God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Both of them, perhaps unconsciously, had taken June's words to heart. The tension that lingered earlier had eased, replaced by a simple agreement, today was their day. And so, they set out into the little town together, side by side.

The town itself was small, but it brimmed with a quiet charm. Cobblestone streets wound gently between old brick buildings, their shutters painted in soft pastels. Hanging flower baskets spilled with color from the windowsills, and the air smelled faintly of fresh bread from the bakery on the corner.

Kafka led the way, pointing out corners of the town she hadn't seen yet.

Their first stop was the flower market that bloomed right in the center square. Dozens of stalls lined the cobblestones, each bursting with color: baskets of wild daisies, bunches of roses, sprigs of lavender hanging upside down to dry.

Olivia's eyes lit up almost instantly, flowers were her weakness, and it showed. She paused at every stand, touching petals, inhaling scents, asking questions about their names and meanings.

While she admired the blooms, he quietly wove a crown from daisies, ivy, and baby's breath, then placed it on her head. Olivia lit up, touching it in wonder, and confessed it made her feel like a princess, an image Kafka agreed suited her perfectly.

From there, he tugged her toward the riverside, where a narrow bridge arched over the clear water.

The locals had tied little wooden charms along the railing, some carved with wishes, some with names of lovers.

Olivia leaned against it, gazing at the reflection of the sky in the rippling water.

Most families had bought a single charm, health, prosperity, or good fortune, and hung it carefully before moving on. Kafka, however, went far beyond tradition, purchasing over thirty charms and filling an entire stretch of the railing with them until it looked like a miniature forest of wooden talismans.

The sight drew chuckles and amused glances from those passing by. Olivia, mortified, flushed crimson as all eyes turned their way, while Kafka simply regarded his handiwork as practical, claiming that more charms meant more health and prosperity.

The crowd's laughter grew at the spectacle, and Olivia's embarrassment only deepened as she stood by his side, blushing furiously.

The afternoon drifted by with small adventures strung one after another.

They visited an old tea house tucked behind ivy-covered walls, where the owner served them a seasonal herbal blend. Olivia savored it with grace, but Kafka took one sip, gagged at the bitterness, and spat it out so violently the owner glared daggers.

Without waiting, they bolted from the tea house, half-laughing, half-panicked, as if the old man might come after them with the teapot.

Later, he took her to the hillside at the edge of town, where the wildflowers grew untamed. They climbed slowly, laughing whenever Olivia nearly tripped on the uneven path and Kafka caught her by the wrist, steadying her.

At the top, the view spilled out in every direction, fields stretching endlessly, dotted with farms, the rooftops of the little town below, and the river winding like a ribbon of silver. Olivia gasped softly, breath stolen by the sight, and whispered that she'd never seen anything so beautiful. Kafka only murmured back, almost too low to hear, that he already has and was witnessing it now.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, they wandered back down, their path ending at a small bakery glowing with lanterns. The smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries wrapped around them.

Inside, the baker, a cheerful grandma, recognized Kafka instantly and piled their plate high with warm honey cakes, refusing to take payment until Olivia laughed and promised she'd come back again.

The day had been simple, flowers, rivers, cakes, plants, sunsets, but for Olivia, it felt like something far greater.

Every moment carried warmth, every step felt lighter than the one before, and by the time they walked back down together, hand brushing hand, it felt as though the distance between them had shrunk into nothing at all.

But even as Olivia walked beside Kafka, her hand held securely in his, she couldn't stop the tangle of feelings brewing in her chest.

On the surface, she was glowing, smiling, laughing, enjoying every little moment he showed her around town.

But under that warmth, a small knot of worry pressed harder and harder.

Because today...everywhere they went, Kafka seemed to be recognized.

It started innocently enough at the flower market.

An older woman arranging pots by her stall suddenly lit up at the sight of him.

"Ah, young man! It's you again!" She called, hurrying over, her apron dusted with soil.

She greeted Kafka warmly, her smile a little too bright, her eyes lingering on him in a way Olivia instantly noticed. Kafka, as casual as ever, exchanged a few pleasantries, even bought Olivia a bouquet of lilacs on the spot.

But as he introduced Olivia, "This is my girlfriend" Olivia caught the faint shadow that passed through the woman's face. A soft dip in her smile, a glint of sadness in her eyes, before she covered it up with polite cheer. Olivia's heart thudded.

Then at the bakery, it happened again. A different woman, middle-aged this time, stepped out from behind the counter and practically beamed when she spotted him.

"Kafka! You're here! I thought you might have forgotten this place." She fussed over him, offering fresh samples straight from the oven.

Kafka, charming as ever, introduced Olivia once more.

And again, Olivia saw it, the flicker.

The way the woman's shoulders subtly dropped, her lips pressing together for a heartbeat before she composed herself.

By the time they reached the town's fountain square, Olivia couldn't ignore the pattern. Another woman, this one stylishly dressed, probably closer to her age, approached with delighted familiarity.

"Oh, what a surprise! I didn't think I'd run into you today, Kafka."

