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: 50 Charm Points + Ownership of the Nebula Hotel

….

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

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

He looked around the nightclub. The flashing strobes, the grinding bodies, the endless bass. 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 let out a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, ain’t no fucking way I’m pulling that off.”

And just when he thought his night couldn’t get any crazier…

—BANG!

The sound tore through the club like thunder. Louder than anything Johnny had ever heard. His glass nearly flew from his hand. People screamed.

“THE CLUB IS CLOSED FOR TONIGHT! EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Panic spread instantly. The crowd surged toward the exits, chairs toppling, glasses shattering, bass still thumping like the club itself didn’t care that it was being ripped apart.

At the center of it all, a pack of men had appeared.

There were seven of them, each dressed in leather jackets marked with a snarling wolf insignia. Scarred faces, tattoos curling up their necks, teeth gritted with years of bad decisions. Their boots pounded like war drums as they stormed forward, guns gleaming in the flashing lights.

“WHERE IS THE CLUB OWNER?!” their leader bellowed, a hulking man with a shaved head and a gold tooth flashing in the light.

The bartender froze, lips moving in silent prayer. She didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t help them.

The chaos thinned. The crowd emptied. And at the bar, Johnny remained seated, shoulders slouched, sipping the last of his glass like he was the only man on earth who didn’t care about the danger around him.

One of the gangsters marched up to him. His boots stopped inches from Johnny’s stool. The barrel of the gun nudged against the side of Johnny’s drink.

“Hey, dipshit. Are you deaf or just slow?” the man sneered, breath hot with cheap whiskey. “Didn’t you hear?.”

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

But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“I’m sorry, mate,” he said calmly. “But I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see…” He lifted his gaze, meeting the man’s eyes. “…I want to meet the club owner too.”

The thug stared at him, then burst out laughing. Not just him—everyone behind him joined in. It was loud, sharp, and cruel.

“Listen to this clown!” someone barked.

“Bro, what—he think she’s just handing out drinks to crazy looking motherfuckers today” another cackled.

“Boss, maybe he wants a job washing dishes,” a third mocked, snorting.

The leader stepped closer, his grin twisting into something mean. “You don’t even look like you belong here. Look at you. One drink away from broke. And you wanna meet her?”

Johnny said nothing.

The silence made it worse.

“Oh, he’s quiet now,” the thug growled, waving his pistol like it was a toy. “Boys, looks like we got ourselves a deaf clown! Yo you a blind deaf clown or something? Can’t you see what’s in my hand?”

Johnny stared at the gun.

And for the first time, he realized something. He wasn’t afraid. Not even a little.

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

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

The silence pissed them off.

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

Simon raised his gun.

Time slowed.

Johnny’s eyes widened. He could see the movement—every twitch, every shift of muscle, the way Simon’s finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet was about to fly, but Johnny’s body moved on its own.

He ducked low, fist snapping upward. His knuckles met Simon’s chin with a crack that echoed louder than the gunshot. The pistol spun into the air, and Johnny caught it mid-flight, slamming it across Simon’s temple.

The man dropped like a sack of bricks.

The others roared.

Three charged at once, blades flashing. Johnny weaved between them, his vision crystal clear, every swing crawling at half-speed.

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

He grabbed one thug by the wrist, twisting until bone snapped, stole his knife and buried the hilt into another man’s gut before pivoting, elbow shattering the nose of the third. Blood sprayed across the dance floor.

Two more pulled their guns.

Johnny didn’t think—he threw the knife. It spun end over end, clipping one across the hand. The gun clattered away. The second fired—Johnny twisted, feeling the bullet whip past his shoulder, and closed the distance in two strides. His boot smashed the man’s knee, then his fist hammered down on his jaw.

Crack. Another down.

Only the leader remained.

The gold-toothed giant growled, pulling a shotgun from his coat.

“Playtime’s over, clown.”

He fired.

Johnny ducked behind the bar as wood splintered. The bartender screamed and dove for cover. Johnny’s hand closed around a half-empty bottle.

The moment the next shot reloaded, Johnny launched the bottle. Glass shattered against the leader’s face, blinding him. Johnny vaulted the counter, fists a blur. One, two, three—

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

The club was silent. Bodies groaned on the floor. The smell of blood mixed with spilled liquor.

Johnny stood alone, in the ruins of Club Euphoria, staring down at his fists, sweat dripping down his temples, glass shards glittering around his boots.

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

He rolled his shoulders, still buzzing from the fight. His hands hurt, his knuckles split, but for the first time in forever—he felt alive.

The gangsters staggered off the dance floor, and limped to the exit, groaning, bleeding, clutching broken bones. Johnny wasn’t sure if he should just let them go, but before he could decide the system notification stole his attention.

…

[Side Quest Completed.]

Task: Defeat Her Enemies

Reward: Vehicle – Bugatti La Voiture Noire

….

“Holy shit”

Johnny blinked. Then blinked again.

And there it was.

Through 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.

The car wasn’t red, or silver. It was black. Blacker than midnight, blacker than sin. A one-of-one Bugatti, La Voiture Noire. The Black Car.

The curves weren’t lines so much as they were whispers of temptation, smooth and predatory, as though the thing hadn’t been designed by engineers but sculpted by devils.

Johnny’s chest tightened. The thing didn’t just sit there—it prowled. Even standing still, it looked fast enough to outrun bullets. The quad exhaust gleamed at the rear, promising thunder.

The gullwing door hissed upward, unfolding like the wing of a black angel. Inside, blood-red leather and hand-stitched trim glowed under ambient light. It wasn’t a car interior. It was a throne.

Johnny couldn’t stop the grin splitting his face. “Nice,” he muttered, rolling his sore shoulder with a wince. “And they say cardio’s useless.”

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

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

The voice was soft. Feminine. Powerful.

Johnny turned.

And there she was.

Standing at the top of the stairs leading down into the VIP lounge, framed in golden light. She was tall, with legs that seemed to stretch forever under the slit of her black satin dress.

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

And Johnny knew instantly—without the system telling him—this was her.

The target.

The woman he had to flirt with.

The club owner

She arched one brow, voice like silk over steel. “I ask… who are you?”

Johnny smirked, despite the blood on his knuckles, his stained crazy-person-looking hospital gown he still had on.

Locking eyes with her, he gave a half-bow.

“Steele,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“Johnny Steele”

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