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, hips bumping in tight skirts that rode up teasingly. 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!! 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.

Seven of them. Leather jackets marked with a snarling wolf symbol. Scarred faces. Tattoos crawling up their necks. 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.

The chaos slowly faded. The crowd cleared out. 

And at the bar, 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, dipshit. Are you deaf or just slow?” the man sneered, breath heavy with cheap whiskey. “Didn’t you hear?”

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. You see…” 

He 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. Cruel.

“Listen to this clown!” someone shouted.

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

“Boss, 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 wanna meet her?”

Johnny said nothing.

“Oh, he’s quiet now,”

The silence made it worse.

 “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 really did look cute in comparison.

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

That silence pissed 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.

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… they’re 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 skirt hiking up to show smooth thighs and a peek of lacy panties, 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, warm breath on his neck as she whispered, "Be careful!" Her heart raced against him, sending a spark through the chaos.

Johnny grabbed a half-empty bottle.

The moment the shotgun clicked, signaling a need for reload, Johnny threw 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.

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

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