, subtly putting myself between them, shielding her from the prince’s blazing stare.

"Your Highness, this is getting old," I say. My voice is calm, steady. Almost bored.

"Don’t you think?"

Because it is old. Seriously, we decided to et at my accommodations because he’s always there at hers.

Felix’s golden eyes narrow. "This doesn’t concern you."

"It does concern ," I say calmly, adjusting my glasses. "Because she’s with now."

The words hang in the air, heavier than I ant them to be. But once they’re spoken, I don’t take them back.

Poppy glances at , her eyes wide for just a mont, before she nods faintly. Her hand squeezes mine again.

The little prince scoffs, incredulous.

"Poppy, you can’t be serious. —for him?" His voice drips disdain, as though the idea itself is laughable.

But Poppy doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even bother replying. She simply steps closer to , our shoulders brushing, her aning clear.

Felix’s golden eyes flare. He strides forward in two long steps, the weight of his presence enough to make the nearby students gasp and edge back. His hand shoots out, wrapping around Poppy’s wrist.

"Poppy—"

I move instantly, my own hand snapping up to seize his wrist before he can pull her away. His skin is hot, his claws half-bared, but I don’t flinch.

"Your Highness," I say evenly, my voice pitched just low enough for the crowd to strain to hear, "there’s an audience."

His head whips around. And there it is—the whispering, the wide eyes, the students pressed against the walls and windows, all of them watching their golden lion prince try to drag a Longear girl away from another man.

For a mont, his jaw clenches, fury trembling through his fra. But reputation is everything to a Leonhart. Even he knows that.

Slowly, he releases Poppy’s wrist.

The silence is thick. Then—he turns on his heel, stomping away, tail lashing with barely contained rage.

Poppy exhales shakily beside , rubbing her wrist. "I’m sorry."

I blink at her, baffled. "Why are you sorry?"

Her ears flick down. "Because of , you’re caught up in this."

"It’s not your fault," I say firmly, guiding her inside with a steady hand at her back. "It’s his. Always his."