Lord of Entertainment-Chapter 289: Being blunt

Luke straightened in his seat, fingers stilling. A few moments later, the grand door opened, and Arthur walked in—composed, graceful, every movement deliberate.

His golden eyes met Luke's without a flicker of emotion. Not deference. Not hostility. Just calm, unreadable indifference.

Luke studied him for a moment. That face. That posture. That calm detachment. He hated how little Arthur acknowledged his authority, even here.

Still, he smiled faintly, forcing warmth into his tone.

"My son," Luke said, voice deep and measured, "you're finally here."

Arthur's expression remained calm and composed as he replied, his voice steady, "I only came to this party out of respect for Apollonia. Not because I have any interest in returning as a prince... or as your son. So don't call me that again." He paused for a breath. "After all, I was exiled. That hasn't changed."

The words landed harder than Luke expected. For a moment, the king's lips parted, but no words came out. His throat clenched around the response he had prepared.

'This brat didn't even give me a chance to speak about reinstating him... and he already shut the door before I could open it,' Luke thought bitterly.

He had hoped for some leeway, even though he'd half-expected such a reaction. Still, that sliver of hope made the rejection sting more. 'Do I really have to play the kind, remorseful father to win this child over?' His jaw tightened. As a king, he had never humbled himself for anyone—not even Azazel, his crown prince.

But for the sake of that damned machine—the computer—and the boundless potential of the internet, he knew he had to swallow his pride.

"I know I made a mistake," Luke said, softening his tone. "I acted rashly when I exiled you. At the time, I was thinking as a king... not as a father. But now, I regret it."

Arthur raised an eyebrow slightly. Hearing Luke speak so humbly was rare. It was out of character. Still, Arthur remained skeptical. 'What are you playing at now, old man? What's your endgame?'

"I won't force you to return," Luke continued, reaching for something beside him. "But as a gesture of goodwill... I want to offer you this." He lifted a small crown off a velvet cushion. "This is the Monkey's Crown—a hidden heirloom of our family. It enhances wisdom and magic significantly when worn."

Arthur glanced at it, eyes narrowing in amusement. The shape reminded him of something from his previous life—Sun Wukong's headband. 'So the Morningstar family really does have a treasure similar to that legend... I wonder if they've got the staff too.'

Even so, he simply replied, "No thanks. I have no use for that crown."

Luke blinked, surprised. "Are you sure? That's a Celestial-Tier artifact. Do you even understand what that means?" He leaned forward slightly. "It's far beyond the Mortal Tier artifacts most people think are the pinnacle. It's—"

"I'm aware," Arthur cut in calmly. "Still not interested."

The rejection stung again. Luke clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to show his frustration. He had humbled himself and even offered a priceless treasure—yet Arthur remained unmoved.

Then, unexpectedly, Arthur tilted his head and asked, "Why are you trying so hard to bring me back?"

Luke froze.

"Is it my wealth? My influence? Or is it because I'm 'useful' to you again?" Arthur's gaze shifted briefly to the computer screen on the desk, then back to the king. He chuckled softly. "Or perhaps... it's the technology I brought into this world? Is that what you really want?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Luke didn't answer. He couldn't. Arthur had peeled back every layer of his facade and exposed the truth underneath.

For the first time in decades, King Luke Morningstar felt a burn of embarrassment crawl up his neck. 'He saw right through me...'

And before he could stop it, his pride snapped.

A surge of powerful aura burst from his body, golden light rippling outward. His eyes flickered red, glowing with intensity. His long hair rose slightly, his cloak fluttering unnaturally as energy pulsed in waves across the chamber.

The king had lost his composure.

And Arthur simply watched him... unflinching.

King Luke's expression turned cold and sharp, the air around him thick with power. Gone was the false warmth, replaced by the true nature of the monarch who had ruled with pride and iron will for decades.

"Haha... So you've figured it out," Luke said, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Yes, I wanted you back because you're useful. That's the only reason."

Arthur chuckled faintly, entirely unfazed by the shift in tone. With his hands resting casually in his pockets, he leaned back slightly—relaxed, even under the heavy pressure radiating from the king.

That unbothered posture alone made Luke's brow twitch in irritation.

"You've grown arrogant," Luke said coldly. "You've forgotten just how easily I could crush you."

Still, Arthur didn't respond with fear or indignation. He merely offered another low chuckle, calm and composed.

Annoyed by the blatant disregard, Luke lifted his hand with a swift motion and slashed it through the air—an invisible force surged forward, lashing toward Arthur like a blade of condensed air, strong enough to send most men crashing through walls.

He didn't intend to kill—just humiliate. Just like before, in the dining hall years ago, when he had effortlessly flung the weak and helpless Arthur across the room.

But what happened next shook him to the core.

The force surged toward Arthur—yet the young man didn't even flinch.

Arthur remained seated—unmoved, untouched. The only effect was the faint rustle of his suit, the soft sway of a few strands of hair across his forehead.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh? That was cute," he said, dry amusement lacing his voice. "You've lost your touch, Father."

Luke's eyes widened. "What...?" he muttered under his breath, stunned. His hand, still raised, trembled slightly in disbelief. 'That power should've knocked him down... I held back, but even then—it should've sent him flying!'

But Arthur simply sat there, poised and calm, as if a breeze had passed instead of an attack. That same frustrating composure, as if nothing in this room could ever touch him.

'Now this... this is the real Luke I know,' Arthur thought, his gaze sharp but amused. 'Arrogant, volatile, and quick to attack those he can't control.'

And now, Arthur had proved—he could no longer be controlled.