Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Emperor Cassius's POV—Within the Void]

The first thing I felt was cold.

Not the kind that numbed the skin—but the kind that seeped into bone, heavy and endless, like time itself had stopped breathing. And when I opened my eyes and found myself standing in a place that was not the void Thalein described. It wasn't black, nor empty—it was… alive.

Lights flickered above me, humming faintly, trapped inside long glass tubes. Strange carriages of metal and glass rushed by on glimmering black paths. People moved quickly—eyes down, faces pale, carrying strange glowing boxes in their hands.

"What… is this weird place?" I whispered, frowning as the air filled with the scent of smoke and metal.

And then—among that river of strangers—I saw her.

A small, thin girl. Fifteen, perhaps. Brown hair tied messily behind her neck, dull brown eyes that looked far older than her years. Her hands were red and raw as she washed dishes in a cramped kitchen, sleeves soaked through. Water splashed up her arms as voices shouted in a tongue I'd never heard before.

"Faster, Reina!" a woman snapped sharply. "We don't have all day!"

The girl flinched, bowing quickly. "I-I'm sorry!" she stammered, her voice thin and exhausted.

Reina.

That was her name.

But why—why did my chest tighten at the sight of her trembling shoulders? Why did something inside me fracture when I saw the despair hidden in her eyes? She wasn't Lavinia. She couldn't be. And yet… every movement, every whispered apology, tore into me like a blade.

Had Thalein's spell gone wrong?

Still… instinct urged me to follow.

I stepped forward—yet my boots made no sound. Even the ground beneath me seemed like an illusion, smoke and shadow rising to meet me.

I called her name. "Reina!" My voice scattered like dust. She did not hear. She never turned.

So I followed.

Time warped in that place—days, nights, and years bleeding into one another like water. But one thing never changed: her struggle.

I watched as her hands cracked and bled. As she ate scraps, endured scolding, and pushed herself beyond exhaustion. I watched as she grew, as the kitchen gave way to another cruel world—

She was older now. Twenty, perhaps. Her hair was tidier, and her dull eyes were hidden behind glass lenses. She bowed before a man in stiff clothes, her voice trembling as she apologized for yet another mistake.

"I'll redo the report, sir," she whispered.

He barely glanced at her. "Just don't mess up again, Suzuki."

Suzuki. Her surname.

I watched her retreat to her desk, shoulders hunched, whispering apology after apology as though her very existence required permission. She worked until her fingers swelled, until her eyes burned, until the silence of her narrow room became her only companion.

And every night, after pouring boiling water into a paper cup of noodles, she would whisper to herself, "Just one more day, Reina. Just one more day."

Her voice broke me more than any battlefield scream ever could.

And then… the end.

I found her slumped over her desk, her head resting on her arm, the glow of the screen painting shadows across her tired face. Her breath slowed… and then stopped.

The machine hummed on. But Reina Suzuki was gone.

The world froze. Then—her soul rose, fragile and luminous, drifting upward like a wisp of light. I followed it. Through clouds. Through darkness. Through silence.

Until…

The void trembled. The scent of herbs and fire returned. Marble halls unfolded around me, thunder rolling over my capital. This was my world. My palace.

And there—the soul descended, gliding gently down the servants' corridor.

A scream ripped through the air.

A woman lay on a bed, her hair plastered to her face, her body wracked with agony as the midwives rushed.

"THAT DAMN TYRANT—HE LEAVES ME WITH HIS CHILD AND GOES TO WAR?!" she shrieked, her fury echoing like thunder.

I blinked, muttering, "…She's too loud."

But her face struck me—black hair, green eyes, hauntingly familiar. And then the light—the soul—slipped silently into her womb.

Moments later, a child's cry pierced the air.

"WAAHHHHHH! WAAHHHHHHH!"

My chest clenched. My breath caught.

That cry. I knew it.

The newborn in the maid's trembling arms… It was her.

My daughter. Lavinia.

"So…" My voice cracked, breaking in my throat. "Reina… that girl… was her. Her past life."

The weight of it crashed into me like thunder.

