Too Lazy to be a Villainess
Chapter 97: Birthday Drama: Now With Extra Sparkle

Chapter 97: Birthday Drama: Now With Extra Sparkle

[Lavinia’s POV]

It’s not like Papa doesn’t have fans.

He does.

In fact, he has a whole fanbase.

People write songs about his battlefield glory. Poets compare his sword swings to the northern winds. Painters fight each other in alleys to capture his "stormy melancholy eyes" on canvas.

He’s basically the Empire’s most broody heartthrob.

Except there’s one small, teeny-tiny, sword-swinging, vein-popping problem—His. Temper.

And not the cute kind of "Oh no, he’s grumpy, teehee!" temper. No.

We’re talking about lightning-strike-through-the-courtroom, "did-he-just-glare-a-man-into-resignation" kind of temper.

The kind that makes nobles forget how to breathe. The kind that makes ladies in the court blink, blush, and then run.

So yeah. Despite all the sword-swinging and jawline-chiseling and tragic wind-blown hair moments... most eligible ladies in the kingdom don’t even dare to look at Papa.

But that lady?

That blue-silk-wrapped, romance-novel-left-on-the-balcony-during-a-rainstorm-looking lady?

She. Does. Not. Stop. Staring.

Like Papa is shooting secret heart arrows from across the ballroom, and she just keeps getting hit—again and again and again. Her whole face is redder than Theon’s combat reports after I doodle flowers on them.

And from the way her face is turning redder by the second, you’d think she just got struck by Cupid, not a royal glare. Her fan is fluttering. Her hands are shaking. Honestly, I’m starting to think she’s going to pass out from blushing alone.

Hah. What can I say? Even I have to admit—Papa is absurdly good-looking.

Sometimes I just look at him and think, How is this man real? How do I share DNA with this man? And then he opens his mouth and yells at someone for breathing too loudly, and the illusion is broken.

He’s tall, powerful, and has that scary-villain energy mixed with a tragic-hero backstory. Basically the entire male lead starter pack with a bonus sword.

I slowly turned my head to stare at Papa. He was mid-toast, nodding lazily as a duke wished him happy birthday.

"Happy birthday, Your Majesty," the man said with enough formality to make my brain itch.

Papa nodded again, expression flat and ever so slightly bored. Like royalty had become his part-time job and sulking was the full-time one.

I stared at him. Hard. Intentionally.

He felt it. I could tell. The moment my stare hit full power, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "...What’s the matter?"

I tilted my head innocently and dropped the question like a royal bomb. "Papa, why don’t you get married?"

Papa flinched. Like—actually flinched.

Not just him. The entire banquet hall flinched with him. While everyone froze because I dared to ask something. Meanwhile, Papa stared at me like I’d just committed treason.

"...Do you want me to get married?" he asked, slowly, cautiously, like I was some kind of wild animal he didn’t want to startle.

I let out the heaviest sigh a seven-year-old royal could possibly muster and slumped in my golden throne like a deflated pudding.

"Well... It’s better if you do. You know, just in case you don’t want to die a broody bachelor with a tragic backstory. I mean, imagine the headlines— ’Emperor Dies Alone: Left Behind a Kingdom and One Very beautiful Daughter.’"

Behind him, Theon tried—really tried—to laugh. Grand Duke Regis grinned. And Ravick blinked once and said with an utterly straight face, "Our princess is... becoming more daring."

Papa shot all three of them a glare at him. Then, very slowly, he turned back to me.

His jaw twitched. His fingers tapped the armrest. His voice, low and warning, said, "I don’t need a wife."

I narrowed my eyes right back at him, lifted one brow, and asked, "Why?"

Then Papa shot me a glare and said sharply, "I see no reason to discuss such matters with a seven-year-old. And we are not talking about this again. That was the first—and last—time."

"But Papa—"

"No."

"But—"

His eyes glowed with that emperor-just-one-thread-away-from-snapping expression. "I will ban marriages in the entire empire if you talk about this again."

I gasped. "That’s an abuse of power!"

He leaned back, arms crossed. "I am the emperor."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again like a fish. Then I gave up and slumped dramatically into my chair with an exaggerated sigh.

Drat. He played the emperor card. The ultimate trump.

Papa sighed too. But his was the long, exhausted sigh of a parent who regretted having a smart child. He rubbed his temples and muttered under his breath, "I wonder where she even learned this behavior..."

And then—oh boy—the entire court froze.

Silence. Pure, heavy, golden silence.

It was like every noble, knight, and attendant collectively looked at him and mentally screamed:

’From YOU, Your Majesty.’

You could almost hear the words echoing through the chandeliers.

Then—bless him—Grandpa Thalein cleared his throat dramatically and stepped forward like he was rescuing a diplomatic meeting. "Ahem. Now! Shall I present my gift to my precious little star?"

I beamed instantly, swiping my emotional rollercoaster clean with a big grin. "Yes, yes, Grandpa!"

Grandpa chuckled warmly—his beard practically twinkling like he was some ancient jolly wizard—and reached into the folds of his ceremonial cloak. I leaned forward with sparkly eyes, heart pounding. Was it a crown? A unicorn egg? A baby dragon? I mean, this is the imperial court—we do everything in extra.

