Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67: Level 10 Adorabomb

"Bye-bye, Osric! Good luck with your training!" I called out, skipping backward dramatically like a stage actress taking her final bow.

Osric chuckled and waved. "Visit often, Lavi!"

"Sure~" I sang back, grinning before twirling around and dashing toward the dining hall. Lunch with Papa was waiting, and I’d already missed snack time twice this week. Tragedy.

As I skipped down the corridor, humming a tune only I knew, I slowed to a halt. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone leaning casually against a pillar.

"...Grand Duke Regis?"

He wasn’t doing anything—just standing there with that infuriating smirk, arms folded, eyes lazily watching our direction like he was bored and done with swinging his sword at the same time.

I felt a chill crawl down my back.

"...Oooh~~," I shivered involuntarily.

Ravick, who had trailed behind me like a dutiful shadow, leaned down slightly. "Is something the matter, Princess?"

My eyes were still glued to Grand Duke Smirky-McCreepsalot, who now turned and walked away as if he hadn’t just been staring like some villain in a cloak. (He wasn’t wearing a cloak, but he had the vibe.)

"I dunno," I muttered. "Just felt... a weird shiver."

"Maybe she’s cold!" Marella said brightly, her crisis-response mode kicking in like I’d announced a dragon attack. "I’ll bring something warm right away!"

And off she went like a meteor in a maid uniform.

"Wait—no, I don’t need—" I sighed. "She’s already gone."

I shook my head and kept walking toward the dining hall, hugging my arms around myself just a little.

It probably was nothing. Just the usual father watching his son training. But that smirk... Ugh. It was the kind of smirk you’d see on a cat right before it knocked your teacup off the table.

Why was he even looking our way like that?

...Actually, how long had he been standing there?

I scrunched my nose. Nope. Not thinking about it. I had better things to do.

Like lunch.

***

The dining hall was buzzing—not with people, just with me, because the second I saw the dessert tray, I practically vibrated in my seat.

"JELLY!" I shouted like I’d spotted a wild unicorn.

The maids had barely finished setting the dishes before I launched my spoon into the air like a weapon of mass sugar consumption. I was swinging my legs under the table, back and forth, faster than a pendulum on a sugar rush. The jelly—layered in sunset colors—wobbled every time I poked it, and it made me giggle like a maniac.

Chef Elowen was a genius. A jelly wizard. A gelatin goddess. I was convinced she deserved a temple.

My cheeks were stuffed, my mouth full, and I was humming and chewing at the same time. Multitasking at its finest.

Across the table, Papa—His Majesty, the Emperor of the Entire Empire and Probably the Universe—watched me with the face of a man who had long given up trying to look dignified in front of his daughter.

He leaned over, took a napkin, and gently wiped the jelly from the corner of my mouth with all the grace of a royal butler.

"I see you like this new chef’s desserts very much," he said dryly, dodging a rogue jelly bounce.

I smacked the table with both hands (not hard, just enough to make the jelly jiggle again) and declared with the passion of a tiny dictator, "I LOVE THEM TOO MUCH, PAPA!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Too much?"

"TOO MUCH," I confirmed, arms raised like I’d just won the Sugar Olympics.

"Should we be concerned? I don’t think sugar is good for your health."

Gasp.

My spoon clattered to the table. The jelly wobbled in horror. My soul left my body and hovered above the ceiling.

"Papa," I said slowly, dramatically, like a heroine confronting her greatest tragedy, "you’re not... cancelling my daily desserts, are you?"

He said nothing. He just sipped his tea like a suspicious man plotting suspicious things.

"I swear," I said, pointing a jelly-covered spoon at him, "if you take away my desserts, I will go on a hunger strike. A dessert-only hunger strike!"

Papa raised a brow again. "That’s... not how hunger strikes work."

"I will march around the palace!" I declared. "Holding banners! Screaming slogans! ’NO CAKE, NO PEACE!’"

He stared at me. Blinked once. Blinked twice. Then—snort—he chuckled.

"Papa! I am serious!" I slammed my tiny palm on the table again. "Don’t test me!"

He leaned forward with that lazy, amused smile of his and patted my head like I was a very loud cat demanding tribute. "Then why don’t you please me," he said, "and maybe I’ll reconsider your dessert privileges."

Seriously! Who says that to his daughter!? Is he really my father or a vending machine with conditions?

Fine. If that’s how we’re doing this, then I’ll weaponize the only thing I’ve got: my cuteness.

"Paaaapaaa~ Pweeease~~~ Don’t cancel my desserts~~~"

I batted my lashes, made my eyes shimmer like teary puppy eyes, and imagined invisible sparkly stars shooting out of me like I was a magical girl in a drama anime.

He just blinked and swatted the sparkles away with one hand like they were mosquitoes.

"You need to try your best, my daughter."

What the heck!? Did he just deflect my Level 10 Adorabomb!?

"Humph! You should be the one trying to please me, Papa," I pouted, crossing my arms with dramatic flair.

Hey. Hey!! Why is everyone whispering?! I wanna know too!

WHAT.

"Then let’s give you an entire state."

That’s right. How could I forget that my great, glorious, slightly unhinged father is a tyrant who thinks everything should be done too extra?

Other kids get cake. I get land.

And that, dear diary (which I don’t have but should probably start), is how I ended up having an entire state gifted to me by Papa—just because I wanted more dessert.

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