Too Lazy to be a Villainess-Chapter 54: ’What If’

"Wow..."

He blinked again.

"I really have an elf grandpa."

I said it out loud this time. Then I sighed in relief, "Thank god he’s not some scammer."

...

...

...Oops...I blurted that out loud.

My cheeks flushed a hot red, and I could feel the awkwardness creeping in like a shadow. Why did I say that out loud? fгeewebnovёl.com

Thalein—my elf grandpa—blinked at me, his eyes wide for a second, before a soft chuckle escaped his lips. It was a deep sound, like wind rustling through trees—mysterious, calming. And somehow, it made me feel better.

Then he knelt down slowly, one hand reaching out but not quite touching, as if afraid I might vanish if he came too close.

I watched him, the way his ancient yet graceful movements seemed to slow time itself. There was a strength to him, a depth in his eyes that held centuries of secrets and stories. And as he looked at me—his granddaughter, his flesh and blood—something changed in his expression.

His eyes—those stormy, wild eyes—softened, and the faintest curve touched his lips. Not a full smile, not yet. Just the beginning of one. Like the first warm breeze after a long winter.

"You’re really here..." he murmured, his voice so low and trembling I barely caught it. "Her child..."

He looked at me like he wasn’t looking at me... but the reflection of someone. Maybe he was missing his daughter... the woman who gave birth to me—Sylvaine, my birth mother. I looked up at him, at the man who was part of my mother’s story, part of mine. I may not be emotionally connected to my birth mother, but it won’t change the fact that she is my mother.

so maybe I should say Hi, right?

RIGHT?

And with the softest voice, I said, "Hi, Grandpa."

His breath hitched, and I saw it—just for a second. The shimmer of tears.

He smiled, his hands trembling toward me, and then stopped, hovering mid-air like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of centuries.

"Can I hug you, my dear?"

Something fluttered in my chest. He had asked with such care, like he was afraid the moment would shatter if he moved too fast. Like, I may vanish.

I nodded.

He smiled, and he didn’t rush. Then my elf grandpa knelt slowly, arms opening like the boughs of an old tree reaching for the sun, and gently, oh so gently, he wrapped them around me.

Warmth. Real and steady.

Not the kind that comes from sunlight or soft blankets, but the kind that blooms deep in your chest when you know someone is holding you not out of duty, but out of love—just like Papa.

He smelled faintly of forest rain and old paper—like magic and memory. His embrace was strong, but not suffocating, like the kind that says, "I’ve missed you for so long, and now that you’re here, I’m never letting go."

I felt his body tremble as he pulled me closer, like he was the one breaking, not me.

"I dreamed of this," he whispered into my hair. "Every night since I lost her... since I found out about you, I dreamed of holding the child she never got to raise. And now you’re here. Real. Breathing. Beautiful, just like her."

I didn’t know what to say, so I just held on tighter.

Even if I didn’t feel much about Sylvaine—my birth mother—I could feel everything pouring out of Thalein. And for him, maybe this was more than just a reunion. Maybe this was healing. Perhaps he was recovering.

Then, he gently pulled back just enough to look at me, cupping my cheeks with hands that were calloused yet careful, like a man who had held both swords and lullabies.

"She would’ve loved you," he said at last, voice thick with emotion. "You have her fire in your eyes. And something more... something stronger."

A silence settled over the room, not awkward, but comfortable. Like the forest after rain—quiet, alive, and full of promises.

I didn’t look at Papa, but I knew he was there. Watching. Silent. Not interfering.

Maybe he was giving us space. Or maybe... he was annoyed because I am now close to someone else.

But for the first time... I really wanted to know.

What did she feel—my mother—when she held me for the first time? Was she happy? Did she smile? Or... did she cry? Curse me for the pain I brought? For being the reason she never got to live?

I wonder how she really felt.

Thalein must have seen something flicker in my eyes, because his thumbs brushed my cheeks again, a tender touch that said everything words couldn’t.

