Becoming the Villain Who Stole the Heroine

Just how much leisure time do fresh graduates in society really have? Naturally, most lead tight, leisure-less lives. That's why, after work or during those golden weekends, there aren't as many hobbies to enjoy as one might think.

Before getting a job, I'd consistently played badminton, but I ended up dropping it. Instead, my sweet moments of rest at home became all about unwinding with novels.

As long as it wasn't BL—those male-on-male pink-tinged stories where they shove it up each other's asses—I'm a true blue-blooded guy who can enjoy even romance fantasies laced with feminine vibes.

"What the hell...? No, this is seriously fucked."

But even I had a trigger that set me off. No, honestly, for most readers, this element was a universal berserk button.

NTR.

"…"

Yeah, the novel's atmosphere had been pretty dark from the start, but for a debut work, the quality was high enough that I'd happily paid for the paid chapters and kept reading. Then came the scene where the heroine is forced into a marriage with the villain and raped on their wedding night. I nearly spat blood for real.

Especially since that heroine's encounters had been the tender, sweet respite from the grim early vibes, building up massive attachment from me and all the other readers.

'Ha...'

Even if she's a sacrificial lamb heroine meant to awaken the protagonist, she doesn't deserve treatment like this.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

With trembling fingers, I tapped the comments section. Normally, there were maybe ten comments at most, but now they were exploding.

For a debut, surely the author knew this plot twist would tank the novel beyond backlash—straight-up kill it. What the hell was the editor doing? Did they greenlight this as a setup for an early conclusion since sales weren't high enough?

I don't know. I don't know, but... even a pure reader like me couldn't help but bare my teeth and bite down on this development.

The sense of betrayal was too huge to just quietly drop it.

The author might even realize it's a bad move. Unlike usual, today's author's note was just blank—nothing written.

Normally, even with heavy backlash, readers wait for the next chapter. They give the author a chance to revise or push forward with resolve.

But I didn't want to wait. I'd cheered on this cute, flustered debut author through their posts after unexpected popularity led to paid chapters, always encouraging them not to break. I'd even send small donations when payday hit, cherishing the novel like my own little treasure.

Today, though, I unleashed a massive 5,700-character rant in the comments, a private message, and a review—polite on the surface, but really dumping my emotional trash all over the author like they were a garbage bin.

They'd sometimes thank me in author's notes or reply to my comments, so they'd surely remember my username.

'No way they don't.'

Seeing a loyal encourager and donor suddenly hurling stones—maybe now the author gets a taste of the despair we readers felt from that NTR.

"Hoo..."

Letting out an irritated sigh, I lay in bed, eyes closed, to avoid ruining tomorrow's commute with this foul mood.

Ten days passed.

In that time, the next chapter of 'I'll Survive Tenaciously'—the novel that dropped the worst possible move—showed no sign of uploading. No revision notice either. For a debut, they might just vanish like this.

'Yeah...'

Better to take this blunder as a lesson, change pen names, and start fresh. The label "author who NTR'd the heroine" is as brutal a scarlet letter as one who pivots to BL mid-story or serial-hiatuses.

"Ugh..."

On a golden Saturday, after boozing hard with friends I hadn't seen in ages, I staggered back to my studio and barely collapsed onto the bed before passing out.

Praying desperately that tomorrow's hangover hell would be mild.

'!'

Thankfully, my wish came true—no trace of a hangover when I opened my eyes. But the shocking sight I witnessed with that crystal-clear mind was beyond words.

Beneath me lay a woman with spring-green hair, striving for an indifferent expression while her sorrow-filled eyes shed silent, distant tears.

'What the fuck!'

Did I hallucinate stumbling home last night and actually commit some sex crime? As the grim sequence flashed in my mind like an escalator to doom, I tried to scramble off her—but my body wouldn't obey.

'What?'

Then, a bizarre voice echoed in my ear, and my body started moving against my will.

Squeak!

The cheap bed groaned disgustingly, and each time, the woman's body beneath trembled harder.

Meanwhile, I briefly forgot the bewilderment in the sharp pleasure surging from my groin.

Squirt!

A bead of sweat from my chin dripped onto her cheek, and my prolonged ejaculation continued deep inside her tightening depths.

I wanted to savor the afterglow, but my body pulled back on its own, straightening my disheveled clothes as if nothing happened.

