CHAPTER 98: MORE. MORE. MORE.

Well, apparently, one with dishes just as acceptable as the circles!

Riley had explained earlier that cakes were usually eaten last. If Orien wanted to follow the same custom, then the pancake tower had to be stored in the preservation bin so it wouldn’t start deteriorating.

The baby dragon wasn’t entirely sure what that nonsense meant.

Why would pancakes deteriorate?

Were they fragile?

Would they fall apart if you glared at them? But whatever it was, he nodded in all seriousness. He was dignified enough to pretend he understood.

Besides, there were other things stealing his attention.

The table.

The entire table was covered.

His golden eyes widened ever so slightly as he scanned the spread, stubby claws gripping the edge of the chair.

There was that thing Liam called fried chicken, golden and crackling, with skin so crispy it almost sang when the serving spoon brushed against it. There were burgers stacked high with layers of meat and vegetables, juices glistening beneath their bread crowns.

Then they even had that death trap, that one with everything skewered on it, apparently it was lined with vegetables and little round red things... wait, were those meat? No? Colored food on sticks? The audacity.

And then—corndogs, surprisingly, it was something he knew because the little sprite had been reciting its name since earlier. But why? Maybe that thing, that piping hot, golden thing, was a mysterious weapon disguised as food.

There was even a massive platter of noodles dripping with bright red sauce, strands twisting and curling like edible string. Orien tilted his head. Spaghetti, Riley had called it. It looked messy. The sort of food that would stain scales if you weren’t careful. Yet somehow, it was beautiful.

And fruit. Ordinary fruit, not the fruit that had mana, that the dragons would usually wait for hundreds of years. These fruits they had were stacked neatly at the edges, gleaming like polished jewels, as if reminding everything else on the table, "We’re the healthy ones."

Orien sat there, jaw tight, wings pulled in, pretending none of it fazed him. His snout lifted at an imperious angle, the very image of a regal dragon who had seen everything this world had to offer.

Except...

The tiniest drool gathered at the corner of his mouth.

His golden eyes locked onto the chicken. Then the burger. Then back to the chicken. His stubby tail thumped once, betraying him. His claws twitched, and his throat made a sound that might have been a whimper if anyone dared to call it that.

To his credit, Orien didn’t say a word. He was a dragon. A great dragon. He would never gush like a child staring at shiny treasure.

But his face... oh, his face was a different story. Drool. Awe. Shock. Disbelief.

The adults noticed.

Every single one of them.

And yet, not a single person said a word.

Not Riley, who nearly choked on his own laughter before disguising it as a cough. Not his mother, who exchanged an amused glance with him. Not even Kael, who tilted his head just slightly, as if preventing a migraine from coming, but otherwise said nothing.

Because really... the sight of a baby dragon trying so hard to look like a terrifying overlord while drooling over a corndog?

It was far too cute to ruin.

Even Riley, whose hands twitched with the urge to make a sarcastic comment, refrained. For once, he let the little tyrant have his dignity.

Well. What scraps of dignity remained between him and that fried chicken drumstick.

Orien couldn’t believe it.

In all his years alive, and in all his time with Riley, he couldn’t believe the aide had hidden something so... so... so acceptable from someone like him!

What about his uncle? Did he also know about this? Was Orien the only one betrayed, left in ignorance while the rest of them feasted in secret?

And the little sprite? Surely that one too! But then what was this? How could he explain this? Liam had gone straight for the thing called a corndog when something glorious like fried chicken was sitting right there.

Unless...

Orien froze. His stubby claws tapped the table. His golden eyes narrowed.

Unless the little sprite was being considerate.

Yes. That had to be it.

He was avoiding the good stuff so Orien could have more. Because that boy was strange like that.

And clearly, he had noticed that the dragon lord—evil, scheming (not), smiling dragon lord—was already on his eighth piece of chicken. And from the way he was eating, it didn’t look like he planned on stopping anytime soon.

"!!!"

The baby dragon nearly fell out of his chair. His jaw dropped. His tail smacked against the floor in panic.

He had been found out. His chicken reserves were under attack!

And worse—he only had a few measly pieces on his plate!

This... this was a crisis.

Riley noticed something was off. The way the little dragon was eyeing the serving platter looked like he was about to leap in headfirst. Quickly, the aide offered, "Lord Orien, would you like me to pack a few pieces of your favorites for later? Since it’s your birthday, you might want to save some things for yourself. Maybe for a snack?"

"!!!"

For a brief, shining moment, Orien thought Riley was bathed in holy light. His words, radiant. His logic, unshakable.

Even Mother Hale chimed in, smiling warmly. "I think there should still be containers you can use. It would be wonderful if you wanted to save some."

Renee realized it then. Riley had been right. The dragons alone could devour the entire spread without breaking stride. No wonder her son insisted they cook this much. She had assumed she was preparing excess, but now she understood—this wasn’t enough!

Orien, puffed up with magnanimity, gave a regal nod. "Yes. Pack them."

So Riley packed.

And every time Riley paused, Orien’s voice rang out like a gavel.

"More."

Riley added another piece.

"More."

Another.

"More!"

The aide was half-exasperated, half-amused, stuffing the containers while Liam, caught up in the moment, grabbed his own set and started copying. "Big Brother! Look! I packed some for Lord Orien, too!" the boy announced proudly, holding the container aloft like a sacred offering.

Riley stopped mid-motion. His little brother had never packed food for him like this.

And yet this baby dragon—face, still fresh from tears, was being treated like royalty.

Well... it was his birthday, Riley admitted grudgingly. He supposed the dragonling deserved it.

Yeah, he did. Because children ought to be loved like this.