Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1287

Chapter 1287: No Room For Failure Chapter 1287: No Room For Failure Villain Ch 1287.

No Room For Failure For the next few days, Allen’s life turned into a whirlwind of preparation.

The conference was rapidly approaching, and with every passing hour, it felt like the weight of the event pressed harder on his shoulders.

Meetings filled his schedule from morning till night, leaving barely enough time to breathe, let alone think.

The details of every presentation, every reveal, every contingency plan were ironed out in relentless discussions.

Fortunately, he wasn’t doing it alone.

The girls rallied to support him.

Zoe took charge of organizing his schedule, her meticulous nature ensuring he didn’t miss a single meeting.

Larissa, Alice and Bella handled the PR angles, crafting statements that oozed confidence and authority.

Jane provided comic relief but also surprisingly sharp insights when the stress levels hit critical mass.

Even Vivian and Shea managed to charm a few tough vendors into last-minute deals.

Their help was invaluable, but it came at a price.

Allen had to sacrifice his gym sessions.

And that meant dealing with Gerry.

“Skipping the gym again?” Gerry’s voice was gruff but teasing through the phone.

“What’s the excuse this time?

The apocalypse?

An alien invasion?” Allen sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Conference prep.

It’s killing my schedule.” Gerry raised an eyebrow.

“Conference, huh?

Must be some event if it’s got you ducking leg day.” Allen smirked faintly.

“You know me.

If it wasn’t important, I’d be there.” “Yeah, yeah,” Gerry grumbled, though his tone was light.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off easy when this thing’s over.

You owe me double sessions to make up for it.

Wait… triple!

You also skipped it last time!” “Deal,” Allen said with a small laugh.

Despite Gerry’s joking complaints, he understood.

The conference wasn’t just an event; it was the event.

Everything had to go perfectly.

There was no room for failure.

But there was another matter that nagged at Allen, one that had him more on edge than any logistical detail.

Geralt.

Allen’s childhood friend had managed to pull off the impossible: convincing Allen’s half-brother, Evan, to attend the conference.

Evan.

Just thinking about him made Allen’s jaw tighten.

Their relationship was… complicated, to say the least.

Evan was the golden child, while Allen had been left to carve his own path.

And now, Evan would be there, in the audience, watching as Allen’s identity as the Goldborne heir was revealed to the world.

‘How’s he gonna see me after that?’ Allen wondered.  Then there was Emma.

Emma had been dealing with her own fallout.

She was still under punishment from Jordan for her impulsive decisions, but to Allen’s surprise, she’d handled it with unexpected maturity.

She’d thrown herself into helping the dev team, working hard to prove herself.

Then there were the girls.

Between their help with the conference and their usual antics, they’d managed to inject some much-needed chaos into Allen’s life.

Most of their recent debates revolved around one topic: what to wear to the conference.

“I’m thinking of something bold,” Vivian announced.

“Something that screams confidence but also, you know, makes people a little scared of me.” “Subtlety isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” Zoe had deadpanned, earning a laugh from the group.

And then there was Jane.

She was still clinging to her idea of Allen arriving at the conference on his sportbike, dressed in a sharp suit and helmet.

“Picture it,” she’d said, eyes gleaming.

“You roll up, take off the helmet in one smooth move, and boom-instant legend.” “It’s a formal event, Jane,” Allen had pointed out, though her enthusiasm was almost contagious.

“Formal doesn’t mean boring,” she’d countered.

“Come on, Allen.

You’d look amazing, and it would send the perfect message.

Young, confident, powerful-who wouldn’t love it?” As much as he hated to admit it, she wasn’t wrong.

The idea was intriguing, and the spotlight it would create would be unforgettable.

But it wasn’t practical.

“I’ll probably be arriving by helicopter,” he’d said, effectively shutting down the debate.

“No traffic, no complications.

It’s the safest option.” Jane had pouted, but the others had agreed.

The conference wasn’t just about appearances.

It was about precision, about delivering everything flawlessly.

This wasn’t just another event.

It was the moment Allen would step into the spotlight as the Goldborne heir.

The world would see him for who he truly was-no masks, no avatars, no games.

And failure wasn’t an option.

The days blurred together in a haze of meetings, preparations, and last-minute adjustments, that thought kept Allen focused.

His name, his role, his legacy-it all came down to this.

The conference had to be perfect.

And Allen was going to make sure it was.

The day had finally arrived.

The room buzzed with quiet, controlled energy.

The kind of energy that made Allen’s chest tighten and his senses sharpen.

Everything had led to this moment.

Months of preparation, sleepless nights, endless meetings-all for the conference where the world would finally know him as Allen Goldborne, heir to one of the most powerful names in the industry.

And he looked the part.

Allen stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his suit jacket.

It was a masterpiece-tailored to perfection, every line sharp, every detail immaculate.

The deep charcoal fabric gleamed faintly under the soft lighting, and the subtle stitching along the lapels added a touch of flair without being ostentatious.

It wasn’t just a suit-it was a statement.

He never thought he’d look this good.

The makeup artist hovered nearby, checking his handiwork.

A light dusting of powder had evened out Allen’s skin tone, giving him a flawless, camera-ready appearance.

His hair was styled neatly, slick but not overly rigid, designed to stay in place no matter what.

It was the kind of treatment Allen had always associated with models or actors, not himself.

“This feels… excessive,” Allen muttered, running a hand over his tie.

The makeup artist raised an eyebrow.

“Excessive?

You’re about to walk into a room full of cameras and industry leaders.

Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” Allen smirked faintly but said nothing.

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