Chapter 451: Who Let The Brat In?!

The main discussion was being held in a massive hall that resembled a parliament chamber.

Soaring ceilings, rows of elevated desks on one side where party members would sit—and on the opposite side—a smaller, more concentrated arrangement that formed the clear focal point of the room.

Every seat was angled toward this central area, every eye would eventually be drawn there.

It was designed for confrontation, for debate, for the kind of high-stakes negotiation that would determine the futures of worlds.

Currently, the demi-human officials from all seventy-eight realms were settling into their seats.

Files were being opened. Documents arranged. Glasses of water placed within reach. The tension was palpable, thick enough to taste.

This was going to be a fierce fight, and everyone knew it.

Three factions currently occupied the room.

The first, of course, was the human faction, led by Nadia.

She had proposed this deal. She had spent ten years building it. She would fight for it without hesitation, defend it against every attack, push it forward with everything she had.

The second faction consisted of the demi-humans who supported Nadia’s vision.

They had come to trust her over the years. They believed her proposal would bring real change, real benefits—not just to the human realm but to their own worlds as well.

They sat among their peers, prepared to argue, to persuade, to vote in favor when the time came.

And then there was the third faction. The conservatives.

These were the ones who opposed everything Nadia had worked for.

Their reasons varied—some believed the proposal would allow humans to take advantage of demi-human worlds.

Others simply didn’t trust humans at all, or any other race for that matter.

Some feared that closer ties with the human realm would weaken their own cultures, their own sovereignty.

A few admitted, at least among themselves, that they simply didn’t want humans to grow stronger.

Whatever their individual motivations, they had one collective goal: to destroy years of work in a single meeting.

The conservatives were spread unevenly across the realms

. Some worlds had sent delegations that were unanimously in favor of the coalition. Others had sent only opponents.

Most had a mix—some representatives pushing for change, others fighting to keep things exactly as they were.

Overall, the split was roughly fifty-fifty. Half the demi-human representatives wanted the coalition to move forward. Half wanted it stopped.

That was why today’s meeting existed.

The purpose was simple: the conservatives would throw everything they had at the proposal.

Every argument, every accusation, every possible objection.

They would try to find flaws so fundamental, a problem so insurmountable, that the coalition would collapse under its own weight.

And Nadia’s side—the humans and their demi-human allies would have to answer every single one. Solve every problem. Address every concern. Leave no objection standing.

It was a debate on a scale that most people would never witness, with stakes that most people would never fully comprehend.

Billions of lives. Billions of futures. The entire trajectory of inter-realm relations for generations to come.

No wonder even the most hardened officials looked tense.

Some had already gone through multiple bottles of water. Others had made several trips to the bathroom. A few were visibly shaking as they arranged their notes.

The human side was no different.

Nadia’s subordinates were taking their seats, their faces pale, their hands unsteady. They had prepared for this for months, but preparation only went so far when the moment finally arrived.

And yet, despite the gravity of the occasion—there was one sight in the room that defied all explanation.

At the very front—the seat that should have held Nadia’s most trusted advisor, her right hand, the person who would support her through the coming storm—

A young man sat there. Handsome, in a sharp suit, his hair slicked back. He sat beside Nadia’s empty chair, in a position that would have been the envy of every diplomat in the room.

And on the table before him, instead of files and laptops and carefully prepared arguments—

—there was food.

Not a plate. Not a snack. An entire feast.

Dishes covered the table from edge to edge—roasted meats, fragrant rice dishes, colorful vegetables, delicate pastries, sauces in small bowls, bread still steaming from the oven.

It looked like he had emptied the entire buffet into his own personal space.

And he was ravaging it.

Mika shoveled food into his mouth with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t eaten in days.

A plate would appear, he would clean it, and it would be stacked to the side. Another plate would take its place. Then another. Then another.

He moved through the dishes with efficiency, his spoon a blur, his cheeks bulging, his expression one of pure, unadulterated bliss.

The room stared.

