Hunting MILFs in a Trash Eroge-Chapter 131: Adding Fuel to the fire

The thought alone seriously infuriated him.

Stanley didn’t fully understand the whole concept of main character percentage.

To him, the world had simply always worked the way it should.

The way it should for him.

So when that pattern broke, even slightly, it rattled him to his core.

Something was off.

Deeply off.

And whatever it was, it was related to Damien.

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But the connection was undeniable. Ever since Damien had entered the academy. Ever since he had risen into the elite ranks. Ever since he had started appearing in places Stanley expected to dominate.

Things had changed.

And the other elite reacting so strangely was one part of it.

Stanley’s gaze flickered back to Damien, burning with resentment. To him, Damien wasn’t just a rival. He was a disruption.

Damien simple watched Stanley’s twisting expression, finding it amusing.

The latter had always frustrated him back when he was still playing the game, and now seeing Stanley in this current situation made him full of excitement.

The fifteen percent main character percentage he now carried might seem small, but in this world which literally revolved around it, it could change a lot of outcomes.

It would even twist their fates moving forward.

Besides, his percentage would surely increase, until Stanley would be reduced to nothing more than a side character.

It didn’t matter that this was meant to be this latter’s story, he would take the stage from him anyway.

Meanwhile, Stanley’s mind kept racing, trying to make sense of what he was feeling.

The whispers around him felt louder now, more oppressive. They weren’t mocking him openly, but they weren’t supporting him either. That neutral indifference hurt more than outright hostility.

He wasn’t being praised.

He wasn’t being followed.

He wasn’t being treated as the center.

’Why...’ he thought desperately. ’Why aren’t they reacting?’

He replayed his words in his head. He hadn’t misspoken. He hadn’t embarrassed himself. He had said exactly what he always said. Exactly what had always worked.

So why now?

His teeth clenched harder.

’As long as his here...’ he thought, his gaze drifting once again to Damien. ’Things will never go back to how they’re meant to be...’

"Stanley," the voice of the instructor in front broke him out of his thought..

"Go back. There’s no need for you to stand here. Damien isn’t late." she continued.

Stanley froze. He wanted to argue, to step forward, to insist that he was actually right.

His mind raced, searching for any loophole, any way he could assert control, but the woman’s tone left no room for negotiation.

There was authority in her voice, not the kind that demanded fear, but the kind that made it impossible to disobey.

He gnashed his teeth, and then reluctantly went back, leaving Damien alone.

The woman was right, as the class was actually meant to start a few minutes from now, so Damien wasn’t technically late.

The reason so many people were already gathered in the room even though the class hadn’t started yet was because of the presence of him and Damien.

This was the first time there would be two unique class holders in the elite ranks appearing side by side, and the weight of that fact hung in the air.

The instructors were murmuring among themselves, trying not to be obvious, but Stanley could feel their curiosity pressing against him from every angle.

They had seen students rise before, they had watched many talents grow, but the combination of these two in one place, in the same moment, was something unprecedented.

They wanted nothing more than to see what they were capable of, especially with their respective classes.

Damien was a commoner, which made many of them look down on him.

Nonetheless, the Spellblade class he carried made up for it and more. It was rare, almost untouchable in its potential, and it changed everything.

He was an anomaly, and anomalies were dangerous.

Stanley, however, was different.

He was not a commoner, not in the sense that Damien was, but he was not of noble blood either. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

His background was rather unique, and the instructors were even more curious about him.

Damien sighed, moving towards the group of elites.

As one would expect, there were murmurs and whispers.

Some end turned their heads towards him, their eyes burning with disgust.

However, Damien ignored them all.

Then the door opened again.

Another student walked in, attracting all the attention to himself.

It was none other than Tart, his gaze sweeping across the room until it settled on Damien.

The moment he saw the latter, his face squeezed into a scowl and he hissed loudly.

Damien’s eyes drifted naturally toward Stanley as Tart’s scowl fixed on him.

He of course noticed the displeased expression on the latter’s face as he saw him, but he ignored it.

