NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Family meeting?

Artis and Chen marched into the palace like two idiots who’d just realized they were the butt of the joke.

The meeting hall was packed with the A-team of judgment: the Patriarch, Matriarch, the Young Lady, Young Master Jin, and the walking embodiment of cholesterol, Grand Elder Pliney.

The atmosphere was thicker than Pliney’s thighs after an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Chen, proving he was the undisputed king of spineless moves, immediately bowed so low he could’ve licked the floor, then scuttled over to Jin like a whipped dog.

He left Artis standing alone, center stage, like a dumbass who’d accidentally signed up for a comedy roast but forgot his jokes.

‘Stupid fucker!’

Artis thought, trying not to glare at Chen’s retreating back.

‘I’ll fuck your wife so hard she’ll start calling me young master, just wait.’

All eyes were on Artis now, glaring holes through him. None more so than Fatty Pliney, whose smirk was the kind of thing that made you want to test if chairs could actually support a flying kick to the face.

‘Oh, you think you’re cute, don’t you, you doughy sack of shit?’

Artis fumed.

‘One day, that fat head of yours will be mine…’

He paused, blinking as the double meaning hit him.

‘No, no, not that head! Fuck! I mean the one on your neck! Wait—shit—okay, the head that’ll roll on the floor after I slice it off. Goddammit.’

The sheer absurdity of his mental rant relaxed him a little. Artis straightened up, letting his smirk creep back onto his face as he finally took stock of the self-righteous jury sitting above him.

As always, the Patriarch sat on his high throne, exuding authority and smugness like a rooster that owned the henhouse. His flowing robes practically screamed, “Bow before me, peasants!”

Below him, on a slightly smaller but no less regal throne, sat the Matriarch, wrapped in a pristine white robe that covered her curvaceous body like a chastity seal.

She looked like a former MILF queen of sin who’d taken a vow of purity after a divine intervention—or at least a particularly awkward confessional. And that thought made Artis sigh with profound disappointment.

‘Damn shame to hide such grade-A assets behind all that fabric.’

He mused, shaking his head slightly.

‘It’s a crime against nature. She’s probably still jumpy after that little incident with the guard… but seriously, let the world see those juicy melons in their full glory.’

Still, there was no concealing the way her crossed legs highlighted those thick, sculpted thighs. They were practically begging for a worshipper.

Artis’ fingers twitched.

‘What I wouldn’t give to run my hands along those thighs, squeeze them, maybe even—’

He quickly redirected his gaze to her face, if only to stop his brain from spiraling further into horny madness.

Thankfully, her face wasn’t hidden. She was as pale as the robe she wore, like a goddess carved from the finest porcelain. Her plump red lips were the kind you’d dream about biting, her almond-shaped eyes framed by lashes longer than his self-control, and her nose, perfectly petite, tied it all together.

‘A masterpiece. Face of an angel, body of a demon, and sweet pussy of a—dammit, focus.’

Then it happened. Her lips curved ever so slightly into a smile. A dangerous, knowing smile. His heart skipped several beats as his eyes snapped to hers.

Her gaze locked with his, like a hunter pinning down its prey.

‘Shit. She knows.’

Artis quickly shifted his gaze from the Matriarch to the two brats seated beside their parents, a stark contrast of elegance and chaos.

Jin sat there, draped in his blue-green robes with his perfectly styled black hair, exuding all the fake charm of a polished prince. His signature smirk, the kind that screamed “I’m better than you and I know it,” was plastered on his face.

‘I swear, one day I’ll wipe that smirk off with my fist. Maybe both fists. Hell, maybe even my foot.’

Then his eyes reluctantly shifted to the infamous brat of the family, Julin. If Jin was a polished jewel, Julin was the flame-throwing wildfire threatening to melt it.

She had inherited her mother’s killer body but paired it with the unhinged chaos of her brother.

Her red-and-black one-piece dress wasn’t so much an outfit as a declaration of war on modesty. The slit on her upper thigh showed off enough skin to make seasoned courtiers choke on their tea, and her big, bouncy melons were practically screaming, “Pay attention to me!”

‘Damn. Someone put this bitch in her mother’s robes. At least those kept things classy.’

