QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 73: Changed

Chapter 73 – Cedric POV

"Arrest him!" I command, my voice ringing through the corridor like a whipcrack.

The guards don’t hesitate.

Two armored men seize the trembling accountant by both arms. His face drains of color, his powdered wig askew, mouth still flapping in pathetic disbelief.

"Wait—wait, Your Grace, surely this is a misunderstanding—!"

I toss the ledger onto the floor at his feet. Pages flutter open like a broken bird. The ink is still wet from my annotations. Red circles, slashed lines—calculated theft. Years of it.

"You skimmed nearly two hundred gold from the food allocations alone," I say coolly.

"The kitchen staff haven’t received fair wages in five years. And this—" I jab a gloved finger at the open record, "—this is falsified grain tax. I traced it to your cousin’s estate. Funny how the numbers always balance in your favor."

He collapses to his knees, dragged back up immediately by the guards.

"I-I was just following orders!"

"Then you can explain yourself in prison," I say. "Or to the Crown’s magistrate, when the audit is complete."

His protests are swallowed by the stone hallway as they drag him away. I watch in silence until the sound of his boots scraping stone disappears completely.

Then I finally exhale.

It’s done.

My first move.

A vassal family’s accountant, publicly arrested for corruption. It might not seem like much to the nobles, but the staff saw it.

And in this world, where they’re treated like shadows—they remember who notices them.

A pageboy peeks from around a corner, eyes wide. A scullery maid stands frozen in the stairwell with a basket of linens, mouth slightly open.

They’re whispering. Watching.

And that’s exactly what I want.

---

I wasn’t supposed to be someone.

Back on Earth, I was nothing special.

An overweight IT guy with bad posture and worse luck.

No social skills. No confidence. No legacy.

I used to fantasize about this kind of life—power, position, a castle, a wife... a harem.

But now that I’m here?

The reality is suffocating.

For now, I return to my office and gesture to Merin—my maid, the only one who actually updates me on the real status of the estate.

She follows with a clipboard. That’s right. I had a clipboard made. Took two weeks of arguing with the carpenter and bribes to the steward, but it’s mine now. Call it petty, but I need small wins.

"What’s next?" I ask.

"The armory," she replies. "There’s a report of missing swords and low-quality armor being delivered."

"Perfect. Let’s crack another skull."

She almost smiles.

Almost.

That’s new.

*

Exhausted, I drop into my office chair like a man collapsing after battle. Which, to be fair, I am. Just a different kind of war—paperwork, secrets, ledgers, and the weight of centuries-old corruption pressing into my spine.

But today, I won.

I rooted out another nest of vipers. Spies disguised as stewards, cooks, even the stable master—gone. Each one removed under the pretense of embezzlement, mismanagement, or incompetence.

All legitimate, all carefully documented.

A step in the right direction.

I close my eyes.

Merin’s hands are steady as she massages my shoulders, her fingers finding the knots of tension buried deep in my back. She’s good at this. Too good. I should ask how she learned—but I don’t.

Instead, I let my head drop forward, the tension bleeding out of me in waves. Her touch is soothing, almost clinical.

Then I fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I’m out—minutes? Half an hour?—but something pulls me back.

A shift in the air. A different kind of pressure.

I blink awake.

There’s movement below my waist.

Hands.

I jerk slightly, startled, only to meet her calm, unreadable gaze.

"Merin? What’s hap—"

She interrupts with a firm grip on my waistband.

"It’s part of my duties, Your Grace."

Panic flickers in my chest—but not enough to move.

"Duties?" I say, weakly.

"You don’t have to—"

"Please allow me."

Her voice is as gentle as always. Polite. Passive.

Like this is just another checkbox in her day.

And I... don’t stop her.

Because I’m a man. Because part of me wants to believe this is fine. Normal. Deserved.

Because if I say no, I might break the fragile illusion I’ve built—that I’m in control now. That I have control at all.

So I stay silent.

I breathe.

And I let it happen.

Her fingers are precise. Mechanical. There’s no heat in it, no seduction. It’s almost clinical—the way someone might sharpen a blade or clean a desk.

Efficient.

Emotionless.

And that makes it worse.

I close my eyes again, but not to enjoy it.

To escape.

Because I can’t stop wondering: Why is she doing this?

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Pity?

Does she think I want this? Expect this? Is this just another service expected of a maid in this twisted world?

And the most damning thought of all—am I justifying it because it feels good to be wanted for once?

Even if it’s fake.

Even if it’s empty.

Even if it’s just another lie I’m telling myself to get through the day.

I’ve done so much to take back my power.

To become someone new.

To stop being that spineless man I used to be—ignored, laughed at, invisible.

But as I sit here, in my high-backed chair, pants undone, hands working over me in silent servitude...

I wonder if I’ve really changed at all.

When it’s over, she fixes my clothes with the same calm efficiency, not meeting my eyes.

There’s no smugness. No shame. Just that same, quiet expression.

As if she simply finished dusting a shelf.

"Shall I bring your tea now, Your Grace?" she asks softly, adjusting the buttons on my tunic.

My mouth opens—then closes.

I nod.

That’s all I can manage.

She bows and slips out the door without a sound, leaving me alone in my chair, heartbeat still irregular, thoughts spiraling in too many directions.

I feel... hollow.

Not satisfied.

Not relaxed.

Just drained.