He expected something—perhaps Stanley would say something about Tart being late, perhaps a complaint.

But Stanley remained silent, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Damien’s lips.

’Of course,’ he thought. ’Of course you won’t say anything. You were just trying to put me in trouble.’

He knew Stanley was just trying to paint him in a bad light, and now that it didn’t work, he intended on turning that to his favour.

Thr smirk on his face deepened, and he turned towards Stanley.

"Aren’t you going to say anything, Stanley, about him arriving a few minutes before class starts?" he said.

The words landed like a jolt. Stanley’s brow rose, confusion flickering in his eyes. His mind raced.

What was he supposed to do? Speak? Complain? Rebuke?

The question didn’t make sense because he hadn’t even intended to notice, hadn’t even intended to react. And yet here he was, being forced into the spotlight, being forced into an expectation that wasn’t his own.

Murmurs began to spread immediately through the elites. Small at first, subtle whispers curling like smoke around Damien’s presence, but growing steadily louder.

They were talking about Stanley, about his arrogance, about how he expected everyone to follow his lead, how he assumed his opinion should carry weight without challenge.

Stanley’s ears twitched, his eyes narrowing.

The confusion in his chest transformed into irritation, into disbelief.

Veins popped along his temple as the murmurs grew louder, his anger coiling tight like a spring ready to snap.

He could feel the tension rising, a mix of frustration and shock pressing against his ribs.

’I didn’t even say anything... why the hell is he picking trouble with me now?’ he thought, biting the inside of his cheek. ’Why the hell is he trying to make this my fault?’

"For such a diligent and righteous student, you sure are partial." Damien continued, adding fuel to the fire.

The murmurs escalated immediately. The other elites had heard him, and now the whispers grew into a chorus of judgment.

Damien was right. Stanley was being hypocritical. He had always claimed fairness, righteousness, impartiality, but in this moment, he had remained silent when Tart did the same thing he was insulting Damien for.

The air in the room shifted again, subtly but decisively.

And with each passing second of silence, Stanley felt the weight of that attention pressing harder, more inescapable, until it gnawed at his chest and tightened around his temples.

His mind raced, struggling to make sense of what had just happened. He had not said anything, but Damien’s words had already made things a lot worse than they were.

He tried to open his mouth, tried to think of something sharp to counter, but the words lodged in his throat.

The worst part was that it was best he remained quiet, which annoyed him even more.

He could only fume inwardly, thinking of how irritating Damien was.

’Damien...’ he seethed inwardly, the name tasting bitter in his thoughts.

He hadn’t even noticed when Tart had stepped in, so lost had he been in his own spiraling thoughts.

And yet, even if he had realized it sooner, there was no way he could have said anything.

To challenge Damien now, to call out Tart’s lateness himself, would have been catastrophic for his image.

The murmurs of the other elites were already forming a subtle narrative, one where Stanley could appear petty, self-absorbed, or overly rigid.

Any outburst would only feed it, and his image was too fragile to risk with a single word spoken in frustration.

If it had been anyone else, perhaps this strange situation wouldn’t matter that much.

It would just be nothing more than a slight annoyance.

But Stanley wasn’t anyone else. He lived off the validation of others. He thrived on being seen as exceptional, brilliant, someone who could command attention without needing to force it.

He loved being the center of attention, but this—this wasn’t attention he wanted.

This was the wrong kind of attention. And Stanley could feel every second of it pressing down on him, suffocating, twisting, forcing him to swallow his anger, forcing him to keep a neutral expression even as his chest burned with the effort.

He let himself take shallow breaths, tried to calm the heat in his mind, tried to maintain composure, to appear as if nothing had touched him, while inside, a storm raged.

Minutes passed, stretching longer than they should have.

The murmurs gradually softened, the anticipation in the room focusing elsewhere, and finally, the woman at the front began the class.

She raised her hand and pointed at one of the students, a boy of average height with short brown hair, causing the rest of the students to turn towards the boy also.