Kujo stood in the middle of the training field, hands on his hips, trying to look like an instructor instead of an overwhelmed husband.
"I want to be involved," he said. "I can't just be the guy at the top who signs off on things. If we're training new recruits, I want to help."
Setara had sighed.
Zafira had smiled.
And all five other girls had given him the exact same response—different tones, same meaning:
"Then you'll need supervision."
And so, that morning, Kujo arrived on the field flanked by five beautiful women who absolutely were not going to let him teach in peace.
The recruits were a mix of young werewolves, dark elves, and vampire scions—eager, strong, but inexperienced. They formed lines and watched him intently.
Kujo started off well enough, demonstrating proper stance, footwork, and basic strikes. But then Kyrie stepped forward.
"Hold positioning is critical in aerial grapples," she announced. "Let me show them."
Before he could respond, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, jumped, and locked her thighs around his waist in midair.
"Kyrie—!" he choked.
"This is a basic airborne bind," she said sweetly, her breath warm on his ear. "You want to press your hips tight—like this."
He gasped as she adjusted her grip, squeezing slightly. The recruits watched, silent and wide-eyed. Kyrie winked at them all.
When she finally released him, Fiore took her place.
"You shouldn't teach dodging without falling techniques," she said bluntly.
She stepped behind Kujo, grabbed his arm, and rolled him sideways—taking him straight to the ground.
Before he could rise, she straddled him, pinning his chest with her thighs and gripping his wrists.
"Control the body, control the fight," she said. "You must dominate the enemy's center of gravity."
Her face was just inches from his. Her breath was hot.
"...This is still training, right?" Kujo muttered under her.
Fiore smirked. "Very educational."
Before he could roll free, Chusi barreled in from the side.
"Guess it's my turn!"
She leapt into the air and tackled all three of them into a fresh patch of mud.
Kujo groaned as his face hit the dirt. Kyrie yelped. Fiore rolled out and cursed under her breath.
Chusi just laughed and sat on his back. "Accident! Sort of!"
"You're not even trying to pretend anymore," Kujo said flatly.
The recruits stared, unsure if they were learning something or witnessing a romantic ambush.
Dimara joined in next. "Ooooh~ It's pile time?"
"No," Kujo said. "No piles—"
Too late.
She slithered over with shadow tendrils and pinned his ankles while lying across his waist.
"Body pressure training," she cooed. "So important~"
"You're crushing me," he wheezed.
"That means it's working~"
Then Zafira appeared.
Silent.
Composed.
Until she knelt beside him, ran a finger down his spine, and said, "He's the perfect training dummy. So much tension to work with."
She calmly sat on his legs and pressed her hands to his shoulders. "I'll teach mana disruption holds."
"Can't… breathe…" Kujo gasped.
Setara appeared on the edge of the field, arms folded.
She watched the dogpile silently.
"Class dismissed," she said loudly. "Before the recruits forget what training is."
The students scattered—quickly.
But the girls didn't move.
By the time the sun began to lower in the sky, Kujo was still pinned under a pile of warm, sweaty, smirking women.
He was sore.
He was exhausted.
And he was absolutely not doing this again tomorrow.
…Probably.
The hero returned at noon.
This time, he didn't come alone.
A caravan of shining armor and blazing magic descended on the edges of the village—reinforcements drawn from holy orders and minor noble courts that still viewed Kujo's haven as a threat. Their banners bore the seal of purification, and their blades crackled with sanctified light.
Kujo stood at the front gates with his cloak billowing in the wind, shadow magic curling from his fingertips like smoke under pressure.
The hero dismounted from a glowing steed, his eyes fierce but no longer arrogant.
"I gave you a chance," he said.
"I gave you peace," Kujo replied.
The two locked eyes.
Around them, the town's defenders assembled—werewolves, dark elves, vampires, beastfolk, and the ones who mattered most: his harem.
Dimara cracked her neck, black-green tendrils twitching in anticipation.
Fiore stood with her blade drawn, armored and silent, eyes burning.