They spoke briefly, Kafka laughing, his relaxed energy making her light up in response. But the moment he mentioned Olivia, called her his girlfriend, Olivia saw it clear as day: the same look.

Sadness. A small wound. Like a candle snuffed out too suddenly.

June's words from earlier came rushing back, echoing in Olivia's mind. "I'm not the only one. There are others. Many others."

And now Olivia saw it firsthand, the eyes of these women gave them away. They weren't just casual acquaintances, nor were they just admiring Kafka's face or his charm.

No, they looked at him with a quiet yearning, the same longing she'd glimpsed in June's eyes when speaking about him.

By the ninth encounter, Olivia's chest felt heavy.

She couldn't help but notice it each time Kafka turned and smiled at her, introducing her proudly as his partner, the tiny fractures that appeared in the smiles of these women.

And while part of her wanted to hold his hand tighter, another part ached with guilt.

Because June was right. They weren't rivals. They were women who, like June herself, had fallen into Kafka's strange orbit...and Olivia was beginning to realize she was standing at the center of something far larger than she'd ever expected.

With all those thoughts storming her mind, Olivia couldn't hold back anymore.

As they strolled back down one of the quieter lanes of the town, she slyly tilted her head toward Kafka, her voice soft but edged with suspicion.

"You know, Kafi…" She began, trying to keep it casual. "I heard from June that you were...quite popular in this town. That you knew a lot of people. But honestly—"

She let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more nervous than amused.

"...I didn't expect it to be this much. Every road we walk, every corner we turn, you just happen to know someone. And not just anyone. Always women."

Kafka glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then burst out laughing, the sound easy and unbothered.

"Oh, come on. You're exaggerating, Mom. It's not that big of a deal. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone here. People are just...friendly."

Olivia squinted at him.

"Friendly, huh? Then why haven't I seen anyone else being treated like a celebrity the way you are? Every shop, every stall, every little street corner, there's someone lighting up just because you walked by." She folded her arms, watching him carefully. "It's not normal."

"What can I say?" He grinned, haughty now, puffing his chest just a little. "I've just got too much charm. If you can make a lady laugh and smile as easily as I do, then of course you're going to be popular." He shrugged, utterly casual, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

His nonchalance only deepened her suspicion.

"Maybe. But did you notice something else?" She pressed. "They weren't younger girls. None of them were anywhere near your age. They were all...older. Mothers, wives, women in their late thirties or more. Not a single one close to you."

Kafka chuckled at that, waving it off as if it explained everything.

"Didn't I already tell you? I get anxious around girls my own age. Always have. I never know what to say to them, how to act."

"...But older women? They're easier to talk to. I don't feel that same pressure. So, yeah, I end up spending more time with them. That's all."

Olivia's brows furrowed, but she nodded slightly.

He had told her that before, and hearing him say it again, so lightly, so matter-of-factly...it wasn't like he was lying.

The way he spoke, the way he laughed, it all felt genuine. And yet, it didn't settle her unease.

"I just...didn't expect it to be so extensive." She murmured. "You having an entire harem of older women following after you."

That made him laugh outright, nearly doubling over, his voice echoing down the quiet street.

"A harem? Mom, please. Don't make it sound like that. They're not some harem, I'm not trying to seduce anyone. They're just close friends. Good acquaintances. That's it." He gave her a crooked grin, shaking his head. "Don't tell me you're jealous of a bunch of aunties."

She puffed her cheeks, flustered, but his words only deepened the strange weight in her chest.

Because she knew he wasn't lying.

The way he spoke to those women, it wasn't laced with seduction, it wasn't smooth or calculated. He treated them warmly, but as equals. As friends.

And yet...Olivia couldn't unsee what she had seen in their eyes.

Love. Longing. Quiet, unspoken yearning.

And when set against Kafka's casual, oblivious laughter, that gap felt cruel. Almost unbearably so.

For them, it was affection, desire, maybe even love.

For him, it was nothing but friendship.

She exhaled slowly, then glanced up at him again, her voice quieter this time. "…Kafi. Didn't you notice anything? Any difference in the way those women looked at you?"

He blinked, considering her words. His gaze turned distant for a second, as if he really was reflecting.

But then he turned back with that same easy smile.

"No. Not at all. They looked at me the way anyone would. Nothing unusual."

Olivia stared at him, her lips parting in disbelief. His face was open, unguarded, pure in a way that made it clear he wasn't lying.

But...that was impossible.

This her son. Her son who always seemed to read the tiniest flicker of emotion, who could pick up on the subtlest shift in her own moods without a word.

How could he, of all people, fail to notice the looks in those women's eyes?

Her thoughts tangled.

Was he genuinely blind when it came to this?

Was he so dense about their feelings that he couldn't see what was right in front of him?

Or...was he lying to himself?

Pretending not to notice, refusing to acknowledge what he must surely know deep down?

If he was lying, why? Why ignore it? Why pretend not to see?

Olivia didn't have the answer. And that unsettled and confused her more than anything...