He thought, his eyes lingering a bit longer than was respectable.

‘But credit where it’s due, she’s got a pair worth noticing. Not as divine as her mother’s, but definitely premium grade. If she were my step sister, I’d—’

Artis cut himself off with a sharp mental slap.

‘Nope, stop that thought right there. Crazy bitches aren’t worth the trouble.’

He risked a glance at her face and instantly regretted it. Julin’s wild eyes were already locked onto him, filled with a mix of mischief and the unmistakable spark of I’ll make your life hell for fun.

‘Shit. She’s been watching me this whole time. Nope, not making eye contact with that psychopath.’

Artis’s gaze quickly dropped from Julin’s wild eyes to her lap, where a sleek black cat lay curled up, its emerald eyes staring at him with unnerving intensity.

The damn thing didn’t blink, didn’t shift—just locked its soulless little laser beams on him like it knew every questionable thought he’d ever had.

He frowned, his discomfort growing as he noticed the faint burnt patches on its otherwise glossy fur. The cat looked like it had narrowly escaped a barbecue.

‘Is this her spiritual beast? What was its name again? Rae? Yeah, that’s it. Figures she’d pick the creepiest, most psychotic animal as her sidekick. I know it’s not just a regular furball, though—pretty sure it’s got some crazy powers. Shame I fucking died before the novel explained what it could actually do. Typical.’

Artis made a mental note to keep an eye on the feline from hell. Spiritual animals were usually quirky, but this one gave him the distinct impression it wouldn’t hesitate to claw his face off if Julin so much as whispered the command.

Shaking off the cat’s unsettling stare, his eyes shifted to the man standing at the far end of the raised platform.

The sight nearly made him chuckle out loud. The dude was a walking miracle—if walking was even the right word for the waddle he was doing.

Grand Elder Pliney. The human embodiment of indulgence. A mountain of fat somehow squeezed into formal robes, standing there smirking like he was the Emperor of Pies.

‘Oh, great. Here comes the smug bastard.’

Artis scowled internally.

‘He’s probably already convinced I’m the mastermind behind the Matriarch’s “peeping” incident. Like I’d be dumb enough to leave a trail. Still, that smirk is pissing me off. One day, Pliney, I’m gonna roll you down a hill and watch you pick up speed.’

Pliney’s smirk deepened as if he could read Artis’s thoughts, his double chin quivering with silent amusement.

Artis clenched his fists, half-wondering if throwing a loaf of bread at him would make the fat bastard flinch.

The Patriarch, seated on his high throne, was just beginning his grand speech, his deep and regal voice commanding the attention of the entire hall.

“I assume you are trying to find out why you were summoned he—”

But before he could finish, a shrill voice cut through the tension like a rusty blade.

“What did you rightfully take from the inventory, Junior Brother?”

Julin squawked, her high-pitched tone managing to sound both accusatory and insufferable at the same time.

The room went dead silent.

“…”

“… …”

“… … …”

Artis’s brain short-circuited for a second. She really had the audacity to cut off the Patriarch—the Patriarch—to ask that dumbass question?

‘Oh, fuck me sideways with a rusty spear.’

Artis fought the urge to facepalm so hard that his hand twitched.

‘All this dramatic tension, the regal air, and she just turns it into a bad comedy skit. Fucking fabulous. Why the hell did I even bother pretending this was going to be serious?’

He shifted his gaze to Julin, whose face was plastered with a grin so unhinged it looked ripped straight from the “villainess loses her shit” section of a trashy drama. The kind of smile that screamed punch me louder than a drunk gambler demanding a rematch.

‘This bitch really thinks she’s the main character, doesn’t she?’

Meanwhile, the Patriarch’s face turned a slow, seething shade of red, a combination of rage and sheer embarrassment.

He coughed awkwardly, trying to regain his composure, but it was like watching a lion slip on a banana peel and then pretend it didn’t happen.

‘Oh, fuck, this is gonna be a long day, isn’t it?’

Artis thought, already mentally checking out of the situation. He could feel his brain slowly slithering out of his skull and making a run for it.

Our dear protagonist was already out.