Harem Streamer System: Every Crime I Broadcast Wins Me a Superheroine

A bright smile lit up Brigid's face like a sunrise cracking through stormy skies.

"Oh my GOSH—! (✧ω✧)"

She squealed as she waved with both hands and skipped toward the group.

"Irina? Wait, no way! I haven't seen you since my school came for that excursion to Russia—wooaaah, girl! How've you been?!"

Her voice was bubbly, melodic even, with a bounce that made people turn. And yet, she wasn't faking it—Brigid genuinely looked thrilled. Like a puppy that just spotted its old friend across a busy street.

Then she blinked owlishly as she craned her head around dramatically.

"Wait, if you're here… does that mean River and Willow are here too—?!"

Now her excitement had literally doubled.

If she had a tail, it'd be wagging like mad.

However, Irina wasn't wagging anything.

She crossed her arms tightly, gave Brigid a tired look, and muttered like someone who'd tasted sour gum—

"What do I care about those royal brats…"

Then she shifted her weight, locked eyes with Brigid, and spoke coolly.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. My assistant showed me some of your SMPE clips… and I'm honestly a little disappointed. Presentation? Weak. Photography? Hmm… passable at best. The only thing that didn't make me want to fast-forward was your super suit—looks advanced, at least."

She adjusted her lollipop to the other cheek.

"Who made it for you? A real hero?"

She said all that while halfheartedly texting with dull eyes as she sucked on her cherry lollipop like she wasn't dropping hot coals with each word.

Across from them, Marcus—who had been hunched over his camera rig, checking lighting adjustments—snapped his head up at the sound of his work being criticized.

"… Hah?"

He muttered, blinking twice.

Then louder—

"Oi! No one but Big Bro Scott or Aunt Emma's allowed to trash-talk my photography—!"

He marched forward with his wounded pride—

—but Sarah casually grabbed the back of his collar like he was a stray cat.

"Don't."

She sighed frustratedly.

"You can't just run up to Irina like that."

Marcus scowled. "Huh?! Why the hell not?!"

Sarah folded her arms.

"Because Brigid might act immature and playful, but she's one of the Four Prodigies. You know what that means, right? She's part of that next generation of Z-tier heroes—the ones scientists think could replace the top ranks someday."

Marcus paused.

He turned his head slightly toward Brigid.

He blinked.

She was just grinning and scratching the back of her head while Irina picked her apart.

Not even flinching.

Sarah kept going.

"At their maximum potential, these two are the kind of superhumans the world might literally depend on in times of absolute catastrophe. They're wanted by every brand, every company, everyone wants to endorse them. They could rule nations if they wanted even."

She dressed her bangs behind her ear.

Marcus just stared.

All those times he'd goofed around with her, hit her with a rolled-up notebook, pranked her with slime in the kitchen, teased her over her clumsy videos—he never realized who he was messing with.

It was… kinda terrifying.

Meanwhile, Brigid just threw her head back and chuckled like an old man watching reruns.

"Oh, Irinaaa… you've always been so brutal with your feedback. Remember when you made that poor referee cry during our match? Said he should 'die in a ditch' because his judgment was off by half a second? Classic."

She shook her head like it was the fondest memory ever.

Then she added, hands on her hips—

"Sure, my stuff's not as polished as yours. It's not like I'm being sponsored by multi-million dollar conglomerates or oil-rich Arabian families that want me as their political pawn. I just—oh, I don't know—prefer not to be a corporate sellout, unlike the losers you hang with. What were their names again? The Peak? Pulsar? Ooof."

Her voice stayed light, polite even, but the words?

Sharp as glass.

Salt on an open wound—dabbed gently with a smile.

Behind Irina, her team—Sasha included—looked like they were trying so hard not to laugh.

Mouths twitching. Sweat dripping.

They already knew this wasn't going to end well.

And they were right.

Because Irina's fingers stopped moving.

Her lollipop stilled in her mouth.

"Uh oh…"

Sasha mumbled, under her breath.

Irina slowly lowered her phone.

Her expression suddenly became irritated.

"You know…"

There was so much pride in her tone.

