Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives Chapter 1505: You SKIPPED?

Chapter 1505: You SKIPPED?

Villain Ch 1505. You SKIPPED?

Gerry was not the kind of guy who sent voice notes. He was a minimalist texter or a phone call. Occasionally, an emoji if he was in a weird mood. But this?

This was new.

He tapped play, raising the phone to his ear as the faint sounds of static and breath filtered through. Then ca Gerry’s voice—low, scratchy, and, sohow, already halfway into a rant.

“Bro. Bro. You SKIPPED? The one morning I drag myself out of bed early, stretch, prep protein like a good little gym rat, and YOU… ghost ? You bailed? You left alone with the screaming motivational playlist and a hundred pounds of disappointnt?!”

Allen blinked.

Gerry continued.

“I was so ready to be angry in silence. But no. I cracked. I cracked like a dropped dumbbell. You made speak my emotions, man. In a voice note. This is unnatural. This is your fault.”

There was a pause. A sigh. The faint clink of weights in the background.

“Anyway. Hope that’s worth it. Traitor.”

The voice note ended.

Allen snorted.

He hit reply and texted.

Allen: You’re being dramatic. I told you I wasn’t sure I could make it today. I’ll bring you coffee next ti.

And then added, just to twist the knife a little.

Allen: Double shot espresso. With oat milk. Like the soft boy you secretly are.

Phone down.

He shuffled to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, body still in that weird limbo between soreness and readiness. The kind of feeling where he could run a mile or pass out on the floor—depending entirely on whether he’d had caffeine yet.

The water was hot. Sharp. Exactly what he needed. It scalded away the sleepiness, and by the ti he stepped out and toweled off, he felt like he’d respawned IRL.

He didn’t go for anything overly dramatic when dressing—no designer tux, no startup CEO cosplay—but he did reach for sothing clean, fitted, and just sharp enough to remind people that he wasn’t an average person.

Slate-gray button-up, sleeves rolled halfway. Black tapered slacks. Clean white sneakers. He pulled on his watch, adjusted his collar, and then—because he wasn’t a savage—added a few sprays of his favorite cologne. Subtle. Warm. The kind that lingered without shouting.

His sport bike keys glinted from the desk.

Allen pocketed his phone and wallet, grabbed the keys, then headed downstairs, following the faint scent of butter and sothing fresh—probably bread.

He stepped into the dining room and imdiately spotted them.

Emma, half-curled in her chair like a smug cat with a smoothie glass in hand, and Jordan, sitting at the head of the table with his tablet propped up and reading through what looked like market reports.

Emma’s eyes flicked up first.

“Well, well,” she said, voice dripping with mock surprise. “Look who decided to show up.”

Allen snorted, sliding into his usual seat and grabbing a plate. “I’m preparing for the next event. Don’t bla for it.”

Jordan glanced over his tablet with a raised brow but didn’t interrupt.

Allen continued, tone casual. “Need to make sure the ga will keep players entertained for a long ti. Which, y’know, takes a little more effort than logging in and calling yourself a genius.”

Emma squinted at him over her smoothie like she was trying to laser through his skull. “I am a genius. And I don’t call myself one. That’s just accepted fact.”

“By who?” Allen asked, lifting a slice of toasted sourdough and buttering it.

“By the world,” Emma replied sweetly. “And the forums. And maybe my fanbase.”

“You have a fanbase now?”

“I could have a fanbase after this,” she said, grinning behind her spoon. “Depending on what role the event team gives . I an, who wouldn’t simp for the Devil Emperor’s genius little sister?”

Allen raised a brow as he grabbed his tea. “So… Kafra already said the event team approved your request?”

Emma bit her lower lip.

“No… Not yet, I an.”

He sat down across from her, exhaled slowly, then sipped the tea. Jasmine. Comforting and light, probably chosen specifically to offset the chaos of the previous night.

“Yeah,” Allen said with a dry snort. “I guessed that.”

“I’m manifesting it,” Emma insisted. “If I believe hard enough, they’ll have to give sothing cool. That’s how manifestation works, right?”

“Sure,” Allen said, deadpan. “Let know when that technique starts working on drop rates too.”

Jordan looked up from his tablet, brows raised.

“So,” he started, tone casual but the kind that sohow wasn’t casual. “What ti did you go to bed last night?”

Allen hesitated.

Jordan sipped his black coffee, clearly already knowing the answer.

“According to Kai,” he added, “he just found your food tray was outside your room this morning.”

Allen rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Emma as if she could deflect so of the incoming dad-energy. She did not.

“Uh…” Allen muttered. “Past 2:30 a.m. So… I basically slept in the morning.”

Jordan let out a long breath, folded his hands together. “Son. Just because your job is in a ga doesn’t an your body thinks it’s playing one. You’re not made of polygons.”

“Okay, first of all,” Allen said, raising a finger, “I do take breaks.”

Emma snorted.

“And second,” he continued, “it was for the event. We had to farm so dungeon mats, the drop rates were garbage, and we needed the Heart of the Infernal Chira, which took seven tries.”

Jordan looked over his glasses. “Seven?”

Allen gave a helpless shrug. “It’s not like we chose the loot tables.”

“I would’ve done it in five,” Emma added with her mouth full.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Allen and Jordan said in unison.

Jordan sipped his coffee slowly, raising an eyebrow over the rim. “Can’t you get items more easily as the villain?”

Allen reached for the plate of avocado toast at the center of the table, dragging it closer. “Yeah, I should have an edge. And sotis I do. But this one? It’s a rare boss mat. Specific to a certain phase. If you kill it too fast or interrupt the wrong cast, it doesn’t even have a chance to drop. The RNG gods were not feeling generous.”