Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel 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.

He looked for me.

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