"Every day, I juggle hero work, PR events, endorsement contracts, brand deals, and more responsibilities than most heroes have in their entire career. And yeah, it's killing me. But I do it because I'm a pro."

She stepped forward slightly as her eyes sharpened.

"You're gonna say I'm fake. That I only care about fame and money. That I'm just some leashed mascot to the big brands. And you'd be half-right."

Brigid raised a brow, silent.

Irina smirked.

"Because I am a mascot. But I'm also winning. While you're out here pretending you're too good for the system, I became the system."

She leaned in.

"You wanna know the truth? Most 'heroes' lie. They act righteous because they're scared of public backlash. But I don't bother. I follow the rules, use every resource, every connection, every ounce of support I can grab."

Then, coldly:

"Whoever told you that you could be a great hero without an agency or sponsors is setting you up to fail. Because let's be real—without your powers, you're nothing. None of us would risk our lives if we didn't have something special inside us. Not a single sane person would."

She popped the lollipop back in her mouth and turned away like they just had a friendly chat.

But considering this was Irina, you could get away with calling this a friendly chat.

Over her shoulder, Irina added—

"You're not Nightwatch. You'll never be him."

She waved her slender, snow-white hand.

"Here's a tip. I'll be at Memorial Hall later. Over twenty brands are backing my presentation. If you're scared of getting crushed, maybe… don't show up."

And just like that, she vanished into the crowd.

A moment of silence followed.

Brigid didn't say a word.

Neither did Marcus or Sarah.

They just stood there.

No one spoke.

━ ━ ━ ━

Elsewhere.

At a food court across the building, Scott was seated stiffly at a table.

Across from him sat the man from the bathroom.

Simon.

He had a pale, haunting elegance—slicked black hair, a lazy stare, and clothes that were so black they seemed to drain the color around him.

Trench coat. Leather gloves.

Even his shoes were spotless.

He bit into his burger like it was made of gold.

Scott just stared.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

Simon asked mid-chew.

Scott squinted.

"I don't know how to look at someone who just gave me a traumatizing time in the bathroom."

Simon tilted his head.

"What? It's not like we had anal sex or an—"

"BRO?!"

Scott slapped the table, darting his eyes around.

"What the hell is WRONG with you?!"

Simon just gave him a look, like he genuinely didn't see what the problem was.

Then he sighed and chewed another bite.

"You look sad."

"Huh?" Scott blinked.

"You know what your problem is?"

Simon said casually.

"You"re smart. Too smart. That's why you're sad. Everyone else buys into the colorful circus of hero society. You don't. You see through it."

Scott leaned back, wary.

"You're sad because you know you don't know everything. And dumb people don't have that problem. Me? I've felt the same way."

He smiled faintly, chewing.

"Happiness in intelligent people is a rare trait."

Scott just side-eyed him. "Uhh… sure."

Suddenly, a group of kids dashed by, all of them wearing makeshift costumes mimicking Nightwatch's iconic armor.

Their mom chased after them, panicking.

"BOYS!! Oh my goodness! How many times has she told them not to wear that?! Nightwatch is a terrorist! Do you really want people thinking mummy's a bad person?!"

She sprinted after them.

Scott frowned.

Simon followed the sight and chuckled.

"Ahh, Nightwatch… what a guy. Saved countless. Beat Red Titan. And still, they call him a villain."

He took one last bite.

"Sometimes I think the world forgot what a real hero is."

Scott didn't respond.

Simon stood and wiped his mouth.

"Nightwatch might not be perfect, but he's probably the last one left that makes people hope, not worship."

Then he started walking off—

—but not before tossing a final grenade over his shoulder:

"You've got a really nice penis, boy. Hope your girlfriend enjoys it. Whew~!"

"Erm… what…?"

"Ahaha~ oh, and greet Emma for me!"

"…"

Scott sat there.

Mouth slightly open.

Eyes unfocused.

"Wait, how did you know about──!!"

The crowd of people had blocked out everything.

━ ━ ━ ━

In another section of the Blue Box Convention Center.

Just outside Exhibition Hall C.

A mob of reporters buzzed like flies around honey.

