"Why does the chapter always starts with me sitting on the throne..."
Like clockwork.
Like tradition.
Like he signed a sacred pact with laziness itself.
There he was — Magnus Caffeine, the so-called Demon King of Sloth — draped across his throne-turned-sofa like a soggy towel. One leg over the armrest. One eye half-open. A mug of cold tea resting on his chest.
And then, cue the chaos:
"Seriously?! AGAIN?!"
The door slammed open. A shadowy man stormed in, wielding a feather duster like a divine punishment. "It's been twenty chapters! Twenty! Do you do anything besides nap, sip tea, and make sarcastic comments?"
Magnus didn't move. Didn't flinch. He blinked once. Slowly. Like the sun rising after a long, tired argument with the moon.
"Mister Author," he mumbled, voice smoother than a lullaby and twice as irritating, "nagging me this early... you trying to commit treason or just ruin the vibe?"
I swear, if looks could vaporize, he'd be ash in that cup.
"Do you know how hard it is for me to explain the world building, you lazy ass demon?!"
"You sent Bob to the elven realm just to bring tea. What are you some kind of king?"
"Yes"
"ughhh!!!!!"
"Whatever! Get up and down something. At least go to the human realm for once. I have a lot of plot in my mind."
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