A4KL

There’s a trend infecting stories lately—all because of boys reading these stories rather than men.

Villains who think being "dark" means having dead eyes, a tragic past, and a dick that solves all problems. 

They get betrayed once, and suddenly it's their life's mission to destroy the world—or worse, emotionally blackmail heroines in the name of “revenge.” 

Slap on a black coat, stare at walls, say something like "love is weakness"—and boom, readers start calling them “deep.”

But let’s be honest:

> They’re not villains. They’re just edgy losers with a god complex and a hard-on trying to satisfy the inferiority of their readers.

Some of them turn so cold, they forget why they started. Others get so lust-drunk, they think sleeping with a heroine is “domination.” 

That making her cry is “control.” They think power is measured by how many women they can ruin. But really?

> They’re just boys trying to look like men.

Just like their followers who are the boys who hide their masculinity inside a woman's virginity.

They go around in the review section asking if the women of the main character would be stolen and all... giving it fantasy names like NTR and all nonsense.

As if they want to scream their fear out.

"Please don't, I hate it... because I am a gay who doesn't even have the confidence that my woman will remember me once she gets someone better...." one of the loser’s internal thoughts.

They don't want their puny hearts to be crushed.

Their masculinity is so weak that it crumbles the moment they think about some other man having the women they love and her forgetting those boys for the men.

And they just project that weakness of themselves in their main characters, thinking that just like them, their main characters should be weak, should be a fantasy monger who hoards women like trying to hide the incapabilities of those followers who never in their life would have held a hand of a woman.

Harem has now become a way to satisfy weak audiences who feel more women mean more security for their hearts.

Forgetting that Harem in truth means the masculinity is so HUGE that it needs an ocean of FEMININE to hold.

Tch, not like the boys with breakups and fear of being cucked will ever realize.

They treat fantasy as escape and character as their way to feel that they are men.

So, naturally, to have such a huge amount of followers, authors are forced to pour the density of such books holding such weak characters in the form of the cold MC who collects harem, manipulates one or two, fucks around, and finally satisfies readers until they feel bored and drop the book....

Because to those followers, they themselves realize in the long run that the story isn't satisfying even if the villain is the same cruel man.

So why?

Simply because they were until now reading kind boys wearing the mask of a man, and acting as a villain.

Their MC, just like them, doesn't even know themselves, their needs, and what their inner soul wants... not understanding that...

Fucking a woman doesn't make you her god. Breaking her spirit doesn't make you a king. And calling yourself a villain just because you were too weak to heal?   

That’s not power—that’s coping.

And for followers—that's doping.

Real villains? They don’t whine. They don’t treat women like checkboxes or trophies. They don’t mistake lust for legacy.

> They don’t need to act cruel. They are cruel. Calm. Focused. Dangerous in silence. They don’t need to chase power—they embody it.

This story isn’t about a guy who gets played and suddenly thinks he’s entitled to vengeance sex.

This is about a villain who doesn’t....

Ah, screw this shit. Just read the story already!

[ No Dumb Heroines ] [ No Cliche Plot ] [ Original Content ] [ Fan Services here and there ] [ R-18 might not come soon enough ] [ Yandere ] [ Tsundere ] [ MILF ] [ Dragon ] [ Elves ]

Hero Party's Villain: What's the Point If Heroines Are Not Broken?

"Argh—thud."Zekk dropped.

His body hit the ground with a dull thud, legs sprawled out as his back slid halfway up the tree trunk before collapsing fully, his head tilted sideways, one eye barely open.

His shirt was torn from the collar down, clinging in shreds to one shoulder while the rest hung loose like a broken rag. Dirt clung to the side of his face, and a faint line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Hey! What the hell—" the girl in his group screamed, stepping back in disbelief.

He stood there, shirtless—his own uniform discarded somewhere behind him, sweat lining his collarbones, knuckles scraped. A faint cut bled down his rib. But his breathing was steady. Controlled.

He raised a single finger to his lips and said, flatly, "Shut up, Reena."

The silence hit harder than the punches.

Chapter 21- Arrival of Announcement day