I got all the love in this world as Lavinia. I never missed her. I never asked for her. I never needed her.

But...what if?

What would’ve happened if I really had a mother?

Would she have smiled at me warmly? Sung me lullabies in a language I didn’t know—soft and strange, like a secret between us? Would she have scolded me when I was naughty? Kissed my scraped knees and told me I was brave, even if I cried?

Would she have braided my hair with little white flowers like the ones blooming outside the palace walls? Would I have curled into her lap during storms, hiding my face in her shoulder, safe? Would she have loved me the same way Papa does... or in a way completely different? Would she have chosen dresses for me every day?

I don’t know. And maybe I’ll never know.

But for a second, I let myself imagine it—and that tiny thought, that fragile dream, I blurted, "I want Mama."

And then... the room went too quiet.

Huh? Was it something I said?

Before I could think more, suddenly, Papa grabbed me in his arms, his hold firm but gentle, like he was trying to shield me from the very thought I’d just spoken.

"Enough..." Papa said, his voice almost stern. "We had enough for today."

"Your Majesty, now wait a minute!" Thalein—my elf grandfather—exclaimed, tossing his long green braid over his shoulder like he was in some ancient elven shampoo commercial. "You can’t just take her away like that!"

"She’s my daughter! I can take her anywhere and anytime I want." Papa growled, his crimson eyes flashing. The usual calm emperor aura? Gone. Replaced with ’feral bear with crown’ mode.

"And she is my granddaughter," Thalein shot back, stepping forward dramatically, the sunlight glinting off his cloak like the forest itself was backing him up.

Their eyes met.

The Glaring Competition had begun.

It was intense. Silent. Dangerous.

I swear the temperature in the room dropped three degrees. Magic sizzled in the air. Swords of eye contact clashed in slow motion.

Meanwhile, I sat in Papa’s arms blinking rapidly, because...

Wait.

Wait just one minute.

Was this one of those cliché novel scenes? You know—the ones where two devastatingly attractive male leads fight over the poor, delicate heroine, and she’s like, "No, please, don’t fight over me"?

...Was I the heroine?!

My heart skipped in excitement. Oh my stars. I’m living the trope. This is not a drill.

My tiny fingers clutched Papa’s collar dramatically as I tilted my head and thought, should I faint now or later? No, too much. I’m three.

Still, I gave my most sparkly-eyed innocent look, wondering who will win. The Emperor or the Elf? The overprotective dad or the dreamy forest grandpa?

This was better than a tea party. Better than dessert. I had no idea I would be living this trope too.

Papa huffed and turned to Thalein again, his eyes narrowing. "You’ve only known her for five minutes, and already you’re trying to claim her?"

"She’s my blood!" Thalein argued back, tossing his cloak behind him like he was about to recite a sonnet. "You can’t monopolize her!"

"I’m not monopolizing her—I’m raising her!"

"Well, maybe she needs elven cultural exposure!"

"I’ll buy her a tree."

Thalein gasped. "A tree? You think we’re defined by foliage?!"

"I’m trying here," Papa muttered, clearly regretting everything.

Meanwhile, I was now thoroughly invested. My eyes bounced between them like I was watching the final match of a fantasy chess tournament. Two proud men—one imperial, one immortal—arguing like children over candy.

Let’s see who will win. But before I could even declare a winner, there was a soft knock on the door. The butler entered, carrying tea and snacks.

Papa sighed, clearly exasperated, and said, "Let’s have a seat."

WHAT?! I thought, frustration bubbling up inside me. I wanted to see who would win! Damn it! I didn’t even get to live out the trope fully!

I slumped back into Papa’s arms, the dream of dramatic, competing, good-looking men fighting for my attention shattered in a moment. This was not how it was supposed to go!

Well...whatever, that’s how I met my grandfather, who was a real elf. Pointy ears, centuries-old drama, foresty charm, and all.

My life might be strange. And sparkly. And just a little bit dramatic.

But wow, it’s so fun being me.