Some of the younger female representatives couldn’t look away.

They had never seen anyone eat like this—with such focus, such dedication, such obvious joy. Plate after plate disappeared, and still he kept going.

How was that even possible? Where was he putting it all?

But most of the room was not amused.

"Is that a child? Why is there a child at the front table?"

"Did the humans lose their minds?! Is this some kind of tactic? Are they trying to provoke us?!"

A conservative delegate from one of the outer realms slammed his hand on his desk.

"This is an insult! We come here in good faith to negotiate, and they seat a boy with a feast like it’s a picnic?!"

Beside him, another delegate scowled.

"Look at him go. Has he never eaten before?"

A third leaned forward, squinting. "Is that the entire buffet? Did he really take the entire buffet?"

Indeed, the spread before Mika was not a modest portion. It was the kind of spread designed to feed dozens.

And he was working through it with a speed that bordered on supernatural.

The conservatives, already wound tight with the pressure of the day, found a perfect target for their frustration.

"Who let him in? This area is restricted!"

"Look at the human aides—they look just as confused as we are."

"Perhaps it’s a statement. ’We have so much, we can waste it while you watch.’"

"Or perhaps it’s a distraction. Get us angry before we even begin."

A younger delegate, one of the moderates who leaned toward supporting the coalition, shook her head slowly.

"I don’t think it’s that deep. I think he’s just...hungry."

Her conservative counterpart glared at her.

"Hungry? In the middle of a coalition meeting? There are protocols. There is decorum. This is—this is—"

"...Delicious." Mika said, loud enough for the front rows to hear.

He had a drumstick in one hand and a roll in the other, and he looked genuinely blissful.

A few of the younger delegates, despite themselves, felt their lips twitch.

"Did you hear that?!" The conservative sputtered. "Did you hear him? That little—"

But Mika was already moving on to the next dish, seemingly unaware or entirely unconcerned with the chaos he was causing.

Meanwhile, from the side of the room, the head chef watched with tears in his eyes.

When Mika had first started piling dishes onto his table, the chef had doubted. No one could eat that much.

But now—

Plate after plate. Cleaned. Stacked. Moved aside. Another plate. Cleaned. Stacked.

The boy wasn’t stopping. Wasn’t slowing. Wasn’t even breathing hard.

The chef’s doubts evaporated. In their place, something else bloomed—gratitude. Pure, overwhelming gratitude.

He looked across the room at the assembled officials—and his expression hardened.

’You don’t deserve my food.’ He thought. ’None of you do.’

He turned back to Mika, and his face softened.

’But he does.’

Then he turned on his heel and walked off with a huff, already planning how to get that boy’s address.

He would send more dishes. Boxes of them. A regular delivery.

Maybe he would open a small service—just for him. Someone who actually tasted the food he made.

Mika reached for another plate, utterly unaware that he had just made a lifelong ally.

But unlike the chef, who was practically floating with joy, there were others in the room who had reached their limit.

The tension of the day, the weight of billions of lives resting on their shoulders—it all needed somewhere to go.

And the boy gorging himself at the front table was the perfect target.

"I can’t take it anymore." A delegate growled, his voice low but carrying. "Someone needs to remove that child."

"Agreed! Let’s go ask him what exactly he thinks he’s doing. Drag him out if we have to. And find out who let him in."

Another delegate stared at Mika’s greasy lips and shuddered.

"The way he’s eating—it’s disgusting! This is a diplomatic summit, not a street market."

A third man, pale and slightly green, pressed a hand to his stomach.

"God, I haven’t eaten all day. Couldn’t keep anything down. And now I have to watch this—this feast happening right in front of me while I’m starving." He gritted his teeth. "It’s infuriating!"

A cluster of officials rose from their seats—mostly older men, their faces set with righteous anger.

They marched down the tiered aisles, their footsteps echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

Some of the other delegates watched with apprehension.

They didn’t want to see this escalate. The boy was minding his own business, after all. But they were too nervous, too uncertain, to intervene.

