The Main Characters Won't Stop Pampering Me!-Chapter 103: Shove into his Mouth

These were the Black-Label Confections: macarons with shells so delicate they shattered like fine glass, and petit fours filled with creams that cost more than a month of "The Rattler’s" fuel.

She pushed the door open with her hip, her entrance announced by the soft clack of her shoes on the marble threshold.

"The reinforcements have arrived!" Huaijin announced, her voice ringing through the silent library.

Yuanying and Chi Song were still seated at the large mahogany table, though their history books looked decidedly neglected. Yuanying’s eyes practically tripled in size when she saw the tray.

"Are those... the Gold-Leaf Macarons?" Yuanying whispered, her voice trembling with reverence. "Those are only for Grandpa and the Board of Directors!"

"Executive privilege, I must say," Huaijin grinned widely, baring all her teeth, as she said with a wink, sliding the tray onto the table with a flourish. "Grandpa was feeling generous after our... philosophical debate. Help yourselves, sister. If we don’t eat them, Luo Ming will have to dispose of them, and that would be a crime against the divine culinary god!"

Yuanying didn’t need a second invitation. She reached for a lavender-colored macaron, her previous "model child" training vanishing in the face of premium sugar.

She bit into it, letting out a small, muffled sound of pure bliss. "Oh my god... Huaijin, I think I can see the future. This is better than the variety show contract."

Huaijin giggled, watching the future villainess get conquered by a cookie. One down, she thought.

Then, she turned her gaze toward Chi Song.

The eldest grandson was a different story. He sat perfectly upright, his hands folded neatly on the table.

His expression was a mask of stoic, adolescent dignity. While his eyes had certainly flickered toward the tray, specifically toward a dark chocolate ganache square that was practically radiating a rich, cocoa aroma, he made no move to reach for it.

"Song? Aren’t you going to have some?" Huaijin asked, tilting her head.

Song cleared his throat, his voice deepening in a way that suggested he was practicing his "Future CEO" baritone.

"No, thank you, little sister, Huaijin. I’ve already had my allotted caloric intake for the afternoon. A leader must maintain discipline over his impulses."

Huaijin’s eyebrows furrowed. She recognized that tone. It was the same tone Uncle Yuantian used when he was trying to look important in front of Grandpa.

It was the famous "Chi Family Mask", a suffocating layer of artificial maturity that crushed the joy out of everything.

"Big Brother Song, it’s a macaron, not a hostile takeover," Huaijin pointed out.

"The principle is the same," Song replied solemnly, though his nose twitched ever so slightly as the scent of the chocolate reached him. "If I cannot control my desire for a sweet, how can I be trusted to control a multi-billion dollar corporation?"

Huaijin stared at him. She looked at his stiff collar, his perfectly combed hair, and the way he was trying so hard to be "mature" when he was still technically a teenager who probably still had a secret stash of snacks under his bed.

This guy is even more hopeless than Yuantian, Huaijin thought. He thinks being an adult means being a statue.

In her past life, this was perhaps where the cracks started. This relentless pressure to be a "man of few words" and "absolute discipline" was likely what turned him into the cold, distant figure who eventually abandoned Yuanying.

He was starving himself not just of sugar, but of the right to be a child.

"Big Brother Song," Huaijin said, her voice dropping the sweet act and taking on the tone of a very small, very annoyed manager. "You are being illogical."

Song blinked, surprised by the shift in her energy. "I beg your pardon?"

"Grandpa eats these," Huaijin argued, pointing toward the conservatory. "I just watched him drink camomile tea and eat a lemon tart. Is Grandpa not a leader? Does he not control the corporation? If the Chairman can eat a tart, you can eat a ganache."

"Grandpa has already proven himself," Song countered, his jaw set. "I am still in the testing phase."

"Well, you’re failing the test of Social Cohesion," Huaijin declared. She picked up the square of dark chocolate ganache. It was heavy, dense, and looked absolutely decadent.

She walked around the table, her small shoes making a determined thump-thump-thump sound. She stopped right in front of Song.

"Eat it," she commanded.

"Huaijin, please. I am trying to study—"

"Eat. It."

Song looked down at the tiny girl. He tried to maintain his aloof, modest aura. He tried to look down on her with the calm solemnity that his father praised.

But Huaijin was like a relentless force of nature.

She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. She just held the chocolate out like a peace offering that carried the threat of a lawsuit.

"I said no—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Huaijin saw her opening. As he opened his mouth to deliver another lecture on discipline, she moved with the speed of a seasoned martial artist (or a very determined toddler).

SHOVE!!!

She didn’t just offer it; she launched the ganache into his mouth with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.

Song’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

He let out a muffled "Mmph?!" as his mouth was suddenly filled with the richest, smoothest chocolate he had ever experienced.

"Don’t you dare spit it out," Huaijin warned, her finger pointed at his nose. "That chocolate was hand-made by Luo Ming. Spitting it out would be a direct insult to the Manor’s staff and would reflect poorly on your diplomatic standing."

Song froze. His cheeks were puffed out. He looked like a very handsome, very dignified squirrel.

Beside them, Yuanying stopped chewing her lavender macaron, her eyes wide. She had never, in her entire life, seen anyone, let alone a six-year-old, force-feed her "mysterious and solemn" brother.

"Elder brother? Are you okay?" Yuanying asked, half-terrified and half-impressed.

Song had no choice. He had to chew. As the chocolate melted, the "discipline" he had been trying so hard to maintain began to crumble like a weak levee in a flood.

The sheer, overwhelming dopamine hit of premium cocoa hit his brain, and for a fleeting second, the "Future CEO" mask slipped.

His shoulders dropped. His eyes closed involuntarily.

’It’s... It’s actually incredible,’ he thought, his internal monologue betraying his stoic exterior.

He swallowed, his throat moving as he finally finished the piece. He stayed silent for a long moment, looking at the table.

"Well?" Huaijin asked, her hands on her hips. "Are you going to fire me, or are you going to admit that you’re a human being who likes chocolate?"

Song looked up at her. For the first time, the "mysterious" and "solemn" child looked his actual age. There was a faint smear of chocolate on the corner of his lip, and his ears were slightly pink with embarrassment.

"It was... adequate," he muttered, trying to regain his dignity while reaching for a napkin.

"Adequate?" Huaijin scoffed. "Song, your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head. You liked it. Admit it. You feel 15% more relaxed and 20% more likely to survive this history lesson."

Song let out a tiny, very quiet sigh. He looked at Yuanying, who was now giggling, and then back at Huaijin.

The tension that usually defined his posture seemed to have leaked out, replaced by a weary, but genuine, amusement.

"Fine," he said, his voice finally losing that artificial baritone. "It was... excellent. Thank you, Huaijin."

Huaijin smiled, a real, satisfied smile. She reached onto the tray and grabbed a bright pink macaron, shoving it into his hand.

"Good. Now eat the strawberry one. It’s good for your blood pressure. You’re too young to be this stressed, Song. If you keep acting like a statue, you’re going to wake up at thirty and realize you forgot how to laugh."

Song looked at the pink macaron in his hand. It was a ridiculous thing, bright, airy, and feminine. Everything his father told him to avoid in favor of "solid, masculine pursuits."

But then he looked at Huaijin, who was already back to her seat, happily munching on a pistachio macaron like she hadn’t just committed a minor assault on his dignity.

He bit into the strawberry macaron. It was tart, sweet, and perfectly balanced.

She’s right, Song thought, watching the two girls chatter away. Grandpa does eat these delicacies without holding himself back, even though he is a diabetic.