Then, leaving the pitiful woman sprawled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on the cheap bed, my body strode to the window, sat, put a cigarette in my mouth, and lit it with the lamp.

"Euphemia el Lerenne Ruerg."

It inhaled smoke and exhaled on its own. My mouth moved without me.

'This...'

A dream? Hearing Euphemia el Lerenne Ruerg—the full name of the heroine from 'I'll Survive Tenaciously'—that's the only conclusion.

'But...'

If it's a dream—a lucid one—shouldn't I control it once aware? And even in a dream, forcibly experiencing the heroine's filthy NTR is beyond infuriating.

This cigarette-smoking bastard, who seems both my body and not, is probably the villain who NTR'd the heroine—Ferzen von Schweig Brutein.

No, after marrying Euphemia and inheriting the Ruerg countship, it's Ferzen von Schweig Ruerg now.

'...'

I try ignoring it, but the constant sync progress in my ear is grating. What happens at 100%? Doesn't feel like waking up. Maybe full control of Ferzen's body?

If so, I'll fling myself out the window, kill Ferzen, and wake up.

"Was clinging to me like a doll your way of rebelling? Then why not keep up the act to the end?"

Described as a young noble, his voice is a seductive mid-low tone.

"Dolls don't shed tears."

Saying that, he turns to the window, smokes—and his reflection is goddamn handsome. Even messy black hair looks stylish enough for a new trend.

Just looks-wise, Ferzen could be the protagonist—no flaws. Did they twist it this way because NTR to a potbellied middle-aged noble ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠felt too much? Nah. If that were the issue, they wouldn't have NTR'd her at all.

"They say people think the most when lying in bed."

"So lie there alone, think in silence, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠resign yourself to reality. That you are now mine."

Finishing the cigarette without lingering, Ferzen stands and leaves the room.

As he stepped into the empty, cold, bitter, dark hallway, the sync completed—and I could finally control Ferzen's body as I wished.

Not just vision; all senses were vivid, blurring dream from reality.

Clank!

Whoooosh!

"Hah!"

Opening the hallway's sealed window to Ruerg's—northernmost worst territory's—night wind, my lungs froze; I slammed it shut.

"Ow!"

A icicle scraped my finger, sharp pain bringing blood dripping to the floor.

"…"

Is this really a lucid dream? The pain's too real to jump out and kill Ferzen to wake up.

So I stood silently in the hallway for a while.

How much time passed? Suddenly, my childhood memories surfaced.

Then Ferzen's childhood contrasted and intertwined with mine—Lee Seojin's—alternating, merging completely.

Originally, Lee Seojin is 27. Ferzen is 24 by setting. That three-year gap? Maybe why Ferzen's ego fills the cracks in mine, assimilating layer by layer.

"…"

Not like one ego vanished entirely. More like accepted, absorbed. But lip-biting in agony? That's Ferzen's habit.

Is this me dominant?

It even feels awkward referring to "me."

"Ah..."

As I pondered how to process this, moonlight pierced the darkness, illuminating previously invisible floating text.

Not Korean. Imperial—Ernes language. Ferzen's memories, especially knowledge, assimilated slowly, leaving gaps.

"Ha..."

New Year's, yelling "status window" amid midnight bells—nothing. Now...

"…"

Clank!

Standing dazed like a statue, I opened the hallway window again to Ruerg's night wind.

Whoooosh!

A blade-like gale threatening to slice flesh. Ears numbing after mere moments.

I had to admit it.

I've become the villain from 'I'll Survive Tenaciously'.

Brutein Marquisate's second son, the bastard who stole the protagonist's heroine—Ferzen von Schweig Brutein.

"Haha..."

Hated NTR so much I bit back—and they flipped the genre to NTL as a gift.

Talented, huh? Not resetting to the start for fixes, either—just skipping nicely to the spilled milk.

Did that author become a god? Who knows. But one thing's clear: regret.

Not for blasting the author in comments, messages, reviews.

Regret for holding back, staying polite without crossing lines while venting.

Should've cursed out their great-grandparents and entire family tree.

"I don't think I was wrong."

The words slipped out naturally in Ferzen's tone as I slowly closed the window.

Even if parallel worlds are real, no version welcomes a world where the heroine gets NTR'd by the villain.