Ultimate Harem System

Chapter 5: Hot Assignment Alert

Johnny blinked hard. Twice.

The blue text was still there.

…

[HOT ASSIGNMENT ALERT]

Task: Successfully Flirt with the Club Owner

Reward: Ownership of the Nebula Hotel

…

He rubbed his eyes and stared again. Same damn words.

“…Flirt with the club owner… for a billion-dollar hotel?”

He looked around the nightclub. Flashing lights. Bodies grinding together. Bass pounding without mercy.

Even if—if—the system could magically hand him a hotel like a toy prize, he had a bigger problem.

Finding the club owner.

And then flirting with her.

Successfully.

Johnny took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah… there’s no fucking way I’m pulling that off.”

And just when he thought the night couldn’t get any crazier—

—BANG!

The sound ripped through the club like thunder. Louder than anything Johnny had ever heard. His glass almost slipped from his hand. People screamed.

“The club is closed for tonight!!” A loud voice yelled. “Everybody get the fuck out!!”

Panic spread fast. The crowd rushed for the exits. Chairs fell. Glass shattered. The bass kept pounding, like the club didn’t care that it was falling apart.

At the center of it all, a group of men appeared.  All in leather jackets marked with a snarling wolf symbol. Scarred faces with hard eyes shaped by years of bad choices.

Their boots hit the floor like war drums as they moved forward, guns shining under the flashing lights.

“WHERE IS THE CLUB OWNER?!” their leader shouted. He was huge, bald, with a gold tooth flashing when he spoke.

The bartender froze. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. She didn’t know where the owner was. She couldn’t help them.

…

 [COMBAT QUEST ASSIGNED]

Task: Defeat Her Enemies

Reward: Vehicle – Bugatti La Voiture Noire

…

Johnny stayed seated, shoulders slumped, calmly sipping the last of his drink like the danger around him didn’t matter.

One of the gangsters walked up to him. His boots stopped inches from Johnny’s stool. The gun barrel tapped the side of Johnny’s glass.

“Hey, clown. Are you deaf or something?” the man sneered, breath heavy with cheap whiskey. “The club is closed?”

Johnny didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the bottom of his glass. He didn’t want this. Not tonight. Not after Cerberus. Not after five hours of running through hell.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“I’m sorry, mate,” he said. “But I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What?”

“You see…” Johnny looked up and met the man’s eyes. “…I want to meet the club owner too.”

The thug stared at him. Then he laughed. Everyone behind him laughed too. Loud, sharp and cruel laughter spread across the room.

“Listen to this circus freak!!!” someone shouted.

“Bro really thinks the club owner is handing out drinks to crazy-looking idiots tonight,” another said, laughing.

“Maybe he wants a job washing dishes,” a third mocked.

The leader stepped closer, his grin turning ugly. “You don’t even look like you belong here. Look at you. One drink away from broke. And you want to meet her?”

Johnny said nothing.

“Oh, he’s quiet now,”

And his silence infuriated them even more.

“Boys, looks like we got ourselves a deaf clown.” the thug growled, waving his gun like a toy.

“What’s wrong? You blind too? Can’t you see what’s in my hand?”

Johnny looked at the gun, and for the first time, he noticed something. He wasn’t afraid.

Not even a little.

Maybe it was because after being chased by a three-headed hellhound, a gun looked really cute in comparison.

Johnny didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just silence.

That silence continued to piss them off.

“Oh, this guy thinks we’re joking. Enough talk. Simon—blow his brains out while we wait for the owner.”

Simon raised his gun.

And time slowed.

Johnny’s eyes widened. He saw everything—the small movements, the way Simon’s finger squeezed the trigger.

The shot was coming, the bullet was about to fly, but Johnny’s body moved on its own.

He ducked low, fist snapping upward. His knuckles hit Simon’s chin with a loud crack.

The gun flew into the air. Johnny caught it and smashed it across Simon’s head.  The man dropped like a sack of bricks.

The others roared. Three rushed him at once, blades flashing.

Johnny moved between them, his vision sharp, every attack slow, like it was happening underwater.

Is this… from the combat penalty reward? he thought. I was too tired to notice before… but now I see it… they’re all so slow.

He grabbed one thug’s wrist and twisted, until his bone snapped. He took his knife, buried it into another man’s stomach, then turned and drove his elbow into the third man’s nose.

Blood sprayed across the floor.

In the scuffle, the bartender yelped as she ducked, her face flushing red with fire and adrenaline while she clutched the bar.

Two more pulled their guns. Johnny didn’t think. He threw the knife. It spun and cut one man’s hand. The gun fell.

