Too Lazy to be a Villainess Chapter 154: Secrets, Snacks, and Surveillance

[Lavinia’s POV—Sowhere in the Empire, Minutes After Teleportation]

P O P.

The world folded in, exploded out, and then—

"Ughhhhh..."

I collapsed face-first onto a suspiciously uneven cobblestone street.

"My bones are sideways," I mumbled into the ground.

Brother Lysandre’s magic may be powerful and sparkly, but his landing precision? Not award-winning.

"Stars above..." Osric muttered, groaning beside . "My dignity."

I peeled myself off the street, blinking at the crowded chaos that had swallowed us whole.

People everywhere.

Vendors shouting. Banners flapping. Firecrackers popping. The sll of spiced roasted almonds and fresh bread filling the air. Children ran past with paper dragon tails, and a juggler tossed flaming torches like gravity was optional.

And above it all—A giant, twinkling banner:

"Happy First Crawl Day, Princess Lavinia!"

...Which I would’ve enjoyed imnsely if I wasn’t currently dressed like a background character in a soap opera.

I glanced down at my plain black robe and grimaced. "This is so depressing. Everyone here looks like fireworks, and I look like unresolved grief."

Osric, now disguised as a bland, suspiciously tall rchant with a fake beard (Brother Lysandre, what were you thinking?), stood next to with crossed arms.

He muttered, "I still don’t understand why you’re so determined to wander around with this ’sad librarian chic’ look."

"It’s called being stealthy," I replied. "You wouldn’t understand."

"You look like a haunted potato sack."

"EXACTLY."

anwhile, Marshi—now a tiny grey kitten with a ribbon and an expression of eternal exhaustion—peeked out of my satchel, unimpressed by humanity in general.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my satchel, and lifted my chin.

"Alright. We blend in, observe the crowd, and split up for one hour. I’ll et you by the ’Dragon Noodles’ stall near the fountain."

Osric imdiately shook his head. "Absolutely not. You’re not going anywhere alone."

I blinked. "But I thought you were just here to hover behind like a judgntal cloud."

"No. I’m here to make sure you don’t get kidnapped, poisoned, hexed, hypnotized, or—heaven forbid—buy counterfeit jewelry from street vendors."

"Ugh, fine."

I can’t believe he’s this stubborn.

I an, he wasn’t like this when he was a child! Back then, he used to follow around like a baby duck in armor.

Now?

He’s tall, impossible, and tragically immune to my manipulative charm.(Almost. I’m still testing.)

Ugh.

And just like that... My glorious solo mission—my undercover, independent, no-bodyguards-needed operation—had officially beco:

The Lavinia & Osric Tour of Lowkey Surveillance.

With guest appearances by Marshi the Cat and my wounded pride.

I glanced at Osric walking beside . Even in his ridiculous peasant disguise, he still looked like a misplaced royal painting—broad shoulders, that stupid confident gait, and a jawline so sharp it could assassinate foreign dignitaries on sight.

"Okay," I said casually, tossing my braid behind my shoulder. "You promise... whatever you see or hear today—you’ll keep it secret?"

He raised a brow. "Of course. As long as it’s not illegal."

I blinked.

"...Excuse ?"

He smirked. "You heard ."

I narrowed my eyes. "I am a Crown Princess. Everything I do is legal. Even if it’s setting fire to three pigeon statues and declaring war on glitter."

He chuckled, tilting his head. "You’re just like His Majesty."

I gasped. "Was that a complint or an insult?"

"A complint," he said smoothly. "You’re terrifying. And brilliant."

I grinned with exaggerated pride. "Of course I am. I’m his precious, powerful, politically untouchable only daughter."

He stared at for a second too long, a smile playing on his lips. Then he muttered, almost to himself, "So cute."

I froze.

What?

Wait.

Did he—?

I whipped around. "Did you just call cute?"

Osric blinked, panic flashing across his face. "I did not."

I narrowed my eyes and took a slow, ominous step forward. "You did."

"I really didn’t."

"Oh-ho, you totally did."

I stepped closer, eyes locked on him like a wolf who just caught a scent. He leaned back instinctively. I followed.

He shifted right. I mirrored.

He darted left. I lunged left.

I kept my nose three inches from his face, my eyes squinted in faux suspicion.

"You’re blushing," I said triumphantly.

"I’m not."

"You are."

"That’s the wind."

"There is no wind."

"Maybe I’m allergic to your perfu."

"Nice try. I’m wearing no perfu."

Marshi, from the safety of my satchel, blinked slowly at the both of us like he was witnessing a mating ritual of two very dramatic birds.