Flashbulbs lit the space like paparazzi fireworks, all centered around one beautiful girl standing elegantly behind a red velvet rope.

She wasn't just any teenage superhero.

She was Willow.

One half of The Royal Twins.

One of The Four Prodigies.

And the only one present at the moment.

Her brother River's absence didn't slow the tide of attention, though it did stir curiosity. For now, all eyes and lenses were glued to the eighteen-year-old Princess of Cambridge, standing regally with a smile that somehow managed to look both kind and untouchably royal.

The cameras kept clicking.

The mics of various reporters kept rising like hungry beaks from a flock of birds.

One particularly overeager reporter shoved forward like a mad man—breaking past his peers, crossing the red velvet rope in his desperation to get noticed—

WHAM.

He didn't even see the arm that stopped him.

One of Willow's bodyguards, a tall and blocky man in dark shades, slammed his palm into the reporter's chest and knocked him back like a ping pong ball.

"Stay away from Her Royal Highness Princess Willow of Cambridge!"

The guard barked.

His voice carried all the power of a war gun.

There was no question in his eyes, only empty dedication behind the tinted lenses.

But before the mood turned sour, Princess Willow stepped forward gracefully and rested her delicate slender hand on the man's back.

"Enough…"

She spoke so softly.

Like how feathers would sound if they had a voice.

The guard immediately lowered his head and stepped back with robotic obedience.

And just like that, the crowd melted.

"Awww, she's not only a selfless hero—she's humble, too! How wonderful!"

"She's barely eighteen and already has the demeanor of a queen… these British kids, man. So well-mannered it makes me helplessly jealous!"

"I'll marry a British woman for sure!"

"Dear me, I have to be the first to interview her when she goes fully pro!"

One reporter shouted.

The others were practically foaming with excitement.

Murmurs and chatter filled the air like schoolkids gawking over a celebrity crush. Many of them had never left the U.S. for a story—this was their first real encounter with foreign royalty, let alone two superheroes from Buckingham Palace.

The moment word broke that The Royal Twins would attend the SMPE, some journalists saw it as a golden chance to interview all Four Prodigies in one place.

But for others? This was about seeing royalty.

Real, living, blonde-haired, aristocratic royalty!

Some even camped outside Metro City Airport a full day early just to catch the twins' arrival. And now, running on pure coffee and adrenaline, their bloodshot eyes were filled with unfiltered obsession.

Princess Willow smiled, dazzling under the white-blue glow of the ceiling lights.

She was short in stature but ethereal in presence.

Her twin blonde ponytails bounced slightly with each subtle movement.

Her white and blue super suit was sleek, royal, futuristic even—lined with subtle enhancements, high-tech support fabrics, and black fingerless elbow gloves that gave her a touch of edge.

Her body figure was gracefully petite but curvaceous in all the right ways—wide hips, round and perky breasts that were just as huge as Brigid's—though Irina still reigned supreme in that department.

And despite the noise, the lights, the pressure, she carried herself like a born ruler.

Then, in a gentle, graceful gesture, she reached past the velvet rope and touched the shoulder of the same reporter who'd just been floored.

Her voice was like melted honey—thin and sweet.

"So… what was your question?"

The reporter stared at her like he was she was the sun.

He fumbled with his mic before managing to speak.

"Uhm, Princess Willow… how does it feel being both royalty and a registered superhero? Do you ever feel torn between the two worlds?"

Willow blinked.

She hadn't expected that.

Back home, most of the press didn't care for substance.

They wanted clicks, not character.

Every question was either a setup for political drama or an attempt to twist her words. Sometimes her interviews had to be scripted just to show the people her real motivations.

So… hearing something this genuine?

It made her heart warm.

She smiled gently, the type that made the whole crowd lean in unconsciously.

"Oh, constantly…"

She said with a small laugh.

"One moment I'm reviewing foreign trade policy with Parliament, the next I'm blasting a mutant centipede into the Thames. It's a delicate balancing act… but I like to think of it as diplomacy—with style and velocity."

The crowd exploded with laughter and admiration.

Even Charlie, one of the older guards standing behind the group, smiled softly to himself.

『It's good to see Princess Willow happy…』

But then he muttered quietly.