The second fired—Johnny twisted, felt the bullet rush past his shoulder, and closed the gap in two steps. His boot crushed the man’s knee. His fist smashed into his jaw.

Crack.

Another one down.

Only the leader was left.

The man growled and pulled a shotgun from his coat. “Playtime’s over, clown.”

He fired.

Johnny dropped behind the bar as wood exploded around him.

The bartender screamed and hid, pressing close to him in the tight space, her soft curves squishing against his arm, her warm breath on his neck as she whispered, "Be careful!".

Johnny grabbed a half-empty bottle, and the moment the shotgun clicked, signaling a need for reload, Johnny sprang up from under the counter and hurled the bottle.

It smashed into the leader’s face, blinding him.  Glass and liquor exploded.

Johnny jumped the counter, fists moving fast.

One.

Two.

Three.

The last punch sent the giant crashing into a table. The shotgun slipped from his hands. He didn’t get back up.

The club went quiet. Bodies groaned. Blood mixed with spilled alcohol.

Sweat ran down his face. Broken glass sparkled around his boots, and Johnny stood alone in the wreckage of Club Euphoria, staring at his fists.

“…Holy shit,” he muttered. “How did I just do that?”

Johnny rolled his shoulders, adrenaline still buzzing. His hands hurt. His knuckles were split. But for the first time in a long while—he felt alive.

And then, 

[Instant Health Restoration Activated]

Just like that, all his pain was no more. No cuts no bruise. All of it had instantly been healed.

While the gangsters dragged themselves off the dance floor, limping toward the exit, groaning, bleeding, clutching broken bones.

Johnny wasn’t sure if he should stop them, but before he could think about it, and decide, another system notification appeared, and stole his attention.

…

 [COMBAT QUEST COMPLETED]

Task: Defeat Her Enemies

Reward: Vehicle – Bugatti La Voiture Noire

…

“Holy shit.”

Johnny blinked. And there it was.

Outside the broken entrance doors, parked on the curb like it had been waiting for him all along—was the most viciously beautiful machine he had ever seen.

It wasn’t red. It wasn’t silver. It was black. Deep black. Blacker than midnight, blacker than sin.

A one-of-one Bugatti La Voiture Noire.

The curves weren’t sharp lines, but smooth and dangerous, like the car was alive. It looked as though it hadn’t been designed by engineers but sculpted by devils.

Johnny’s chest tightened.

The car didn’t just sit there. It looked ready to hunt. Its headlights glared like eyes beneath a hunter’s brow, the chrome vein across its hood shimmering like a blade.

Even standing still, it felt fast – fast enough to outrun a bullet. The four exhaust pipes gleamed under the streetlights, promising thunder.

And then the engine purred.

Sixteen cylinders. Fifteen hundred horsepower. The kind of power that didn’t just move you—it devoured roads

The gullwing door opened upwards with a soft hiss, unfolding like the wings of a black angel.

Inside, the red leather seats and hand-stitched rims glowed under gentle lights. It didn’t feel like any car interior.

It felt like a throne.

Johnny couldn’t stop the grin from splitting his face.

“Nice,” he muttered, flexing his shoulders.  “and they say cardio’s useless.”

He wanted to slide inside, slam the door and disappear into the night at three hundred miles an hour. But then—

“Well, well. My club looks like a warzone. And here I was, worried tonight would be boring.”

The voice was soft, calm, and dangerous.

Johnny turned.

And there she was.

She stood at the top of the stairs leading down from the VIP lounge, wrapped in golden light.

She was tall, with long legs visible through the high slit of her tight black dress that hugged her hourglass figure like a second skin.

Her full lips curved in a smirk, with her long dark hair cascading over one shoulder.

She looked made for sin, hips swaying as she descended, the slit flashing smooth thigh with every move.

She didn’t look real. She looked designed. Designed as the kind of woman men sold their souls to impress.

…

 [HOT ASSINGMENT REMINDER]

Task: Successfully Flirt with the Club Owner

Reward: Ownership of the Nebula Hotel

[TARGET LOCATED— Club Owner]

[Affection meter: 5%]

…

Johnny knew at once—even if the system hadn’t told him—

This was her.

The target.

The woman he had to flirt with.

The club owner.

She raised one brow, her eyes locking on him with heat. “I’ll ask once,” she said, voice like velvet. “Who are you?”

Johnny smirked, blood on his knuckles, hospital gown still hanging loose off his shoulders.

His gaze flicked over her curves before meeting her eyes. He gave a small bow.

“Steele,” he said. “Johnny Steele.”

And for the first time since this night began… Johnny wanted the challenge.