How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game - Chapter 404: Little Secrets Interlude

Sophia Alcott, the daughter of Earl Alcott, lives a lonely life as a maligned and infamous shut in, with nothing to do but to work on her skills as a budding apothecary in the dusty storeroom she’s forced to call home.That is until she suddenly wakes up one day and finds herself in the body of an even more infamous villainess (one who actually earned her reputation) locked up in a tower.Although the only clue she has about how this happened is a cryptic note, instead of despairing about her new situation, she’s in awe at just how luxurious the treatment she’s receiving in this ‘prison’ is compared to how she had to live before.Meanwhile, back at Earl Alcott’s mansion, all hell is about to break loose.That’s because…

The figure of the Armada seems to be still riding the wind and waves in the Atlantic Ocean, and the gold of South America still seems to flow in continuously. As Alfonso from the Bourbon family returns to the Royal Palace of Madrid where he was born, the story begins here…

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“You are boring and bland. Except for me, no one would want you.”On the eve of her engagement, the obedient girl Lin Zhiyi catches her fiancé cheating and is publicly humiliated.In a fit of rage, she chooses the most handsome escort.The man smirks, “I’m expensive, are you sure?”“No money, no man either.”Shredding her obedient facade, she takes full advantage of this man.She even brings him before her fiancé: “I can find someone ten thousand times better than you!”Her fiancé turns pale and respectfully calls out, “Aunt-in-law.”Lin Zhiyi: Huh?

“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.