Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 367

Chapter 367: “Can I be Your Father?”
[Haldor’s POV—After the Truth—Imperial Palace—Continuation]

The light faded.

But the weight didn’t.

It settled in my chest—slow, relentless—until every breath felt like it had to push through something solid. I stood where I was, hands at my sides, posture rigid out of habit… not because I knew how to stand anymore.

Son.

The word echoed in a place inside me that had never had a name.

I had faced death without flinching. I had stood on battlefields soaked in blood, made decisions that cost lives, and carried orders that would haunt men for decades.

None of that compared to this.

Because war had rules.

This did not.

I looked at General Luke again.

No—I looked at the man who was now, undeniably, my father.

He wasn’t standing like a general anymore. His shoulders were slightly bowed, as if he were afraid to take up too much space in front of me. His eyes—those same eyes I had always avoided—were bright. Not with tears. With something worse.

Hope.

I didn’t know what to do with it.

“I—” My voice came out rough, unfamiliar. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I didn’t ask for this.”

The words sounded cruel the moment they left my mouth.

Luke didn’t recoil.

He nodded.

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I don’t blame you.”

That made it worse. I had prepared myself for anger. For denial. For commands dressed as apologies.

Not this.

Not acceptance.

“Lavinia—”

The Emperor’s voice cut through the garden, calm but heavy with intent. “Come. I have something to discuss with you.”

She glanced at me—just once. Not asking permission. Not seeking reassurance. Just seeing me.

“Yes, Papa,” she said gently. “Let’s speak elsewhere.”

And just like that, the garden emptied.

The Emperor.Theon.Marshi.Rey.Sera.

All of them withdrew, quietly, deliberately—leaving behind a silence that felt louder than any battlefield. Leaving me alone with the man who had just been proven to be my father.

The sun was still overhead. Birds still sang. Leaves still stirred in the breeze.

But the world felt… paused. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then—

“Did you live well,” General Luke asked softly, his voice stripped of rank and steel, “all these years, my dear son?”

The words “my dear son” struck deeper than any blade ever had.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

The stern general was gone. In his place stood a man with faint tears caught at the corners of his eyes—tears he was too disciplined to let fall, too human to fully hide.

Tears that said: I finally found you.

But the question echoed in my chest.

Did I Live well?

I swallowed.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I don’t remember much of surviving well or badly.” My voice was steady, but something inside me wavered. “I remember… working harder than others. Fighting for a single piece of bread. Learning very early that if I didn’t move fast enough, someone else would take it.”

I let out a breath that felt too thin.

“I don’t remember living,” I admitted. “Only surviving.”

The silence that followed was immense.

Luke closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing every word like a wound reopening.

“I don’t know what kind of life you were forced to live,” he said quietly. “Maybe you were humiliated. Maybe you were bullied. Maybe the only word you learned was survive.”

His voice wavered for the first time.

“You should have had more than that,” he continued. “You should have had warmth. Safety. A childhood like those noble children who never had to wonder where their next meal would come from.”

He looked at me again—eyes shining, unguarded.

“And yet…” he inhaled shakily, “…you stand here as a man stronger than any of them.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Then he straightened slightly—not like a general, but like someone bracing himself to ask for something that could shatter him.

“I dare to ask one thing, son,” he said. “Just one permission.”

I felt my spine stiffen—not from discipline, but from fear.

He met my gaze fully.

“Can I… re-enter your life,” he asked, voice low and trembling, “as your father?”

The garden seemed to disappear.

I stood frozen.

That single question carried decades of regret, hope, and unbearable vulnerability. Before I could stop myself, another question slipped from my lips—raw, unfiltered.

“Did you look for me?”

He smiled faintly. Not proudly. Not happily.

Brokenly.

“Everywhere,” he said. “Every village. Every city in Meren. Every road that would allow a man to walk without hope.”

My chest tightened.

“Then,” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, “why didn’t you look for me in Eloria?”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“That day,” he said slowly, painfully, “when the carriage rolled down the hill… we were traveling to visit your grandfather. That hill lies between two empires—Meren and Eloria.”

I listened, unmoving.

“Your mother and I were found by Meren soldiers,” he continued. “After I buried her… I was told no child had been found with her. I assumed—” His jaw tightened. “—I assumed you had been taken by Meren soldiers as well.”