Finally, I grinned wickedly, patted Osric’s shoulder, and said with fake pity, "Don’t worry, dear bodyguard. Everyone falls for eventually."

He blinked. "I’m not—"

I didn’t let him finish. "Shh. It’s alright. You’re only human. It’s not your fault."

He groaned loudly. "Stars spare ."

I bead, victorious, and spun on my heel with a regal flourish. "Alright! Enough flustering my guards for one afternoon. Let’s go."

Osric exhaled hard. "Where exactly are we going?"

"No questions," I sang over my shoulder.

"Lavi."

"Nooo~ questions."

"Princess..."

I turned, walking backwards now with a wide grin. "The first rule of secret missions, Osric dear, is you do not ask questions. The second rule is: you carry snacks."

He stared, blinking. "What?"

I reached into his coat. "Aha! I knew you had roasted almonds."

"Stop digging into my coat!"

"Then stop looking like a snack holder."

Marshi let out the tiniest ow of agreent. And just like that, with Osric grumbling beside , almonds in my mouth, and Marshi curled in my satchel like an unwilling accomplice...I walked confidently into the crowd.

To uncover secrets.

To follow the trail.

To chase answers about Elaenia—

—with a too-handso bodyguard who may or may not have called cute.

Which, frankly, might be the real mystery here.

***

[Inside the Bar Nad "The Crooked Lantern"]

We stepped into The Crooked Lantern, and the mont we crossed the threshold, Osric stopped dead in his tracks.

His hand gripped mine like I was about to throw myself into a vat of lava.

"Lavi, what is this place?" he whispered, horrified, eyes darting around the dim, smoky room full of questionable shadows and even more questionable people.

I turned to him with all the innocent charm of a lying saint.

"Shh," I hushed, pressing a finger to his lips. "Didn’t I explicitly say... no questions?"

He made a choked sound as I lowered my finger. "But this—this is clearly a—"

"A bar," I said sweetly, cutting him off. "Relax. I’m not here to drink."

Osric released my hand. I smirked and strode ahead, skirts swishing like I owned the shady place. Marshi peeked his tiny head out of my satchel and hissed softly, unimpressed with the ambiance. Sa, buddy.

But this wasn’t just any bar.

Oh no.

This was the place Caelum visited in the novel to hire a certain infamous guild master — the sa one who dug up Osric and Princess Lavinia’s entire past. Aka my past. Aka . Aka the reason I’m here on this secret mission before my entire fictional future crashes down like a flaming carriage.

The bar itself was... How do I put this?

The kind of place that slled faintly of blood, ale, betrayal, and rosemary. There were too many n with knives.

Not enough lighting.

And way too many stares for soone wearing a black robe and carrying a kitten in a bag.

But I walked forward like I belonged here—like I wasn’t a heavily disguised Crown Princess on an illegal investigation.

I scanned the line of bartenders behind the bar.

Too young.

Too drunk.

Too bald.

Ah.

There he was.

A man with a silver moustache, long grey hair tied back with a leather cord, and a single gold hoop in his ear. His face looked like it had been carved from suspicion and set on fire a few tis. He was polishing a glass like it owed him money.

Rye Morven.

Disguised as a bartender. Secretly a broker. Known as the Whisper Man in certain underground circles.

The man Caelum ca to see. I approached him smoothly, placing a single gold imperial coin on the counter.

And with all the subtlety of a duchess ordering a poison martini, I said—

"One nightshade blend. Heavy on the silence."

The glass he was cleaning froze in his hand.

His eyes flicked up to .

One long stare.

Then he took the coin, slid it into his pocket, and gestured to the door behind the bar. "Downstairs. Third left. Knock twice. Then once. Then hum."

I blinked. "Hum?"

He shrugged. "It’s a weird guild."

Fair enough.

I turned on my heel—and Osric, who had followed across the bar like a paranoid bodyguard mom, stepped in front of .

"Excuse ," he said, dead serious. "Where are you going?"

I looked at him like he was the most adorable roadblock in existence.

"Just grabbing a drink... in the cellar."

He frowned. "You’re hiding sothing."

"You’re right," I whispered, brushing past him. "It’s my past. Shh."

He looked like he was about to combust on the spot.

Marshi licked his paw dramatically.

And ?

I walked straight toward danger.

Because Rye Morven isn’t just a guild master.

He’s the guild master.

The man who deals in secrets for sport. Who sells nas like weapons and whispers like daggers and is also the one...who sold a poison to Marquess Evertte in the end of the Chapter.