My Lust System: I Inherited The Sin Of Lust And His Three Wives

Damian’s expression softened, and he rose smoothly to his feet, closing the distance between himself and the coughing old man with measured steps.

Delaney was too consumed by the violent spasms wracking his body to notice his approach. What he felt instead was the sudden, firm weight of a palm resting against his head.

Before he could react, something changed.

The suffocating pressure in his chest began to loosen. The sharp, clawing irritation lodged deep in his throat dissolved as though it had never existed. Breath flowed freely again, smooth and effortless, filling his lungs with a clarity he had long forgotten.

Within seconds, the transformation deepened. It was not just his breathing. His entire body stirred with an unfamiliar vitality, as though time itself had reversed and returned him to the strength and ease of his early twenties.

[Dark Miracle Skill Used]

[Backlash: In 3 years]

Damian slowly withdrew his hand, his gaze lingering on the system notification for a brief moment. He would have preferred the backlash to manifest sooner, but the result was more than satisfactory.

”Consider this a token of my goodwill,” Damian said calmly as he returned to his seat.

Delaney, however, barely registered his words.

The old man sprang to his feet with unnatural agility, his movements sharp and unrestrained. He rushed toward the bed and leapt onto it, testing his body as though afraid the sensation might vanish if he hesitated.

He turned back toward Damian, his eyes blazing with disbelief and exhilaration, a trembling smile breaking across his face.

”This is real...” he muttered, his voice caught between shock and awe.

His mind raced, retracing every moment of his earlier encounter. Damian’s words. His composure. The impossible outcome of the Twenty Shot case. Breezy’s mother turning against her own son. At the time, it had seemed absurd, unexplainable.

Now, it made perfect sense.

”That young lad wasn’t lying,” he whispered, his gaze sharpening as it settled on Damian once more.

Without hesitation, Delaney jumped down from the bed and hurried forward. He dropped to his knees before Damian, stretching out both hands, his head bowed deeply.

”Your grace! It is an honor to have you in my humble home!” he cried, his voice overflowing with fervent devotion.

Councilman Delaney had always been a man of simple logic. If something worked, then it must be true. For most of his life, he believed money could solve anything, and for years, that belief had never failed him.

Until now.

For years, he had suffered in silence under the weight of coronary artery disease and arrhythmia. Despite his wealth, despite the best medical care money could buy, the condition had persisted, eating away at him slowly. In politics, weakness was death, so he had hidden it well.

But now, with nothing more than a casual touch, that burden had vanished.

If this man claimed to be a god, then surely, he must be one.

Damian regarded the extended hands and bowed posture in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the gesture. Accepting it would undermine the image he intended to project.

”Sit,” Damian said, his voice calm, cold, and absolute.

Delaney nodded quickly, though a flicker of disappointment passed through his eyes. Still, he obeyed without hesitation, grateful simply to remain in the presence of a being who could erase his suffering with a thought.

”My disciple demands that I aid you in your struggles, but as his teacher, I must also look after his interests,” Damian began, his tone measured and deliberate.

He knew the groundwork had been laid. The fear, the awe, the miracle. Delaney was ready.

”Damian Hill? Good man!” Delaney laughed, though the forced enthusiasm made his voice louder and slightly strained. ”As you should. Good men deserve good things!”

Damian ignored the exaggeration. Only the outcome mattered.

”As long as you support my disciple’s judicial and political ambitions, I will make this case disappear, just as I did with the rapper,” Damian said evenly.

Delaney’s expression settled as he considered the offer. In truth, the thought had already crossed his mind. Damian had proven himself sharp, capable, far beyond his current station.

”How high does he need me to fly?” Delaney asked, his tone briefly returning to the composed authority of a seasoned politician.

Damian gave a slight nod. This was the response he had been waiting for.

”Connect Damian to party leaders and judicial committees. Support his bid to become a Cook County judge this winter,” Damian said without hesitation.

Delaney nodded slowly, but a crease formed on his brow. The ambition was reasonable. The timing was not.

Primary elections loomed in August, with general elections following shortly after. It was already late June. Building recognition, securing funding, assembling a campaign team, all within such a narrow window, was no simple task.

If this request had come months earlier, it would have been far easier.

”You cannot?” Damian’s cold voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and immediate.

Delaney quickly shook his head.

”No, no. It is not that. It is just... difficult. The primary is in August, and we are already in late June. Gathering campaign funds and assembling a proper team in such a short time will be challenging,” he explained honestly.

To his surprise, Damian dismissed the concern with a casual wave.

”Campaign funds are not a problem. As for a team, that will not be an issue either,” Damian said, his certainty unwavering.

Money meant nothing to him, and influence could gather people just as easily.

”And tell me,” Damian continued, his gaze steady, ”what greater campaign does Damian need than a decisive victory in your case, broadcast across the entire nation?”

Damian’s plan was simple.

The general governorship election loomed two years away. His current position as a junior partner was respectable, but it could only take him so far. As a judge, his influence would deepen, his reach would extend, and the doors to the truly powerful would open far more easily.

He intended to craft a narrative, one that would grow with him.

A lawyer who fought for justice.

A judge who stood as a shield for the weak.

And finally, a governorship aspirant who understood both the suffering of the people and the corruption of the elite.

This was the path he had chosen to walk.

”All we need is your support. Once we have it, we are certain many others will follow,” Damian added with a faint, knowing chuckle.

He needed only a foundation.

From there, he was certain he could build everything else.