Harem Stealer: Reborn with the God-Tier Sharing System

Shadow stared at Noah the moment he heard that question.

He wasn't surprised. In fact, it would have been more surprising if Noah came to him for anything other than the origins.

This whole father-in-law talk? The son-in-law joke?

Shadow didn't believe a damn word of it.

It was just an elaborate way to establish a bond that didn't exist—a rope of familiarity he could later use to pull himself closer. But Shadow didn't want closeness, not with this one.

Because one thing was clear.

This guy was trouble.

"I do need them. So I can't give them to you," Shadow answered calmly, his tone flat like carved obsidian.

Noah nodded to himself.

Expected.

No—wanted.

Because now…

"Then, may I ask what you need them for?" he continued, not missing a beat.

"You are Shadow, and correct me if I'm wrong, but you are supposed to be the very origin—the will—of shadow itself. So why… why would someone like you need the origins?" Noah asked, this time more seriously, his eyes sharp.

He wasn't bluffing or baiting. He was genuinely curious.He wanted to fill in that gap in his understanding, that blank page in his mental book.

Meanwhile, Shadow was debating. Just for a moment.

Tell him or don't?

But the hesitation didn't last long. Because truth be told, this man would find out eventually. Somehow. Somewhen. One way or another.

So, instead of wasting time…

'Let me just tell him… maybe he'll leave me alone afterward,' Shadow thought, a faint trace of helplessness flickering deep in his will.

As that decision settled, the entire realm twisted, shadows shifting around their feet, swirling until they solidified into a smooth black table etched with ancient markings, alive with a subtle pulse. A chair emerged on the other side of it, made of the same shadow-stuff, elegant and weightless.

Two teacups rose from the table's surface, the divine aroma wafting from them rich and overwhelming, a scent that could bring gods to their knees just for a taste.

Once the setting was complete, Shadow raised his gaze to meet Noah's, who had watched the entire process unfold with a small, almost intrigued smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Noah didn't wait for a formal invitation. He sat down casually, and to his surprise, the chair was soft… comfortable, like sinking into a drifting cloud.

"It seems you're already seeing me as your son-in-law," he said in that joking tone that blurred the line between mockery and charm.

Shadow didn't respond. Instead—

"You were right," he began. "About your assumptions. We are the beginning, the will behind every concept and the attributes that define them."

Noah's brows drew together. "I get that, but you'll need to explain better."

So Shadow did.

"I am Shadow. And the essence of shadows is their formlessness. That's why I possess both the origin of Shadow and the origin of Formlessness," he explained, voice calm, as if describing weather.

"A dear friend of mine, Sword—he holds the origins of Sword, Sharpness, and Severance. And so it goes for others like us."

Understanding flickered in Noah's gaze.

"So the origins come from you?" he asked, even though deep down, he already had a strong feeling about it.

Shadow confirmed it.

"Of course. We are their source. And as for their purpose…"

He lifted the cup, sipped slowly savoring the flavors then set it down.

"That's simple. Whoever holds an origin, controls that attribute. As if they were the one who birthed it."

"And if someone were to obtain all the corresponding origins of a concept…"

Shadow looked at him then, really looked.

Not with anger. Not with condescension.

But with something that felt like eternity collapsing into a single gaze.

Noah met it, and it was like being pulled into a sea of endless shadow—ancient, vast, unknowable. His soul felt it. His mind trembled for a brief second.

"You would be able to control that entire concept," Shadow said, each word a quiet law unto itself. "We would be yours. Our existence, our will, bound to your commands and that without resistance."

"That's the fate of every true origin. Not the synthetic affinities your kind create by fusing fragments of us. I mean the originals. The pure ones."

He paused, his words echoing in the realm like silent thunder.

"So now tell me…" he continued, "knowing all that, do you think I, or anyone else like me, would simply hand you our origins?"

The silence that followed was heavy.

Noah didn't respond. He simply raised the cup to his lips and drank.

It was divine. Rich. Deep. But he barely noticed. His thoughts were already spinning, racing across possibilities.

This changed everything.

Getting the origins wasn't just difficult now, it bordered on impossible.

He couldn't beat them. Not yet. And convincing them to surrender willingly?

Dreams.

So he sat still, breathing calmly, letting it all swirl.

'Time to see if my old skills are still sharp,' he thought to himself.

'Negotiation and especially blackmail…It's been a while…'

He remembered his early days, when all he had were his words, his wit, and a terrifying ability to make other people bend to his will with only his words.

And he missed it.

He really did.

But none of that would help if he didn't first understand the true problem.

So he refocused, raised his thought process to its highest, speeding his mind until time itself blurred.

'The core issue… the real reason they won't give it up… is because if they do, they lose everything. Their power. Their autonomy. Their identity.'

No one would willingly trade that. No being who once ruled would choose servitude.

But then…

'What if I didn't take it?'

'What if I shared it?'

'What if I found a way to let them keep their will and still grant me access to that power?'

A shared control. A bridge, not a chain.

It wasn't perfect. But it was something.

And when you don't have strength, you use possibility.

Still, he wasn't sure.

So he asked the one constant in his life? the one thing that never failed him.

'System, pretty please?' he called softly in his mind, voice sugar-sweet with guilt.

Yes, that bastard only remembered it when he needed a power-up.

And yet…

The system, ever-loyal, ever-watching, answered without a single trace of complaint.

[Your idea… is possible.]

—End of Chapter 271—