The Villainess’s Dad Is Too Overpowered

A day turned into two.

Then three.

Then a week.

Callian scowled as he watched Duke Damien Ashville sip his morning tea with the grace of a man who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

If he weren't Violet's grandfather, Callian would've thrown him out on the first night.

Unfortunately, Nobility Charisma refused to let him be anything less than the perfect host.

Damn it.

His own skill was forcing him to be polite to the man intruding on his peaceful life.

Callian had already adjusted to living in the Forest of Death, handling monstrous beasts as if they were mildly inconvenient house pets. He had adapted to the lack of human interaction, the quiet days spent cooking for passing travelers, and the occasional adventurer looking at him like he was some sort of cryptid.

But this?

Having a guest who refused to leave?

That was new.

Damien Ashville was supposed to be an intimidating man. The kind of patriarch who ruled with an iron fist, who had raised his children to be strong enough to survive without coddling.

Yet here he was, enjoying Callian's food, lounging in his café, and—worst of all—charming Violet.

Callian watched as his daughter giggled, holding onto her grandfather's sleeve as she told him all about the 'kitties' she wanted to raise.

"They're so fluffy, Grandpa! Papa says they're just big cats, but they listen really well when he talks to them!"

Damien hummed, nodding with an amused glint in his sharp silver eyes. "Big cats, hmm?"

"Yes!" Violet's face was bright with excitement. "They don't growl at me anymore! Papa just pats them and tells them to behave, and they do!"

Callian looked away, pretending he wasn't listening.

He wasn't particularly interested in whatever nonsense Damien was plotting. He already had enough on his mind.

Like the fact that this world—his new world—was familiar.

The more he thought about it, the more he recalled.

A story.

A story about a girl.

A girl abandoned by her mother.

Sold by her father.

A girl who had no one—until she clawed her way to power, becoming one of the strongest warriors under Ashville's banner.

She had fought. Survived. Thrived.

And she had believed that strength was enough.

That her achievements, her victories, her bloodline—would secure her place as the next patriarch.

But then—

A few calamities.

A few hero quests.

And suddenly, Fiona and Helios—the crown prince—were the ones standing at the altar.

Even though Helios had been engaged to Violet.

Even though Violet had spent her life preparing to rule.

Everything had been taken from her.

Her future.

Her dignity.

Her throne.

She had become the villainess.

And in the end—

She had been sentenced to death.

Callian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Right.

That was how it had happened.

That was what awaited his daughter.

His bright, cheerful, innocent Violet—the same little girl currently chattering about herbs and 'kitties'—was fated to die as a villainess in a tragic romance story.

Not happening.

Callian exhaled slowly, pushing the thoughts away. There was no use dwelling on it right now.

Instead, he stood up and grabbed his bow. "I'm going hunting."

Again.

Because somehow, despite his many attempts, Damien was still here.

And Violet—his precious little girl—was getting used to him.

Too used to him.

"Be careful, Papa!" Violet called out, waving happily. "Don't bring back too many big animals! The last one didn't fit in the kitchen!"

Callian gave her a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

Then, without another word, he left.

Damien Ashville watched his son-in-law disappear into the forest, his movements smooth and silent like a predator on the hunt.

Fascinating.

A commoner, was he?

…No.

No, that wasn't right.

Damien had spent decades among nobility. He had trained warriors, commanded armies, and stood in the presence of kings.

A child learned from their parents.

No matter how naturally gifted someone was, there were things they could not mimic without guidance.

Yet this man—this supposed commoner—carried himself with the composure of a ruler.

The way he sat. The way he moved. The way he crossed his legs and sipped his tea without a single wasted motion.

Even the way he looked at people—with that calm, assessing gaze—was something no ordinary man should possess.

It was unnatural.

No.

It was trained.

Damien smirked, setting his cup down.

Perhaps his daughter wasn't as much of a fool as he thought.

She had abandoned this man, yes. Had discarded him like nothing.

But had she truly understood what she had lost?

Damien doubted it.

Because this man—Callian—was not some nameless commoner.

He was a monster in human skin.

And he was raising his granddaughter.

A granddaughter who, despite never having formal etiquette training, acted like a proper lady.

Violet was only six years old.

But she sat straight. She spoke politely. She listened, thought carefully, and responded with measured intelligence.

She had knowledge of herbs, an understanding of animals—however misguided her father's classifications were—and an undeniable air of dignity.

Even now, as she swung her legs back and forth in her chair, she carried herself with an effortless grace.

"Papa says a lady must be polite but smart," Violet chirped. "Not just pretty."

Damien chuckled. "That's good advice."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Papa knows a lot! He even knows how to talk to kitties!"

"…Kitties?"

"The big ones." Violet blinked. "Like Shadow! He listens really well when Papa pats him."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "You mean the demonic wolf?"

Violet tilted her head. "Kitty."

"…Right."

Damien exhaled through his nose.

It seemed Callian's ridiculous perceptions had rubbed off on his daughter.

Not that he minded.

In fact, the more he observed, the more convinced he became—

Callian was not a commoner.

And Violet was no ordinary child.

She was the rightful heir of Ashville.

A girl who, one day, would have to stand at the top.

And when that day came—

She would have the greatest shield protecting her.

Damien smirked.

Yes.

Violet Asheville would have her doting father.

A week turned into two.