"Prince River isn't back yet, though…"

━ ━ ━ ━

Meanwhile, in a different part of the building…

Scott McQueen was dying.

Not from danger. Not from battle.

From bladder pressure.

"Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT—"

He cursed under his breath, gripping his crotch with both hands as he dashed through the hallway like a man fleeing from death itself.

"Why'd I drink so much water in the damn car—?!"

He finally made it to the restroom corridor…

And froze.

There was a line. A screaming line.

Like a mini riot outside a club.

"LET US IN!"

"Why the hell would you block the flipping TOILET like that, ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD IF I DON'T PISS IN THE NEXT FIFTEEN SECONDS I'M GONNA CRY BLOOD!"

Scott blinked.

"What the hell…"

He walked over to a woman in a pink hoodie near the edge of the crowd.

"Uhm. What's going on here?"

The lady looked at him. Then did a double take.

"Oh! It's you! Scott McQueen!" she gasped.

"Yep. That's me."

He offered a half-smile.

"Still doesn't tell me what's going on."

"Well, apparently there's, like, two dudes in black suits guarding the bathroom and saying no one's allowed in because the 'prince' is inside."

She rolled her eyes.

"Like—what prince? Who the fuck is the prince?"

"… Mhm."

Scott turned and casually walked toward the restroom entrance, slipping through the crowd like it was made of mist. Sure enough, two men in black suits stood like statues by the bathroom door.

"I need to use the bathroom…" Scott said plainly.

One of the guards gave him a stiff palm to the chest.

"Not now. The prince is using it."

Scott stared at him. Then held up a finger.

"One…"

The guards ignored him.

"Two…"

Still nothing.

"Three."

WHACK!

A lightning-fast palm strike to the liver dropped the first guard like a sack of potatoes.

The crowd roared.

The second one barely moved before Scott dodged his wild punch, twisted past him, and slammed the bathroom door shut from the inside.

The banging started immediately.

"OPEN THIS DOOR!"

"You're going to regret this!"

"We'll have every royal guard on your ass!"

Scott chuckled.

"Yeah yeah. Let me piss in peace."

He adjusted his sweatshirt and looked around the massive restroom. Stadium-sized. Rows upon rows of shiny urinals and stalls, clean enough to host a five-star brunch.

But…

"No prince…" Scott muttered.

He started opening stall doors, one by one.

Nothing.

Empty.

Still empty.

Then he heard it.

A soft, stifled whimper of a damsel in distress.

He turned toward the very last stall.

"A girl…?"

He opened it—and froze.

A girl was seated on the toilet, hugging her knees.

Her eyes were blue, her blonde hair messy, and her white super suit unmistakable.

She gasped and tried to scream, but immediately slapped both hands over her mouth.

"P-, Please… don't hurt me…!"

Scott blinked.

"Wha—huh?! I'm not—what? No! I wouldn't hurt a… uhm… beautiful lady…"

He threw that compliment out like a reflex, hoping it would calm her down.

She looked like a bunny cornered by a lion.

But judging by her bodysuit, she was a registered hero.

He cautiously stepped into the stall, raising a hand gently.

"I promise."

The girl looked at him, teary-eyed… then lunged forward and wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Woah—okay—uh, you're soft."

Scott muttered awkwardly.

"Jake would love you. Petite. Cute. Bunny vibe. Wait—I also dated Maya, so maybe not just him…"

Then Scott's brain finally connected the dots.

"Wait… what's a girl doing… in the men's bathroom?"

He narrowed his eyes.

And then—ding!

The System's voice echoed in his mind.

[Analyzing…]

[Individual is male.]

Scott froze. Looked down. Blinked.

"… no way."

She was to soft and beautiful to be a guy.

Besides, she had just as much hips as Maya did.

But then… he felt it.

A soft, innocent, yet undeniably present little bulge.

He sighed. Defeated.

"The family jewels have not been stolen…"

This was how Scott McQueen met him.

His Royal Highness Prince River of Cambridge.

━ ━ ━ ━

Note: This is the appearance of all Four Prodigies in one chapter, and their illustrations are in the comments below.