The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Azriel looked up at her, catching the faint, determined glint dancing in her golden eyes.

Tossing the toothpick onto the empty platter, he attempted to sit up straight and project an air of composed charm.

Unfortunately, his metabolic furnace had other plans.

BURP—!

A loud, reverberating rumble echoed through the quiet cozy dining room.

Rosalind’s regal composure instantly cracked into a sharp frown, her delicate eyebrows pulling together.

"Umm... sorry," Azriel muttered, offering a guilty, sheepish grin as his gaze subtly drifted downward, momentarily locking onto the scandalous cleavage spilling over the top of her crimson gown.

"I think I overate a little. Sooo... what do you say we push the theory back and do a little ’exercise’ first?"

Rosalind’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of rose at his shameless glance, but her resolve didn’t crumble for even a second.

Her golden eyes hardened with absolute, unyielding determination.

"No way!" Rosalind declared, crossing her arms beneath her lush chest to block his view.

"We are starting the class now! I want you to look like the most elegant, flawless nobleman when you stand before the high matriarchs in the upcoming tournament!"

Azriel shot a desperate glance over at Vesperia, silently begging his mother-in-law to intervene.

Vesperia lazily wiped her lips with a cloth napkin, letting out a soft sigh.

"The food was fantastic, but all that training wore me out."

She stood up, stretching her voluptuous frame with a long, theatrical yawn before turning toward the floating staircase.

"Good night, kids. Don’t make too much noise."

CLICK.

The heavy mahogany door to the second-floor bedroom closed firmly behind her.

Vesperia had completely abandoned him to his fate.

Azriel turned back to Rosalind, forcing a strained, pleading smile onto his face.

"Rose... how about we start with politics instead? You know I actually love political theory."

"NO!" Rosalind huffed, placing her hands on her hips.

"If you don’t master high etiquette first, I’m putting a strict one-month ban on sex."

Azriel’s lips twitched into a confident smirk.

"Heh... can you really control yourself without me for a whole month, Rose?"

Rosalind returned his smirk with a smug, victorious curve of her own.

"A month for you inside this barrier... which means I only have to wait five days out in the real world."

Azriel’s confident smile instantly withered.

The temporal math struck him like a physical blow.

"Fine... I’ll learn the damn etiquette," Azriel surrendered with a heavy sigh, defeated.

In reality, Azriel was far from an uncultured brute.

In his previous life, working as a high-profile social media manager and living as a natural playboy, he had thoroughly mastered body language, refined speech, and charm, it was precisely how he had effortlessly wrapped women around his finger.

His only real flaw was simple, the moment he felt truly comfortable around someone, his polished facade dissolved, revealing his relaxed, unapologetic self.

Because he genuinely trusted Rosalind, he dropped his social guard completely around her, leading her to believe he was an unpolished diamond who desperately needed high-society training before stepping onto the imperial stage.

Azriel resolved himself.

If sitting through a few hours of artificial posture drills meant he got to spend his nights buried in those soft, intoxicating curves, he would play the perfect gentleman.

[LIVE CHAT]

[Boundless_Slacker] (Red): Mother left him to suffer, girlfriend threatened him with real-world downtime... Azriel has zero win conditions here.

[Sadistic69] (Red): ROSALIND USED TIME DILATION TO CHEAT THE NO-SEX BAN!! SHE’S A GENIUS

[Nine_Tailed_Vixen] (Cyan): Bro’s entire Playboy charm got completely shut down! I’m laughing so hard!!

[Moon_Priestess_99] (Cyan): Do it for MILKERS, Azriel! Do it for MILKERS!!!

[Crimson_Fury] (White): Seeing the arrogant patriarch get completely dragged by his girl for a study session is really satisfying.

"Upstairs. Now," Rosalind commanded, a victorious sparkle in her eyes as she pointed toward the study.

Azriel pushed his chair back and stood up, smoothing down his black robes with practiced, effortless elegance.

"Lead the way, my lady."

Rosalind turned on her heel with a crisp swish of her crimson skirt, leading him up the floating mahogany staircase.

Her hips swayed with a natural, intoxicating rhythm as she ascended the stairs.

Azriel took his sweet time two steps behind, his violet eyes tracing the lethal curves outlined by the tight crimson silk.

The second-floor study was larger than the adjacent bedroom.

Built for long, secluded hours of discipline, its walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves packed tight with ancient texts, political chronicles, and high-tier bloodline codices, the foundational curriculum for his upcoming six-month regimen.

In the center of the room stood a polished mahogany desk flanked by two plush, high-backed armchairs.

Azriel offered an approving nod as his eyes swept over the layout.

Rosalind turned to face him, gesturing toward the center of the room.

Deep down, she already knew he possessed an inherent charm and surprisingly refined instincts, after all, his bearing during their initial encounter had been impeccably composed.

However, seeing him act so utterly careless and uninhibited around her filled her with a quiet anxiety.

What if he let that wild, unpolished side slip in front of the high matriarchs?

She couldn’t let that happen.

Rosalind carried the ancient, unyielding pride of the Bastati lineage, a household renowned across the entire Beast Continent and the far corners of Tartarus for its unrivaled elegance, sophistication, and absolute perfection.

While she secretly adored his chaotic, shameless nature in private, the perfectionist blood in her veins demanded that his public presence be flawless.

When he stepped onto the imperial stage, the world needed to be reminded that he was the chosen man of the Bastati family’s future Matriarch.

Rather than wasting time on trivial basics, she skipped directly to the intricate nuances she knew he lacked, the precise, hierarchically tiered greetings required when addressing matriarchs, the subtle facial micro-expressions used during diplomatic encounters, and the art of veiled political gestures.

To her pleasant surprise, Azriel didn’t offer a single word of complaint.

He absorbed every lesson with sharp, quiet focus, executing every posture, nod, and smile to absolute perfection.

After all, a month of prime access to her glorious assets was directly on the line.

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