Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1564

Chapter 1564: Shirtless Sword Fights?
Villain Ch 1564. Shirtless Sword Fights?

Something tugged at their attention—something fast, off, emotional.

A girl stormed past the glass windows of the café, her red ponytail swaying violently behind her like a war banner. She wasn’t just walking. She was speed-striding in a way that screamed ‘I’m trying really hard not to cry in public.’

Allen caught the look in her eyes even from this angle. Glazed. Dazed. Wet.

“…Is that Jane?” Gerry muttered.

Allen was already standing.

Jane didn’t notice them. She went straight into the café, pushed the door open with a frustrated shove, and headed for the counter, sniffling hard, like she was trying to outrun something but failing.

Allen followed, eyes narrowing. “Jane?”

She froze mid-step.

Turned.

And when she saw him—sitting there like the world hadn’t just kicked her in the ribs—she broke.

She rushed toward him. Not the dramatic, overly theatrical run she sometimes did when joking around. No. This was real. Urgent.

And then she hugged him.

Tight. Like the world was ending and he was the only thing still standing.

Allen stood there, startled but still. His arms slowly came up, one hand resting lightly on her back.

“Jane… what happened?”

She sniffled again. Harder. Her voice broke a little as she spoke. “Allen… I’m late for class…”

“What?”

“Larissa’s class,” she said, voice cracking. “I was supposed to be there this morning. But they didn’t let me in.”

Allen blinked. “Wait. You’re serious?”

She nodded against his chest. “They said I was ten minutes late. TEN.”

Gerry leaned in slightly. “Uh… yeah, the gym has that thing, right? The strict no-entry-after-class-starts policy?”

“But it’s my first class!” Jane snapped, stepping back slightly, hands still clinging to Allen’s shirt like he might vanish. “I woke up early and everything.”

Allen gently pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. “Okay. Okay. Let’s start from the top. You woke up early. So what happened?”

“I got distracted.”

He blinked. “By what?”

“…Your fanfiction.”

Allen blinked. “My what now?”

“Your fanfiction. I found it.” Her voice dropped dramatically. “It was a dark romance. My weakness.”

Gerry made a choking sound into his coffee.

Allen stared. “I never wrote fanfiction.”

“I know that,” Jane groaned, burying her face in his chest again. “But someone did. And it was really well written. Like, villain-to-lover arc, enemies-to-lovers, secret identities, everything.”

Jane dramatically pulled out her phone and shoved it at him. “Look at this title! ‘Beneath the Throne of Flame’—are you KIDDING me?”

Allen narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Why does that sound like it has shirtless sword fights and betrayal sex?”

“Because it does!” Jane cried, gripping her phone like it was a sacred text. “And not just that—listen to this—there’s a scene where you, or, well, fictional you, ties up the noble heroine with enchanted silk restraints while interrogating her about a rebellion she secretly leads. But the catch? The restraints respond to emotion, so the tighter they feel, the more aroused she is, and then—”

“Wait, what?!” Gerry choked mid-sip, spraying a bit of oat milk back into his cup. “What kind of story is this?”

Jane waved her phone like it was the Book of Revelations. “There’s BDSM-coded fire magic, Gerry. FIRE. MAGIC. The cuffs literally glow when he says her name in that ‘low gravel voice laced with unholy power.'”

Allen blinked. “Please tell me he didn’t say her name in the middle of—”

“Oh, he moaned it,” Jane confirmed, nodding solemnly. “Right when he threatened to burn down her city unless she confessed her love first. It was hot. Literally. He scorched the wall behind her. With magic. While still inside her—”

“Okay!” Allen clapped once, face twisting like he’d just bitten into lemon-soaked humiliation. “That’s enough explanation already.”

Gerry’s jaw was still hanging halfway off his face.

Jane, completely unfazed, folded her arms. “I’m just saying. Whoever wrote this is either psychic or dangerously feral. And I want to meet them.”

Allen slumped back in his seat and muttered, “I’m never opening the internet again.”

Gerry shook his head slowly. “Bro. You’re not just fanfic material. You’re a whole kink tag.”

Allen buried his face in his hands. “Kill me.”

Jane patted his arm affectionately. “No can do, my liege. Your throne of flame awaits.”

Allen groaned into his palms. He took a moment to process everything. The tears. The late class. The villain fanfiction arc.

He sighed. “So let me get this straight—you were late to your very first Larissa class… because you were reading a spicy, morally gray, imaginary version of me?”

Jane nodded solemnly. “And I regret nothing.”

Then she paused. Her expression scrunched like her brain had just tripped over itself.

“Okay—wait. I mean… I regret it in the sense that I promised Larissa I’d show up on time. Like, I made a whole dramatic vow in the group chat yesterday with sparkles and muscle emojis.”

Allen stared at her. “Of course you did.”

“But the fanfic?” she said, eyes shining with zero remorse. “I regret nothing.”

Gerry blinked slowly. “You’re gonna die by her hand.”

Jane sipped Allen’s coffee without asking. “Worth it.”

Allen sighed and leaned back in his seat, already mentally preparing for Larissa’s eventual stormcloud expression when she found out.

“And here I thought I was the unmanageable one,” Allen muttered.

Gerry nearly fell out of his chair laughing, wheezing like a man who just found out his friend had become both a gym heartthrob and the subject of dark fantasy smut.

Jane, unfazed as always, plopped down right beside Allen like she belonged there—like this booth was her emotional recovery station and he was the certified support human.

She immediately latched onto his arm, hugging it like it was both warm and had a credit score.

“Don’t mind me,” she mumbled. “This is my new emotional anchor. I’ve had a long morning.”

Allen sighed. Loudly. “You read fanfiction and missed a gym class.”

“And cried,” she added, pulling his hoodie sleeve over her fingers. “There were real tears. You saw them.”

He tilted his head toward her, handing her a fresh napkin. “Alright. First of all—deep breaths. No class is worth this much meltdown.”