He looked away, shame flooding his features.

“So I stayed. I served the Meren Emperor. I searched there. I wasted years chasing ghosts… while you were here.”

His voice cracked.

“But who would have known,” he said hoarsely, “that Elorian villagers found you… and handed you to Elorian soldiers?”

I couldn’t speak.

Every piece fell into place—too late, too cruelly.

After a moment, I forced out one last question.

“Did you find out how I ended up here?”

He nodded. “Yes.” His gaze softened. “And I am grateful… to the Crown Princess. She allowed me to investigate everything. Without interference. Without politics.”

Of course she did.

That was her.

I stared at the ground, emotions colliding inside me—anger, grief, relief, and confusion—until they blurred into something I couldn’t name.

Then, quietly, I said, “But I don’t know how to be a son.”

Luke stepped forward—then stopped himself, as if afraid to cross a line he hadn’t yet earned.

“You don’t have to,” he said gently. “Not today. Not ever, if you don’t want to.”

He swallowed.

“Just… let me try to be a father.”

The words hung between us—fragile, trembling, real.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t want to. But because for the first time in my life, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore.

And learning that… would take more than one conversation.

More than one truth.

More than one heartbeat.

But somewhere deep inside—beneath discipline, beneath fear—I knew this much: I was no longer alone.

And that terrified me…almost as much as it healed me.

Yet there was something else—something I could no longer deny.

I could not ignore him.

This man had looked for me. Served a foolish prince. Bowed to a foreign emperor. Endured years of compromise and silence—All for the sake of finding a child he had lost.

Yes.

That was the truth.

He looked for me.

The thought cracked something open in my chest. And then—a hand reached out. Gentle. Hesitant. Warm.

It brushed my cheek.

I startled slightly and looked up.

Luke stood closer now, his expression no longer guarded, no longer restrained. His fingers moved again, slow and careful, wiping something away.

“Oh…” he murmured softly. “I’m sorry, son. It’s just… you were crying.”

I froze.

“I… cried?”

I lifted my own hand to my face.

My fingertips came away wet.

My vision blurred all at once, as if my body had decided to surrender without asking my permission. My throat tightened painfully.

Luke didn’t step back. He didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled—small, tender, unashamed.

“You know,” he said gently, “men can cry too.”

I swallowed, breath shaking.

“They say tears bring a new life,” he continued. “That they help you let go of what was stolen… so you can move forward.”

Something broke.

The tears I had been holding back for years—decades—finally slipped free. Not silently. Not gracefully. They fell like rain that had waited too long to touch the earth.

Luke’s hand didn’t leave my cheek.

He didn’t rush me.

He just stayed.

And then he asked again—his voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with hope and fear intertwined.

“Can I… be your father again, son?”

The question hovered in the air, fragile as glass.

I nodded.

Once.

Then again—harder, certainly.

“Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “And I will… try to be your son too, fa—fa—Father.”

The moment it left my lips—His eyes widened.

Then filled.

Then overflowed.

Luke pulled me into his arms without thinking, without rank, without restraint. His grip was strong—like a general’s—but it shook, just slightly, as if he were afraid I might vanish if he loosened it.

That day—Fate returned something I had lost so completely that I had forgotten I was allowed to want it.

A family.

“I should have found you sooner,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. “But I swear… I will never lose you again.”

I didn’t know how to answer that.

So I held on.

After a while, when my breathing finally steadied, he pulled back just enough to look at me again—really look at me.

“Your grandfather will be happy,” he said, a faint smile breaking through the tears. “Very happy.”

I frowned slightly. “Grandfather?”

Luke chuckled softly, the sound warm and real. “Your mother’s father,” he explained. “A good man. A stubborn one.”

His eyes softened.

“He’s been waiting,” Luke said. “Waiting for the last piece of his daughter that still walks this world.”

He placed a hand over my chest.

“You.”

Something in me ached—sweetly, painfully. So many doors had opened at once. So many names. So many people I never knew I belonged to.

And yet, through it all, one thought remained steady—anchoring me.

I had been found.

Not by chance.

Not by fate alone.

But by love that had refused to give up—even when the world told it to.