NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain

"Get this bastard out of my sight! I don't want to see him ever again. Get out! Hmpf!"

With a furious stomp, her entire body jiggled like a well-made pudding, every soft curve in motion. Her breasts bounced, her ass cheeks jiggled, her tummy quivered, and her thighs rippled—all in a rhythm that made Artis's breath hitch, his gaze fixed on the captivating sway.

He was certain his cock was already hard as iron just from watching her storm off.

"O-okay, sis… okay. I'll get him out, I swear. Don't be mad at him, alright? He's just drunk and… he won't say those things again."

Artis faked a placating tone, all the while eyeing her as she threw herself onto the bed with an angry huff.

The sight was magnificent.

She lay on her side, and her ass looked like it was sculpted from the gods themselves. Her cheeks spread just enough in her position to give him a peek, the lace panty barely covering anything, leaving hints of what lay beneath. If it weren't for that flimsy barrier, he knew he'd have an eyeful of her pink folds.

His mind was spinning, trying to commit every inch of her to memory, while he feigned innocence on the outside.

He licked his lips, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.

'Nice. Mission accomplished. Here's hoping that poor bastard—the real Artis—knows how to capitalize on this little victory once I'm out of here.'

With a smug chuckle, he grabbed the drunken Chen from the ground, slinging him over his shoulder with ease.

"Alright, sis, take care."

He called over his shoulder as he headed out. Just as he stepped beyond the doorway, the shoji door slid shut with a snap behind him. Artis shrugged and deposited Chen onto the nearest couch, who slumped into a snoring mess almost immediately.

Stretching his arms with a satisfied groan, he felt his back and neck crack from the tension of the night.

'Damn, the adrenaline rush against that guard really took it out of me. Could use some rest myself. Shame I didn't run into that fabled 'milf' I heard about… but hey, tonight's haul wasn't half-bad.'

He scratched his head, chuckling.

'Wait… what's her name again?'

He was thinking about his step sister.

'Ah, screw it. This has to be some kind of dream, anyway. Maybe if I crash here, I'll wake up in my real body.'

Artis made his way down the hall toward his room at the far end, convinced he could sleep off this strange experience and wake up back in his real body.

'Strange… What was that intense light I saw in my room earlier? Can't quite remember that part…'

He thought, frowning.

Yawning, he scratched the back of his neck, deciding that whatever it was could wait until morning. His feet shuffled on the polished floor.

Step… step…

But just as he passed another shoji door, he came to an abrupt stop. Huh? What was that sound?

Frowning, he backtracked, pressing his ear to the thin paper door. Laughter—distinctly male—and something softer, a woman's voice, too. Curiosity piqued, Artis slid the door open just a crack, peering in with one eye.

What he saw inside nearly made his eyeballs pop right out of his skull.

Inside, a low, square table stood on short legs, surrounded by five men seated cross-legged on the floor, a feast of open sake bottles and half-filled glasses scattered across the tabletop. One man lay face-planted on the table, clearly out cold from too much drink. In the middle of the group, a woman sat, her cheeks flushed with a drunken glow that made her look almost feverish.

Two men flanked her, their hands casually resting on her shoulders as they laughed, coaxing her to take another drink. The other two men cheered her on, urging her to chug down the sake.

"I-I can't drink anymore," she protested with a slurred laugh, though her smile hinted she wasn't entirely serious.

"Oh, come on, Juliana! Nights like these don't come around often," one of the men beside her chuckled, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Down it—you won't regret it!"

"Yeah, go on!" another encouraged, gesturing toward their passed-out friend. "Even Lui's having a great time!"

With a giggle, she raised the glass to her lips, letting the men's cheers push her over the edge as she tipped the glass back, drinking deep.

As she tipped back her drink, a few drops of sake spilled from her lips, sliding down to pool in her cleavage—a sight the four men tracked with greedy eyes. They glanced at each other, then at the man passed out at the table—her oblivious husband—and shared a knowing snicker.

'Well, well, well… trying to lay hands on what isn't yours, huh?'

Axel cracked his knuckles quietly, smirking to himself.

'Nice try, boys, but that bounty's off-limits, starting now.'

From the drunk man's slouched figure alone, he recognized the scene instantly—his father, a man who'd sell his soul for a drop of alcohol.

No wonder Artis, the real Artis, had always stayed out in the outer court, keeping his distance from inner circles and their luxuries. The man would've drained any goodwill or connections Artis had to fuel his addiction, and Axel knew that all too well.

In the outer court, everyone barely scraped by, a world where spirits were cheap and unreliable, risky enough to be a gamble with death. But inside? No chance he was letting these creeps, or his father, cause a mess for Artis's reputation.

Artis had warned every grifter in the outer court to steer clear of his father, especially if he used Artis's name to score free drinks.

The message had spread well enough to sever the last thread of their father-son bond. Now, they barely spoke—and only when his father, Lui, was sober, which was about as rare as a phoenix feather.

As for Juliana? The men here clearly thought she was a prime piece of work—the kind of "milfy banger" an author would craft with care. Even her thick white robe didn't hide those curves, sparking more than enough imagination.

The men's eyes told him all he needed to know: they'd clocked Lui as a sad, drunken fool and seized the chance, thinking they could liquor up his wife and try their luck. It seemed to be working—Juliana was already well into her cups, laughing along in ways she wouldn't if she'd been sober.

But, like a well-timed stroke of divine intervention, Axel was here.

If this had been the old Artis, he probably would've scowled and walked off, barely seeing her as more than a flatmate.

It's not my mother; let Father protect his own wife, he might've thought.

But now? Now, she was his mommy, and he wasn't about to let these horny bastards make a move.

'Time to save Mommy dearest and sow another seed of lust for my boy Artis here.'