Callian had long given up on throwing the Grand Duke out. Nobility Charisma made sure he remained a polite and respectful host, and to make matters worse, Violet had gotten attached.

She laughed at Damien's jokes, sat beside him during meals, and even dragged him along to see her "kitty"—the demonic wolf that now acted like a lazy house pet.

Callian sighed. He never imagined he'd be co-parenting with Violet's grandfather.

But he wasn't completely blind. He noticed the way Damien watched him. The way his eyes narrowed every time Callian moved, every time he handled something with ease that no commoner should.

Damien was suspicious.

Still, Callian didn't care. As long as the man didn't try to take Violet away, he could look all he wanted.

Then, one night, it happened.

Violet had been staring at the sky, her tiny hands cupping her cheeks as she pouted.

"Papa," she tugged at his sleeve, "the stars aren't bright today."

Callian glanced up. The sky was cloudy, hiding the stars behind thick layers of gray.

"Hm. I see."

Violet sighed dramatically. "I wanted to see a beautiful sky…"

Damien, who had been sitting nearby, chuckled. "The night sky changes, little one. Sometimes it's clear, sometimes it's not."

"But…" Violet tilted her head. "Can't we make it pretty?"

Callian blinked.

Then, without a word, he lifted his hand.

A warm, golden light gathered in his palm before slowly rising into the sky. It expanded, shifting, stretching—until it formed a floating lantern, glowing like a miniature sun.

Then another.

And another.

Within seconds, the entire sky above them was filled with soft, radiant cubes of light, arranged in a mesmerizing pattern.

Violet gasped, her violet eyes shining with wonder. "Pretty!"

She ran in circles beneath them, giggling.

Callian smiled softly. "Do you like it?"

"I love it!"

Damien, however, wasn't smiling. He was staring at Callian like he had just grown a second head.

He had assumed Callian was a swordmaster—an insanely strong one, but a swordmaster nonetheless.

But this?

This was magic.

Not just any magic.

Double casting. Interference.

Even though Damien wasn't a mage, he knew what was possible and what wasn't.

And what Callian just did?

That wasn't normal.

"…You're an archmage."

Callian barely glanced at him. "Hm?"

"That," Damien gestured at the floating lanterns, "was not a simple trick."

Callian shrugged. "It's just light."

"Just light?" Damien narrowed his eyes. "No, it's not just light. It's structured, it's layered, and it's—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply.

This changed everything.

He was already considering keeping Callian around for Violet's sake.

But now?

Now, he was determined.

The next day, Violet sat on Damien's lap, munching on a cookie while swinging her legs.

"Grandpa," she said between bites, "are you lonely?"

Damien paused. "Lonely?"

Violet nodded. "You look sad sometimes."

Damien let out a slow breath. This child… she was sharp.

He wasn't sad. He was just… tired. Annoyed by the constant struggles of nobility, the endless power games, the ambitious children clawing their way up, and the useless nobles swarming like flies.

But sad?

No.

At least, he didn't think so.

Violet, however, continued. "I think you need a princess."

"…A what?"

"A princess! Like me!" She beamed.

Damien choked. "What?"

Violet pouted. "You said you wanted a princess like me, right?"

He said that?

No. Wait.

…Did he say that?

Somewhere along the way, in his conversations with Violet, had he actually let something like that slip?

Damien sighed. "Child, do you even know what you're saying?"

Violet grinned. "Yup! You're a lonely grandpa, so you should have a princess! Like me!"

Damien rubbed his temples.

If the Emperor heard this, he'd choke on his tea.

The Great Warlord of Asheville—lonely?

This child… truly, truly amusing.

But then, Damien's gaze softened slightly.

If nothing else, she was right about one thing.

He had wanted a granddaughter like Violet.

And he wasn't going to let her go.

*****

That night, Violet came to Callian, pulling on his sleeve.

"Papa."

He looked down. "Hm?"

"Grandpa wants me to live with him."

Callian stilled.

He placed down his knife—the one he had been using to slice vegetables—and turned to face her fully.

"…And what do you want?"

Violet hesitated. "I love our home."

Callian waited.

"…But I want to see the outside world too."

Callian exhaled.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't even surprised.

Violet was curious by nature. She had always been interested in stories about far-off places, different cities, and the world beyond their quiet café.

But that didn't mean he liked it.

That night, after Violet had gone to bed, Callian and Damien sat across from each other, the fire crackling between them.

"You need to stop," Callian said, his voice smooth, refined—despite the very strong urge to tell Damien to fuck off.

The system, as always, made sure he sounded like an aristocrat.

Damien smirked. "I'm merely stating facts. She is my granddaughter. She is a descendant of the Asheville line. Shouldn't she live like a princess?"

Callian's jaw clenched. "She is living a happy life. A peaceful one."

Damien leaned forward. "And what happens when that peace ends?"

Callian's fingers twitched.

"She should live like a noble," Damien continued. "She should be trained, educated, and—"

"She's six." Callian's voice was sharp.

Damien chuckled. "Yes. She is."

Silence fell between them.

And then, Damien saw it.

The hesitation in Callian's eyes.

He had him.

Callian was many things—clever, powerful, unreadable.

But when it came to Violet?

He was helpless.

"Think about it," Damien said, standing up. "She wants to see the world. Will you deny her that?"

Callian stayed silent.

Damien smiled.

The fish had taken the bait.