Evil MC's NTR Harem

"Welcome, contestants of my House of Fortune!"

The rich, commanding voice echoed through every corner of the mansion, reverberating off the sleek walls and high ceilings.

It was a voice that sounded both familiar and theatrical, as though the man behind it were enjoying himself immensely.

"Your group is now complete—eighteen perfect men and women, each chosen because you deserve a place in my house."

Conversations ceased. Laughter cut off mid-sentence.

Even the clinking of cutlery against plates stopped.

Everyone turned their attention to the ceiling speakers, holding their breath as the voice continued.

"Now, I present to you your first weekly task. Good luck… and may you all enjoy your time in my house."

The voice faded, replaced by a short musical flourish. Then silence.

And then—

"LET'S GO!" someone yelled, and the house erupted into chaos. Plates were abandoned, food forgotten, and a stampede of contestants surged toward the oversized television mounted on the living room wall.

The screen came to life, displaying bright colors and bold text.

WEEKLY TASK: THE STILLNESS CHALLENGE

One contestant must stand inside the circle in front of the TV. Do not move. Do not step out. Not even once. Duration: One week. Substitution is allowed. If the contestant moves outside the circle before the task ends, the group loses the weekly budget.

Failure means no money for food this week. You'll survive on unlimited water, rice, and eggs. Nothing else.

The contestants gathered around the screen, reading the task aloud, some mouthing the words in disbelief.

"Seriously? That's it, House Boss?" one of the guys laughed. "Easy peasy. Just stand still. What's the catch?"

"Yeah, it sounds simple," another chimed in, "but one whole week? That's brutal. No food, no bathroom breaks, no sitting down..."

A few of them began to realize how challenging it actually was.

"It's not that bad," Corey said, trying to sound confident. "It's just standing. We rotate in shifts, we win. Easy money."

Sounds of joy filled the room.

The contestants began murmuring among themselves, each quietly calculating who would be the best choice—or, more accurately, who would be the safest person to throw under the bus first.

"Look," said a guy named Trevor, "we just need someone calm. Someone who can stand still, maybe meditate or something. No need to freak out."

"Yeah, but if they fail, we're all eating eggs and rice for a week. No coffee, no snacks, nothing else."

"Why don't you do it then?"

"Me? Hell no. I've got bad knees."

One by one, excuses began to fly. No one wanted to volunteer. No one wanted the responsibility—or the pressure.

The tension in the room thickened.

And through it all, Ross remained seated in his corner. Silent. Unmoving. Like a statue.

He hadn't spoken since the task was announced. Hadn't approached the group.

But he was watching.

Always watching.

A few of the contestants noticed him again.

"Hey, what about Big D?" someone muttered, half-joking. "He's been sitting still all day. Maybe he's the guy for the job."

Laughter rippled through the group.

"Oh please. He can't even talk to people, let alone stand in one spot for twelve hours."

"Yeah, he'll probably just walk out halfway through and not say a word."

Still, some were eyeing him now—really eyeing him.

His stillness was unnerving. The way he sat there like he didn't care what anyone thought, like none of this affected him.

"Maybe…" one of the girls mused, "…he's not here to win at all. Maybe he's just here to mess with us."

Another scoffed. "Well, he's doing a damn good job so far."

Ross slowly stood.

Every head in the room turned.

Even the ones who'd been ignoring him.

He walked toward a place—calmly, deliberately.

And without a word, he was about to step onto the circle.

Gasps filled the room.

"The hell is he doing?"

"Is he volunteering?"

"He can't be serious…"

Then it happened.

Ross did something unexpected—again.

Just as the group began to applaud his sacrifice, he turned and casually walked away from the circle.

The others watched in disbelief as he headed straight for the dining table, where the food from lunch was still spread out.

"Yo—what the fuck!?" one of the boys snapped. "Hey, Big D! What are you doing, man?! We're trying to plan the task, and you're just… eating?!"

Everyone turned to look.

Ross had already pulled up his mask just enough to expose his mouth and chin.

With calm indifference, he picked up a plate, loaded it with food, and began taking huge, unbothered bites—completely ignoring the heated stares being thrown his way.

"I thought he was gonna volunteer first," someone muttered. "What the hell is this guy's deal?"

Ross didn't flinch. He didn't pause. Just kept eating like he didn't hear them—or didn't care.

"Not interested," he finally said between bites, his voice low and dismissive.

"Fuck you, man!" another guy barked. "You think you can just sit there and do nothing while the rest of us carry the weight? You don't get to eat if you don't help. You've done nothing for this group!"

Ross looked up, chewing slowly. Then he smiled—a wide, unsettling grin that revealed sharp white teeth and gave his expression something feral, almost primal. His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder.

"Who says?" he asked calmly. "You? Why don't you come over here and make me stop?"

The room went silent.

The challenge was forgotten for a moment. No one dared move. No one wanted to be the one to test him.

His presence radiated raw, quiet menace. Not loud. Not boastful. Just... dangerous.

Corey scoffed, trying to break the tension. "Fuck that big dick freak. We'll do the challenge without him."

He turned to the others. "Alright, listen up. We don't need that guy. We'll split the time into shifts—one hour per person. We'll rotate so nobody gets too tired. This thing runs 24/7, so we stay alert, work as a team, and get through the week."

There were nods around the room. It was a solid plan—logical, fair, democratic.

But a few people still glanced toward Ross, who continued eating at his own pace, unmoved by the drama. Unshaken by the hostility.

He didn't need to raise his voice or throw a punch.

He'd already made it clear—he was a force none of them could predict.

And maybe… someone they'd regret underestimating.