QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 362: Conclusion

Chapter 363

Daphne Han died at the age of sixty-five.

The cause was listed as liver failure—decades of drinking finally catching up to her. But anyone who knew her understood that she had simply stopped wanting to live.

She wanted to be buried next to her family.

The funeral was livestread. Millions watched. The president’s twin sister. One of the biggest human rights activists of the century. A woman whose na was on Oga shelters, Oga universities, Oga futures.

Her birthday was a public holiday.

The day of her death beca an unofficial public holiday—observed by Ogas everywhere. They lit candles. They told stories. They thanked a woman most of them had never t for fighting battles they never had to fight.

At her funeral, they spoke of her great feats. University representatives. Scholarship students. Oga refugees. Shelter workers. Politicians who owed their careers to her influence.

*

Charles Grey visits an elite brothel.

He’s sixty-seven now, still handso in a weathered way, still wealthy, still restless. The staff knows him—knows his preferences, knows his type. They bring him to a private room and send in the Alpha escort they’ve been saving for special clients.

The man who walks in is tall. Broad-shouldered. Silver-streaked hair and a face that might have been handso once.

It’s Vincent.

They stare at each other. The room is silent.

Charles should leave. Should walk out. Should never look at this man again.

He stays.

The encounter is awkward at first,but Vincent has spent thirty years learning how to please. How to disappear into whatever his clients need. He does his job.

He does it too well.

Charles becos a regular custor. Every week. Then twice a week. For six months, until he gets bored.

He always gets bored.

He moves on to a younger Alpha. More attractive. Less damaged.

Vincent waits for the next client.

He’s very good at waiting.

*

Elijah Jacobs

Elijah, contrary to Charles, wanted sothing different after their divorce. A family. Stability. Sothing real.

He married an Oga—a quiet, kind man who didn’t ask too many questions. They had children. Three of them. A picture-perfect family, at least from the outside.

But the last Wednesday of every month, Elijah drives to one of his private houses—the one no one knows about, the one with the soundproof walls and the locked doors.

There, he indulges in his true desires.

The alphas who visit him are carefully vetted. Discreet. They never speak his na outside those walls.

*

Dr. Wang

Dr. Wang watches the livestream of Daphne Han’s funeral on his phone.

He’s supposed to be there. The invitation arrived weeks ago, embossed with the Han family crest. But unfortunately, he had a family ergency.

One of his consorts fell while pregnant. Coincidentally.

The child survived. They always survive.

Dr. Wang has a problem. Each ti he leaves ho—on business trips, on vacations, on anything more than a few days—he tends to fancy Ogas. Particularly blondes. Particularly green-eyed. Particularly young.

He brings them ho. They stay for a year with his full attention and affection—maybe two—until he gets bored. Then he finds another.

Rinse and repeat.

He currently has eighteen children. Thirteen Ogas, all living in his family compound, all raising his children, all trapped.

His family begs him to stop. His mother weeps. His father threatens to disown him. His eldest son refuses to speak to him.

He doesn’t stop.

It’s as if he’s searching for sothing in these Ogas. So echo. So ghost. So face he saw once, decades ago, and can never quite forget.

At so point, he gave in. He searched for the Oga he truly wanted.

He found Elliot in that institution. His face scarred. His eye blind. His mind gone.

The sight turned him off. He couldn’t do it.

He went ho, got drunk, and found himself with his seventh Oga.

A blonde.

Green-eyed.

Young.

The cycle never ends.

*

Vincent can’t believe it—he who was once feared, once revered, reduced to nothing more than an escort.

But he’s had decades to co to terms with it.

Decades of silent rooms and naless clients. Decades of being touched by hands that didn’t know his history, didn’t care about his legacy, didn’t see anything but a body to be used. Decades of watching the world move on without him.

He’s old now. Really old. His hair is white. His skin is papery. His teeth have fallen out, one by one, until he stopped bothering to count.

The novelty of spending a night with a forr mafia boss faded years ago. Now he’s just another old man.

He goes for dirt cheap now—or to those with particular desires.

He doesn’t say no.

He can’t.

He’s a product here. An object. A thing to be used and discarded.

At so point,he doesn’t rember when ....he began to understand Ogas.

The fear. The helplessness. The way your body isn’t your own. The way people look at you and see sothing to be taken.

Not as a person, but as an object to relieve desires. It’s not a nice feeling.

*

Damien Han stands at the edge of the grave, watching them lower his sister into the earth.

He has mixed feelings.

His parents are gone. Now his sister. Now he’s alone—the last Han of his generation, the only one left to carry the na forward.

He’s always hated her.

First, for being a good-for-nothing—the party years, the scandals, the way she embarrassed the family while he worked himself to the bone to maintain their reputation.

Then, for being objectively better than him.

The CEO. The philanthropist. The activist. The one who changed laws, opened universities, saved lives. The one whose birthday is a public holiday, whose death is mourned by millions.

He looks at the impact she had on people, on lives and he knows.

When he’s gone, he won’t have a legacy like hers.

He’ll be rembered as a president, maybe. A competent one. A na in a history book, a footnote in the Chapter about the Oga Equality Act—the act she drafted.

The inferiority stings.

It always has.

But it’s because of her legacy that he’s the first president from the Han bloodline.

He owes her.

He hates that too.

He can only wish her well on her journey to the afterlife. And hope—truly, desperately hope—that she ets Vivienne again.

Because if he’s being honest, he doesn’t think he would ever love anyone the way she loved her.