Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115: The Growl Under the Tree

[Lavinia’s POV]

Time moves strangely when you’re waiting for someone.

It doesn’t gallop like a warhorse. It doesn’t crawl like a snake. It just... stretches. Like an endless ribbon unraveling across the days, until you forget when it started—or whether it ever ends at all.

I am ten now.

I mean, almost ten. My birthday is a month away. (Thirty-two days, if we’re being dramatic. And I always am.)

It’s been over three years since Papa rode out through those iron gates, fire in his eyes, thunder at his heels, and a promise on his lips.

"I’ll be back before your tenth birthday."

And now, here we are.

Thirty-two days to go. No letters. No messages. No sign of him.

At first, the letters came like clockwork. Every week. Neatly folded. Wax-sealed. Smelling like iron and sandalwood. His words were sharp and soft in the same breath.

Then—three months ago—they just... stopped.

No warning. No reason.

I don’t know if he’s too busy conquering a continent or if something worse has happened.

Now, should I protest when he returns? Throw a tantrum? Launch a diplomatic guilt campaign?

Unclear.

After Papa left, my brothers moved in to "keep me company," which really means "watch me like I’m a tiny political powder keg wrapped in lace."

Brother Soren—currently my official sword trainer (yes, that’s a real title)—took over Ravick’s job of smacking wooden swords out of my hand and saying, "Again."

Brother Lysandre, meanwhile, ended up joining Theon with estate ledgers and court finances. Theon literally screamed with joy.

"NOW I CAN DATE! AND MARRY! AND TOUCH A TREE!"

He’s been skipping around ever since. It’s weird because I think he is really dating.

And Grandpa Thalein? He visited once, dramatically sobbing into my shoulder and declaring he wanted to stay forever. But since he’s the Royal Healer of Nivale, he couldn’t.

My brothers laughed.

Then Grandpa whacked both of them with my wooden sword so hard they limped for two days.

Justice.

As for me?

Hah...I grew taller. Prettier. Louder.

I may look exactly like Papa—but I am the female version of that man. The dangerous, elegant, awe-inspiring version.

And I cannot believe how gorgeous I am.

Seriously. I think I could conquer kingdoms with a hair flip.

I spend at least ten minutes a day staring into my full-length mirror in breathless admiration. Long golden curls. Crimson eyes. Lashes like butterfly wings. A blue shimmering gown cinched at the waist like a portrait. Flowers tucked gently behind my left ear.

Damn it.

I keep falling in love with myself.

"You’ve been staring at yourself for more than ten minutes," Brother Soren muttered from the chaise lounge, lazily tossing grapes into his mouth. "Aren’t you tired?"

I didn’t even turn.

I kept admiring the way my hair caught the sunlight and gave me the halo of an exiled moon princess.

I said, very seriously, "Brother."

He hummed, chewing.

"I think I was a secret fairy goddess in a past life. One who doesn’t recognize her divine power yet."

Silence.

Soren froze mid-chew.

Marshi—who was lounging dramatically by the fireplace, his head now level with the mantel because he had grown and grew divine fangs, thank you very much—also froze. His ear twitched.

A long pause.

And then—

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA —OH MY GODS, SHE SAID IT—FAIRY—FAIRY GODDESS?!"

Brother Soren nearly choked on his grape. He rolled off the lounge in full warrior armor like a dying swan, still wheezing.

"IS THIS A CULT NOW? ARE WE WORSHIPPING YOU?"

"I would appreciate a shrine," I replied coolly, adjusting a flower pin. "With daily offerings."

Marshi let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like a judgmental sneeze. Then he yawned—baring his slightly larger divine fangs—and went back to napping like a celestial rug with opinions.

Brother Soren wiped a tear from his eye. "You’re unreal."

"I know," I said proudly. "That’s what makes me immortal."

Brother Soren stared at me.

Deadpan.

Expression: unreadable. Like a marble statue sculpted by an artist who had just given up halfway.

He didn’t say anything. Not a breath. Not a blink. Just that long, judgmental silence.

Then—

He stood up.

Smoothly. Casually. Dangerously.

"Change your clothes," he said, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve.

I blinked. "Huh?"

"We’re going to train."

My soul shriveled.

"WHAT?! We just trained an hour ago!" I cried, dramatically clutching the nearest cushion like it might shield me from my fate.

He didn’t even look at me. Just turned on his heel and strolled toward the door like some villain from a tragic sword opera.

"Since my dearest sister," he said sweetly, "was personally assigned by His Imperial Majesty to duel him upon his return..."

He paused at the threshold. Smiled like a man with too much power and not enough hobbies.

"...we should practice more."

I nearly threw my jeweled slipper at his head. "YOU’RE A MONSTER!"

He waved cheerfully. "I am waiting at the training ground, dear sister!"

And then he vanished, the smugness trailing behind him like perfume.

I collapsed onto the chaise in despair.

This man.

This menace.

This sword-wielding devil-spawn.

He’s worse than Ravick. Worse. At least Ravick didn’t smile while torturing me.

I turned to Marshi. My last hope. My divine ally. My celestial co-conspirator.

"Marshi..." I whispered.

The divine tiger opened one glowing crimson eye. He growled softly—low, amused. Like he already knew. I leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "You know what to do."

There was a flicker in his gaze.

A silent promise.

Then—he bolted.

THUD!

"GAHHHHHH!"

"WHAT THE—MARSHI?! WHY DID YOU JUMP ON ME?!"

Soren lay on the ground, groaning dramatically. "This is karma. I swear—this is divine punishment for something I did in a past life. I got you as a sister."

He sat up slowly, glaring at me like I’d personally ended his bloodline. "A sparkle that trained her tiger to assault her elder brother."

"Correction," I said primly, flipping my curls over one shoulder. "Marshi acts of his own volition. I would never command a divine beast to jump on my annoying brother during training hour."

He raised both hands immediately, eyes gleaming with victory. "Say his name one more time, and I swear I’ll write to your Papa."

"Because it is, every time," I snapped, marching after him with all the grace of a reluctantly beautiful warrior.

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