King stayed on the lounger, not getting up, only the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
Crunch, crunch…
Ah! The cream's oozing out—what a waste!
Flustered, Paimon licked the cream from his fingers before launching another assault on the macaron tower.
Seventy tiers.
Eighty tiers.
The once-lofty, delicate spire now stood less than twenty layers tall and wobbled precariously.
Realizing this, Paimon froze, surveyed the disaster he'd wrought, and a flicker of guilt crossed his tiny face.
I might've eaten a bit too much…
He won't be mad, right?
N-no, surely not? Someone that strong must be super magnanimous!
Yeah! All mighty people are generous!
He nodded firmly, pumping himself up, then glanced at the remaining macarons.
I'm still starving…
Well, I've already eaten this much… so…
His guilty little hand reached out again.
Just as his fingertip brushed the next macaron—
Aren't you sick of them yet?
!
Paimon went rigid.
His tiny hand hung mid-air; his neck creaked like a rusted gear, turning inch by inch toward the voice.
He met a fearsome face.
Chin propped on one hand, King stared at him with no expression.
Those deep eyes were calm, revealing neither joy nor anger.
[Guilt from Paimon detected—Emotion Points +10,000.]
Guilt points?
Not fear?
King blinked in mild surprise.
Facing King's fierce look, Paimon's heart nearly leapt out of his throat.
I'm doomed, doomed, doomed!
He stole King's breakfast—something so awful. Would King fly into a rage and gobble Paimon up for breakfast?
Snatching his hand back, Paimon hid both small hands behind him, shrank down, and forced a smile uglier than tears.
Uh… um…
G-good morning!
You know, wasting food is bad. You had so much here; I just wanted to help finish a tiny bit…
His voice dwindled to a mosquito's buzz, gaze darting everywhere, too scared to meet King's eyes.
King said nothing, simply watching.
The stare made every hair on Paimon stand on end; each second felt like a century.
Just as he buckled under the pressure and was about to drop to his knees—
King slowly rose from the lounger.
Paimon squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for "death."
King was speechless; Paimon's overreaction left him unsure how to speak.
Peeking, Paimon felt the air freeze; the suffocating pressure made his small body shiver.
In that suffocating silence, the familiar virtual choice box appeared before King—
[Love Game Master (Rank D)] activated!
A. Punch this glutton to death; let her know the price of angering the strongest man on earth.
B. Expressionlessly offer your beloved sweet girlfriend 5 disc as a gesture of goodwill.
C. In a low, dangerous voice: "Little cutie, you ate my macarons—ready to pay the Reward?"
D. Wipe the cream off Paimon's face.
Eyeing the four choices, the corner of King's mouth twitched faintly.
He sighed inwardly in resignation.
This lousy system always shoved him to the brink of social death.
Option A—kill Paimon?
Even if this emergency food is greedy, he doesn't deserve death.
Option B—hand over his sweet girlfriend 5 disc?
Leaving aside reluctance, even if he gave it, the disc won't run in Teyvat.
Option C—threaten Paimon for a Reward?
Sounds like a classic villain line—an R-18 one at that—pass.
That left only D.
Although "wiping cream off Paimon's face" sounded a bit cheesy, at least it was kind—and he had no other choice.
King muttered in resignation, "I choose D."
A subtle guiding sensation from the skill arose, and King's gaze settled naturally on Paimon's frosting-smeared little face.
Cream and cookie crumbs of every color dotted the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, even the tip of his nose—the pressure to use while cleaning Paimon's face…
King understood everything!
He stepped forward; his pace wasn't fast, yet the pressure he emanated remained overwhelming.
Paimon watched the tall, menacing figure approach, his little frame trembling like a leaf in the wind.
I—I'm sorry! Paimon was wrong! Paimon was just hungry! Paimon will make it up to you! Paimon will never do it again! Don't eat Paimon, waaah…
The expected pain never arrived.
Instead, a soft, warm touch brushed his cheek.
A large, warm hand, carrying an indescribable steadiness, gently cupped his small chin.
Paimon cautiously opened one eye to find King's face right in front of him.
His gaze focused, King used the pad of his thumb to carefully wipe the corner of Paimon's mouth.
He removed the smear of white cream, then meticulously and gently brushed away the cookie crumbs on Paimon's face.
King's movements were steady; the touch of his fingers on Paimon's cheek brought a cozy warmth.
"!!!"
At that moment, Paimon's heart began to thump in spite of himself.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The pounding was so loud Paimon could hear it himself; his cheeks blushed a vivid scarlet, spreading all the way to his ears.
So… so close!
He—he's actually helping Paimon wipe his face?
Is he cleaning Paimon before eating him?
But—but such gentle motions, such a focused gaze!
Could it be… Paimon misunderstood?
Is he actually a good guy who's cold outside but warm inside?
Countless thoughts exploded in Paimon's tiny head, leaving him dizzy.
The little deer that had been crashing around in fear suddenly changed direction, ramming even harder and making Paimon's head spin.
The air seemed to solidify, filled with invisible pink bubbles.
With wide, moist eyes, Paimon stared blankly at King's face, forgetting fear, speech, even how to breathe.
An unfamiliar heat surged from the bottom of Paimon's heart and rushed to his cheeks.
His face flushed scarlet in an instant, like a ripe little Apple.
[Slight fear detected from Paimon: +10,000 Emotion Points.]
Paimon felt as if he had fallen in love!
Right then—
"Grrrrr~~~"
An extremely loud, abrupt growl shattered the "romantic" atmosphere.
The sound came from Paimon's tiny stomach, which had just devoured dozens of macarons.
"!!!"
Paimon's blush deepened, almost dripping red!
He frantically clutched his belly, mortified and flustered, wishing he could vanish into the floor.
Stupid stomach!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
At such a perfect moment… (?)
Why are you rumbling now!
Everything's ruined—Paimon's image is totally destroyed!
He must think Paimon is nothing but a gluttonous food bag!
King's wiping hand paused.
He glanced at Paimon's crimson face and the hands clamped defensively over his stomach.
A flicker of amusement—almost undetectable—flashed in his eyes, though his expression stayed flat.
King folded the handkerchief and calmly surveyed the "macaron ruins" strewn across the table, then looked at Paimon's still-round little belly.
"Still hungry?"
he asked in that same flat, low voice.
Paimon nodded hastily, then shook his head like a rattle, ending in a flustered wobble: "N-no, I'm not hungry…"
King gave him a long look, said nothing, and turned toward the door.
"Follow."
"Eh?" Paimon blinked. "Wh-where?"
King pulled the door open and glanced back at Paimon hovering dumbfounded in midair.
"To eat."
With that concise word, King stepped out of the room.
Paimon froze for two seconds, then snapped awake.
"O-okay!"
With a shy yelp, Paimon forgot his embarrassment, shot into the air, and chased King's retreating figure out of the room… As King led Paimon from his top-floor suite in the Opera Epiclese down the ornate spiral staircase,
the entire Opera Epiclese felt like a lake into which a boulder had been hurled—its calm surface suddenly rippling outward.