Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 23- Marla’s Firmness

Not out of kindness. Never that.

Just because watching powerful men lose what they thought they owned had its own kind of satisfaction.

And also, he needed to awaken her bloodline himself, given he had 29 days left to leave this world with his women; he at least found two of the women already.

But first, he needed leverage. Something official. Something that would put him in Elena’s orbit without raising suspicion.

He can force, but forcing through lust means no fun.

’Which professor do I target?’ 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

That was the question bouncing around his skull as he rounded the corner past the student lounge. He needed someone with enough authority to assign him to the festival committee—someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

His eyes scanned the hallway ahead, already calculating options.

And then he saw her.

Professor Marla.

She was standing near the bulletin board, talking to a cluster of students with that patient-but-firm expression teachers got when they were one stupid question away from assigning extra homework.

The woman was... thick. That was the only word for it.

Not fat—just built like every single calorie she’d ever consumed had gone exactly where it needed to go.

Her long skirt draped down to her ankles, some kind of modest fabric that should’ve hidden everything but somehow made it worse. The material clung to the generous swell of her ass, the fabric tenting slightly with each subtle shift of her weight. Her hips were wide enough to make doorways look nervous.

Up top, she wore a loose-fitting blouse with a shawl draped over her shoulders—clearly an attempt to downplay the massive udders straining against the buttons. But gravity didn’t give a shit about modesty. Her tits hung heavy and full, the kind of milk-laden breasts that belonged on fertility statues, not university faculty.

Her face was average. Maybe a little plain. The kind of features that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.

But that body? That body was ’fuckable’ in the most primal, grab-her-hips-and-pound-her-from-behind kind of way.

What caught Raven’s attention more than her appearance, though, was how the students around her were acting.

They respected her.

Not in that fake-polite way students sucked up to professors for grades. This was different. Softer. Like she was some kind of maternal figure they actually ’wanted’ to listen to.

"—and that’s why you can’t just skip the midterm and expect to pass based on class participation alone," Professor Marla was saying, her voice carrying that gentle-but-firm tone mothers used when explaining why you couldn’t have dessert before dinner.

One of the students—a scruffy guy in a wrinkled hoodie—rolled his eyes. "But Professor, I had a family emergency—"

"You had a hangover," Marla interrupted, raising one eyebrow. "I saw your Instagram story, Kyle. You were doing keg stands at Delta Sigma until three in the morning."

Kyle’s face went red as the other students snickered.

"That’s not—I mean—"

"Kyle." Her voice dropped an octave, still kind but with an edge of steel underneath. "I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to help you graduate. But I can’t do that if you keep lying to me."

The kid deflated like a punctured balloon, shoulders sagging. "...yeah. Sorry, Professor."

"Good. Now go to the tutoring center and get caught up on the material you missed. I’ll give you one chance to retake the exam next week. ’One’ chance. Don’t waste it."

"Thanks, Professor Marla." Kyle’s voice was quiet, genuinely grateful despite the scolding.

As the group started to disperse, another student—some punk-looking guy with too many piercings and an attitude problem—shouldered past one of the girls, nearly knocking her textbook out of her hands.

"Watch it, asshole!" the girl snapped.

"Maybe don’t stand in the middle of the fucking hallway," the punk shot back.

"Excuse me."

Professor Marla’s voice cut through the brewing argument like a knife through butter.

The punk turned, already rolling his eyes. "What?"

"Apologize to her."

"For what? She was in the way—"

"You knocked into ’her’," Marla said calmly, stepping closer. "Whether it was intentional or not, basic human decency requires an apology. So apologize."

The punk scoffed. "You’re not my mom, lady."

"No, I’m not." Marla’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted—became more solid, more immovable. "But I ’am’ your professor for Intro to Sociology, and I ’do’ control your participation grade. So unless you want to explain to your academic advisor why you’re failing a gen-ed course, I suggest you apologize."

The punk’s jaw worked like he was chewing glass.

But after a long, tense moment, he muttered, "...sorry."

"Louder. And look at her when you say it."

His face flushed with barely-contained rage, but he turned to the girl. "I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bump into you."

The girl blinked, clearly shocked that it worked. "Uh... it’s fine. Thanks."

Marla nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Now both of you get to class before you’re late."

The students scattered like roaches when the lights came on, leaving Professor Marla alone by the bulletin board.

Raven watched the whole exchange from about twenty feet away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

’Interesting.’

She had authority without aggression. Respect without fear. Students actually ’listened’ to her, even the shithead ones.

That kind of influence was useful.

He pushed off the wall and started walking toward her, his mind already spinning the approach.

The punk from earlier was still lingering near the water fountain, clutching his textbook and muttering angrily under his breath about "feminist bullshit professors."

Raven passed him without a word—then casually reached out and plucked the book right out of his hands.

"Hey! What the fuck—" The punk spun around, eyes blazing with indignation.

Raven stopped walking and turned his head slightly, just enough to meet the guy’s glare with his own flat, empty stare.

No words. No threats.

Just cold, dead eyes that promised violence if this conversation continued.

The punk’s mouth snapped shut.

His bravado evaporated like steam off hot pavement.

"...whatever, man," he mumbled, clicking his tongue and stalking off down the hallway with his hands jammed in his pockets.

Raven flipped the book open—some generic sociology textbook—and glanced at the name scrawled inside the cover before letting it drop carelessly onto a nearby bench.

Then he lifted his hand and called out, "Professor Marla?"

She turned, her expression shifting from residual annoyance to polite curiosity as she saw him approaching.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

Raven closed the distance between them, keeping his posture relaxed and non-threatening. "Yeah, actually. Got a question about the spring festival."

Marla’s eyebrows rose slightly. "The festival? Are you in one of my classes? I don’t think I recognize you."

"Nah, different department," Raven lied smoothly. "But I’m trying to set up an advertisement committee for the festival vendors. You know, early promotion, get some stalls confirmed before the official signup chaos."

"That sounds... ambitious." Marla’s tone was cautiously approving. "But why come to me? I don’t handle festival logistics."

"I know. But I heard you’ve got pull with the administration. Figured you might be able to point me in the right direction. Maybe help me get approval faster."

Marla’s expression softened into something almost apologetic. "I appreciate the initiative, but festival committees aren’t something individual professors can just approve. That goes through the student council and the principal’s office."