Every bruise, every lonely meal, every broken breath—all of that pain belonged to her. And still—reborn as Lavinia—she smiles. She reaches for me. She calls me Papa.

My hands trembled. My heart ached with a burden I could scarcely bear.

So this… this is the truth of her soul. And as the truth of her soul sank deep into my heart — the void rippled once more.

***

[Lavinia's POV — Void]

"…I swear, Mama, I only pretended to forget him," I huffed, puffing my cheeks. "But Papa—he made me sit on his lap the entire day! Even during meetings!"

Mother chuckled softly, her fingers weaving through my golden hair as she braided it. "Really?"

"Yes!" I nodded dramatically. "And he wouldn't even let anyone kiss my hand! He said it was a 'disgusting foreign custom.' And he totally banned it. Can you believe that?"

Mama laughed, shaking her head. "He sure knows how to misuse his position."

I sighed. "You don't say. Our empire probably has more national holidays than any other empire in existence!" I started counting on my fingers, "My first flip, my first word, my first walk, my first decree, my first sword lesson, my first birthday—ugh, I lost count!"

Mother smiled, twisting my hair into a neat braid before tying the ribbon with a triumphant flick. "Ta-da! It's done."

I touched my hair, eyes sparkling. "Wow, it's perfect!"

Mama puffed her chest proudly. "Of course it is. I'm amazing."

I giggled—and then, curiosity took over. "So… Mama…"

She hummed, "Hmm?"

"I heard Papa was… um, drunk when he… you know." I made vague hand gestures. "Did he, um, force you?"

Her hands froze mid-air. Then she blinked once, twice—before smirking. "Force me? Please. If anyone ever tried that, I'd kick his imperial rear so hard he'd fly straight into next week."

My eyes widened, and I burst out laughing. "You would, wouldn't you?"

She grinned. "Absolutely. I was his chambermaid back then; it was easy for me to beat him to a pulp."

"Wait, really?!" I nearly fell off the chair.

She nodded proudly. "Mhm. You wouldn't believe it, but your father and I fought every single day."

I gasped dramatically, leaning closer. "And he didn't kill you for that?"

. . .

She blinked, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it… why didn't that idiot tyrant kill me? I made his life miserable!"

. . .

. . .

We both burst into laughter.

"Maybe," I said between giggles, "because he secretly liked you, Mama!"

She smirked, gently patting my head. "Liked me? Oh, he hated me—with every stubborn, royal cell in his body."

I giggled harder. "Then…" I tilted my head, curiosity flickering. "Why doesn't Papa remember you?"

For a moment, she went quiet. Her smile softened, bittersweet. "Sometimes, pain consumes your memories, my child. It burns away the small, precious moments until nothing remains but ash."

Her voice wavered faintly, like wind over old embers. "I was only his chambermaid for two months before he went to war. And when he returned…" she smiled faintly. "…the world had already changed."

I nodded slowly, my chest tightening.

She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I know your Papa hasn't treated you kindly, not in your last life. But trust me, my little one… he has always loved you. He thought keeping you at a distance would protect you from himself."

Her words stung, gentle but deep.

"And the boy you love…" she continued softly, "his heart was the same. It wasn't guilt that bound him, but love. So don't believe they abandoned you out of cruelty or guilt."

My lips trembled. "But… they really did leave me, Mama," I whispered. "Both of them."

She smiled—a sad, radiant smile that made the void around us shimmer faintly. "No, my child. They didn't abandon you. They were victims too—of something much greater."

I frowned, confusion and fear mingling. "Victims? Of what?"

Her eyes darkened, voice lowering to a whisper. "Your fate was stolen, Lavinia. There are hands that meddled with destiny itself. The enemy you see is not the true one."

My breath caught. "Stolen fate…?"

"There is evil hiding in the shadows," she smiled and said, her voice now trembling like a fading echo. "You must protect yourself… and your father. When the time comes, trust your heart, not the story written for you."

I reached out, desperate. "Mama—wait, what do you—"

"LAVINIA!!!"

Papa's voice roared through the void like thunder cracking the heavens.

I looked at Mama and she smiled gently, saying, "It's time… you go back, my child. The world still needs its dawn."