And then...he handed me a scroll.

A. Scroll.

I blinked. I stared.

I turned it over in my hands. It was...papery. Rolled. Sealed. And very much not sparkling.

"...Thank you?" I said, my polite princess voice fighting against my inner confusion.

Was this a portal-opening scroll? A secret map? An invisible crown?

I looked up at Grandpa, hesitant. "Umm... may I ask what this is, Grandpa?"

He puffed up proudly like he’d just gifted me the moon.

"It is... the Diamond Cave."

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then—BOOM!

"WOOOOOAAAAHHH REALLY???"

The words shot out of me like a firework. Half the banquet guests jumped.

Grandpa nodded with sparkling eyes.

Brother Soren stepped forward with his usual calm, folding his hands behind his back like the noble princeling he was. "We recently discovered a massive diamond cave in the northern forest," he explained in his perfectly even tone. "From now on... that cave belongs to you."

"Thank you grandpa," I beamed.

I looked at Papa, grinning like a maniac, practically glowing with smugness. "See... Papa? Grandpa gives me caves. A diamond cave!"

Papa scoffed, rolling his eyes like I was the ridiculous one here. "Hmph. That’s nothing compared to what I prepared for you."

I blinked. Oh. Right.

Papa hasn’t even given me his gift yet.

I tilted my head, suddenly curious. "What are you giving me, Papa?"

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, in full royal flair, he stood up, turned to me with that serious emperor expression of his, and swooped me up into his arms like I was the crown jewel of the empire.

"Let’s go," he said. "I’ll show you."

I nodded, blinking innocently as he carried me out of the banquet hall like I was a prized artifact. My puffy gown swished. Guests started trailing behind us in hushed whispers like we were heading toward some royal revelation. Which, knowing Papa, we were.

Still in his arms, I looked up and asked, "Um... where are we going, Papa?"

He didn’t pause. "To the East Wing."

I flinched.

The East Wing?!That East Wing??The place where the maids abandoned me when I was three months old and forgot me in a room with a open window.

"Why... why the East Wing?" I mumbled nervously.

"You’ll see."

And then—

TAAAA—DAAAAA.

DADDDD—DUUUUMMMMMMMMM.

My mouth dropped open.My eyes widened.

No. Not widened. Exploded.

Not just me—everyone. Guests gasped. Nobles stopped breathing. Even Marshi stood frozen beside me, her jaw hanging open in disbelief like she was about to file an official protest to the heavens.

I turned to Papa, hand trembling, and pointed like I’d just seen a UFO land in the palace gardens.

"Pa... Pa... WHAT—WHAT IS THAT?!"

In front of me was the East Wing.

Or at least—Ex-east wing.

Why?

Because now it sparkled.

No, it glowed.The chandeliers? Covered in diamonds.The walls? Laced with golden filigree.The floor tiles? Gleaming like someone polished them with angel tears.The flower vases? Probably made by mountain fairies with platinum tools.

It looked less like a room and more like a royal fantasy threw up luxury all over it.

Even the air smelled expensive.

I turned, completely overwhelmed, and looked at Papa.

And with the straightest, most serious emperor face, he said—"It’s a castle made of diamond and gold. Just like you wished."

I blinked. "I... I did?"

Papa nodded, arms crossed now, proud like he’d just won Father of the Century and built me a kingdom from scratch.

And then—it hit me.

Oh no.

Oh no-no-no-no.

I did say that.

I had declared—in Chapter 93, to be exact—"I deserve a castle made of diamond and gold!"

... I was just mumbling.

But no.

Papa had taken it as gospel.

He went and actually built it.

A whole wing.

A whole shiny, gleaming, blinding wing of excessive sparkle.

It was like a chandelier exploded and decided to make a house out of its remains. It was ridiculous. It was outrageous. It was the kind of thing only my father would do.

Papa looked at me with that annoyingly proud smirk of his and asked, "So... did you like it?"

I turned to face him slowly.

Now, I know it’s too much. I’m already a princess. I’ve had a treasure room since I turned one. A whole room just filled with sparkly things I don’t even remember asking for. I have tiaras for every day of the week.

But the man in front of me—the one who rules an empire, commands armies, and glares people into silence—is also the man who remembered a silly sentence I said months ago and turned it into this.

How could I look at that face and say, "It’s too much, Papa. You didn’t have to do this."

Nope. Not happening.

So instead, I dashed toward him, full speed in my overly puffed birthday dress, and threw my arms around him like I was launching myself into a marshmallow hug.

"You’re the best papa in the world. No—wait—the best papa in the entire universe! From one end of the stars to the other!"

Papa smiled, softly and warmly. The one that makes me feel like I am the center of his whole galaxy.

He ruffled my hair, messing up the carefully placed curls, and said with the confidence of a man who just gifted a literal palace of glitter:

"I know."

And just like that, surrounded by gold, diamonds, stunned nobles, and a drooling divine tiger...That’s how my extravagant, glitter-covered, emotionally ridiculous seventh birthday... came to an end.

And honestly?

It was perfect.