Others watched with barely concealed glee.

A show. A distraction. Something to break the unbearable tension.

They settled back in their seats, smiles playing at the corners of their mouths, waiting to see the arrogant child get what was coming to him.

The group of officials reached the ground floor. They moved as a pack, their frustration and anxiety coalescing into righteous anger.

And when they were finally in front of Mika, man at the front opened his mouth to speak, ready to unleash the full force of his indignation—

—but immediately stopped.

His eyes started shaking. His mouth hung open. The words died in his throat.

Because...Nadia had entered.

She floated through the main doors like a deity descending from the heavens.

Her gown caught the light, shimmering with each slow, deliberate step. Her face was its usual mask—composed, unreadable, utterly still.

But she was not looking at the assembled delegates.

She was not looking at the conservatives who had come to her table with fury in their hearts.

She was looking at Mika before she moved to the front table and took her seat.

Beside him.

The room held its breath.

A few delegates exchanged glances.

Well, of course she would sit there—it was her seat. The boy just happened to be occupying the space beside her.

She would deal with him now, surely. A few sharp words. A gesture toward the guards. Order restored.

But she did not.

Instead, she turned toward him. And her face changed.

It was subtle—so subtle that someone who didn’t know her might have missed it entirely. But the delegates who had dealt with her for years, who had learned to read the micro-expressions she couldn’t fully suppress, saw it clearly.

Her eyes softened. Her lips relaxed. There was something almost tender in the way she looked at him.

"Mika." She said, her voice low enough that only the front rows could hear. "Is the food to your liking?"

He didn’t look up from the plate he was attacking.

"I went through quite a few chefs before settling on this one." She continued. "I wanted someone who could do justice to the dishes. But you’re the food expert in the family, so I’d like your honest opinion."

Mika gestured at the mountain of empty plates beside him with a greasy drumstick.

"Take a look at all this, Nadia." He waved at the devastation. "Do you think I’d be cleaning out your entire buffet like a vacuum cleaner if I didn’t like it?"

He finally glanced at her, a genuine smile breaking through his food-induced haze.

"You did a great job with the chef and the dishes. Keep him on retainer for future events. He’s earned it."

Then he went back to eating, apparently too busy enjoying his meal to waste more words on conversation.

Nadia’s lips curved.

It was barely there—a fraction of a movement, the ghost of a smile. But it was real.

And in the context of her usually immobile face, it might as well have been a beam of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

She made a mental note to establish a permanent arrangement with the chef. If Mika approved, then his positions was set forever.

But then her eyes caught something on his face.

A smear of sauce at the corner of Mika’s mouth. A bit of grease on his chin.

She reached into her sleeve and produced a handkerchief and without a word, she leaned over and began wiping his mouth.

Mika didn’t flinch. He just kept eating, letting her fuss over him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She dabbed at the corner of his lips, then his chin, her movements slow and thorough.

Her face, turned toward him, was the face of a mother watching her child eat. Tender. Content. Utterly at peace.

The room had gone completely silent.

The delegates who had come to confront Mika stood frozen in place, their righteous fury evaporating like mist before the sun.

Their mouths hung open. Their hands hung limp at their sides.

They stared at the scene unfolding before them— the most powerful diplomat in the world, personally wiping sauce off a boy’s face—and felt their worldviews crack.

Nadia finished cleaning Mika’s face and tucked the handkerchief away. For a moment, she simply watched him eat, her expression soft.

Then she turned.

Her gaze swept across the group of officials standing before her table, and what replaced the tenderness was something far more terrifying.

Her eyes were cold—colder than any of them had ever seen. Her face was stone.

Her presence, already immense, seemed to expand until it filled the room, pressing down on them like the weight of a mountain.

The lead official opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat had closed. His tongue had turned to lead.

Nadia let the silence stretch. Let them sweat. Let them remember exactly who they were dealing with.

Then, in a voice that could have frozen the ocean, she asked,

"...Do you have a problem with Mika over here?"