Ah! The Villains I Forced to Turn Evil Can Read My Mind - Chapter 193

Rick hardly had any hope to find a girlfriend. There were swarms of beautiful women around him, but no one was actually interested in a dull, boy like him. They didn't even pay attention to his existence.

But everything changed when he was handed over a rod. Yes, a metal rod. Carrying that metal rod he had hardly taken a few steps when he was struck by lightening.

As he lost consciousness, Rick wanted to beat the shit out of bloody bastard who gave him that rod, but when he woke up, he had a surprise waiting. He got a system which would help him get girls and make him stronger.

Read my other story: The Devil's Harem (200+ chapters)

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A calculating merchant of noble birth lives a comfortable life managing his guild's business at the Imperial Academy—until lightning strikes him, leaving him with prophetic visions of a disastrous future. In these visions, he's expelled from his family, branded a traitor who aids demons, and worst of all, becomes a penniless beggar. When the supposed “protagonist” of these prophecies enrolls at the academy, he realizes his countdown to ruin has begun. Now he must use his foresight to rewrite a story where he's cast as a third-rate villain, all while navigating ancient dungeons, demonic threats, and the troublesome “hero” who might be the key to changing his fate.#MoneyIsEverything

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.

One day, Song Shuhang was suddenly added to a chat group with many seniors that suffered from chuuni disease. The people inside the group would call each other ‘Fellow Daoist’ and had all different kinds of titles: Palace Master, Cave Lord, True Monarch, Immortal Master, etc. And even the pet of the founder of the group that had run away from home was called ‘monster dog’. They would talk all day about pill refining, exploring ancient ruins, or share their experience on techniques.

However, after lurking inside the group for a while, he discovered that not all was what it seemed…