Kyrie unfolded her wings slowly, her gaze cold and precise.
Chusi grinned, her claws twitching.
Zafira stood in ceremonial battle robes, gold markings glowing with power.
Setara reviewed spell scrolls behind him, muttering ward enhancements as if already predicting how the fight would unfold.
"I challenge you," Kujo said, raising his voice to the field. "One last time. A formal duel. You win, I disband the village. I win, you leave, and recognize our sovereignty."
The hero hesitated—then nodded. "Agreed."
The field cleared.
Thunder cracked in the distance.
The duel began.
It was a storm of chaos and brilliance.
The hero's strikes were divine. His swordplay summoned waves of golden fire and holy wind, each slash slicing through the air with radiant precision.
But Kujo… was a shadow dragon.
Wings burst from his back. His form became cloaked in obsidian smoke. His claws gleamed violet, and the ground cracked beneath each step. Spires of shadow erupted, intercepting holy beams mid-flight.
The two clashed in bursts of light and dark—Kujo dodging, weaving, countering with brutal, swift attacks that left gashes across the terrain.
Then came the reinforcement squads.
They broke the rules.
The duel was interrupted by a barrage of spells launched toward Kujo mid-combat. The hero shouted for them to stop—but it was too late.
Kujo braced for impact—only for the attack to fizzle against a barrier cast by Setara.
The girls rushed the field without hesitation.
Fiore slammed through a wall of enemy swordsmen like a falling meteor.
Kyrie soared overhead, slicing through the air with energy wings and divekicking a caster mid-incantation.
Chusi tackled two at once, snarling and laughing as she hurled bodies into the dirt.
Dimara's tendrils split the battlefield, slapping weapons from hands and dragging people off their feet.
Zafira summoned runic glyphs of binding, sealing half the reinforcements with elegance and absolute dominance.
Together, they moved around Kujo like a protective storm—each guarding, striking, countering. It was chaos given rhythm, violence with grace.
And Kujo, despite his exhaustion, stood tall.
He lunged toward the hero, both of them colliding again in a final clash of will and fury.
Their blades struck.
Their power exploded.
Silence followed.
The hero's sword broke first.
He fell to his knees, panting, his aura flickering.
"You're not evil," he whispered. "You never were."
"I never needed to be," Kujo replied.
The hero looked down, defeated but not bitter. "The Demon King's stirring. He's noticed you. And he's afraid."
He stood slowly and turned. "So am I."
The hero left with his forces in tow.
No one stopped them.
And Kujo collapsed.
His body gave out. The strain of magic, battle, emotion—it all hit him at once.
He didn't fall alone.
The girls were already there.
Hours later, he woke in his room.
Warm.
Surrounded.
His coat was gone. His shirt, too. Soft skin pressed against his arms, legs, chest.
Dimara was on his left, curled against his side with a possessive grip and her tendrils tangled around his ankle.
Fiore was on his right, holding his hand like she'd fought the entire army alone and still didn't want to let go.
Kyrie lay across his stomach, her wings draped over him like a blanket, lips brushing his ribs.
Chusi straddled one of his legs, snoring softly, her top half undone and barely covered by a tossed-over sheet.
Zafira lay across his chest, one hand on his heart, her sheer ceremonial wrap soaked and clinging to every curve.
And Setara, robe slipping open at one shoulder, hugged his arm and murmured something about "post-battle priority allocations" in her sleep.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't breathe.
And yet… he smiled.
"Worth it," he muttered.
Dimara nuzzled his cheek. "You're awake~?"
"Rest more," Zafira whispered, kissing his jaw.
"Next time," Fiore murmured, "we fight as one from the start."
"You're so warm," Kyrie sighed happily.
"I'm keeping this leg forever," Chusi added.
Setara groaned and rolled closer. "Stability… protocols… need cuddling…"
Kujo gave up.
Buried in six half-dressed, battle-worn, and utterly devoted women, he sank back into their arms, letting the warmth of victory—and affection—take him.