Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1563

Chapter 1563: Oat Milk Judgment
Villain Ch 1563. Oat Milk Judgment

Allen placed two cups of coffee down on the table. One slid across the smooth wooden surface with a practiced flick of his fingers, stopping neatly in front of Gerry.

The other he kept for himself.

Steam curled up from the lids, mingling with the scent of roasted beans, toasted oats, and whatever cinnamon-dusted pastry someone ordered three tables down.

Gerry squinted at the label on his cup. Then raised an eyebrow.

“Oat milk?” he said, voice flat like he just discovered Allen replaced his pre-workout with soy sauce.

Allen didn’t even look up. He was already unwrapping his cutlery, checking if they gave him the right order. “Yeah. I said that last time, remember? When you sent me that voice note with all the panting and dramatic sighs?”

Gerry made a face. “Bro. That wasn’t meant for oat milk judgment. That was raw pain. And trauma. And glute cramp agony. Also betrayal.”

Allen took a sip of his own drink, leaned back in the soft-cushioned booth, and grinned. “Exactly. So now I’m helping you grow. Emotionally. And gastrointestinally.”

Gerry sniffed the coffee like it was spiked. “If I get diarrhea I’m blaming your golden retriever ass.”

Allen just chuckled.

The café wasn’t packed yet. It was early enough that most people were still crawling through their morning commutes or halfway into their first miserable Zoom meeting.

They always came here after workouts. It was their spot—next to the gym, tucked between a yoga studio and a bookstore that smelled like cedarwood and capitalism.

The place was cozy. Chalkboard menus, fake vines hanging from the ceiling, that aesthetic somewhere between eco-minimalist and “our barista also writes poetry.” The booths were deep, perfect for hiding from the world or pretending to do work.

Gerry leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low and pointed. “So… this is how you thank someone who played human privacy curtain for you? With coffee that doesn’t even have real milk?”

Allen didn’t even flinch. “Correction—you’re drinking a finely crafted oat milk latte while I ordered you your favorite breakfast.”

He pulled a wrapped sandwich from the bag and slid it across the table. “Lean chicken scramble on rye, sweet potato hash, no onions. I even made them double-check the hash wasn’t soggy. You’re welcome.”

Gerry squinted at the sandwich, then the drink. “You weaponized kindness. That’s messed up.” He took a reluctant sip of the oat milk latte. His face twisted like he was expecting betrayal. Then blinked. “…Okay, damn. That’s not bad.”

“Exactly,” Allen said, smug. “Vegan cow juice. Enlightenment in a cup.”

Gerry blinked. “Oh… damn. Okay. Sweet.”

Allen smirked.

They both dug in. For a few minutes, it was just quiet chewing, warm coffee, and the low hum of soft indie music overhead. The smell of rosemary and toasted bread drifted by every time the kitchen door swung open.

Then Allen’s eyes flicked toward the front counter.

He noticed something.

Three girls seated at the high stools near the barista station. One of them kept peeking over her shoulder. The second was not even subtle about it—full-on leaned on the counter, chin resting on her hand like she was starring in a music video.

And the third? Her phone was angled just a bit too obviously for a casual selfie.

Allen sighed. Turned back to Gerry.

“Be honest,” he said, lowering his voice, “do I still have that puppy aura or something?”

Gerry glanced toward the counter, then back at Allen.

He shrugged. “No.”

Then hesitated.

“…Well. A bit. But not that bad.”

Allen squinted. “Dude.”

“I mean—look, it’s toned down. Less golden retriever, more… golden wolf hybrid? Still got soft eyes, but now you look like you bite.” Gerry took another sip. “But yeah. I gotta remind you. You’re kinda famous now.”

Allen’s brows furrowed. “I’m not—”

“Turn your head to the right,” Gerry cut in. “Next to the cashier. Shelf with the magazines.”

Allen glanced over.

And yeah.

There it was.

His face.

On the cover of one of those glossy magazines. The caption read something like, “New Mr. Goldborne? The Forgotten Son Returns to Claim the Throne.”

And right there, front and center, was Allen. His photo from the Urban Enigma CEO-style edition—the one with the sharp suit, cold stare, and that unmistakable aura of someone who didn’t ask for attention but always got it anyway.

“Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath.

Gerry grinned, proud of himself. “See? Told you. You’re literally staring at yourself. And so are they.” He jerked a thumb toward the girls.

Allen dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t even do that photoshoot for this. They just recycled it.”

“Yeah, well, your recycled photo is currently giving three women the mental gymnastics of their lives. One of them almost fell off her stool.”

Allen leaned back in the booth, staring up at the ceiling. “I just wanted coffee. And protein.”

“And instead you got attention, protein, oat milk, and my emotional suffering,” Gerry said.

Allen shot him a side glance. “You’re not suffering. You’re thriving.”

“I am surviving oat milk,” Gerry clarified.

Allen laughed. “You’re the one who told me I needed to ‘open up emotionally’ last week.”

“I meant therapy, not dairy alternatives.”

They kept eating. The conversation turned to random updates—some raid in a game they both played, drama at work, the guy who kept stealing Gerry’s post-workout towel from the gym locker. But the tension never quite faded.

Because Allen felt it.

The shift.

The looks.

The air.

Maybe it wasn’t just the magazine.

Maybe it was Larissa.

That kiss still lingered like electricity in his mouth—warm, pulsing, wired straight into something under his skin. It sat somewhere in his chest like a new rhythm his body hadn’t adapted to yet.

He leaned back in his seat, coffee in one hand, half a smirk still tugging at his lips. Gerry was halfway through demolishing his sandwich, chewing like he hadn’t eaten in a week, already arguing with the oat milk about whether it deserved a permanent spot in his life.

And then it happened.

Their conversation dropped.

Because both of them turned at the exact same time.