NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain

"The sexiest costume I have… huh."

Juliana sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her wardrobe like it personally offended her.

It had been years—no, decades—since she even considered wearing something that screamed 'fuck me senseless in public.'

Did she still have those kinds of clothes? Yes.

Could she still pull them off? Well… that was the question.

She chewed on her lip.

Somewhere, buried in the depths of her closet, was a collection of scandalous outfits from her younger days—lingerie sets, dangerously short skirts, thigh-high stockings, and corsets that squeezed her waist so tight she could barely breathe, let alone walk.

She sighed.

It was one thing to fuck like a wild beast in the sheets, but another thing entirely to parade around town looking like a freshly purchased courtesan.

And yet, the thought made her stomach flip in the most dangerous way possible.

Maybe… just maybe… she wanted to do it.

...

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Artis was having the time of his life.

Strutting through the local market, he radiated unbothered confidence, wearing nothing but a flimsy shirt and loose pants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

And by nothing, that meant every single curve, bulge, and muscle of his well-endowed body was on full fucking display.

The reaction? Predictable.

The housewives? Thirsty.

The daughters? Horny.

The husbands? Absolutely fucking livid.

Women of all ages stopped whatever they were doing just to ogle him like he was the main attraction at a sex carnival.

Gasps. Whispered gossip. A few outright moans.

Some even dropped their baskets, their freshly bought vegetables rolling onto the ground, completely forgotten.

Meanwhile, the men glared, their faces twisted in pure, unfiltered hatred.

They weren't just jealous that Artis had the body of a god.

They weren't just jealous that his cock was so thick, it still left an imprint in his pants, even while soft.

They were jealous because, even at full mast, they still weren't packing as much as he did on a lazy day.

It was, quite frankly, insulting.

Some of these guys were in their thirties but looked like weathered old grandfathers standing next to him.

Did this bother Artis?

Not even remotely.

In fact, he thrived on it.

Every scowl, every gritted tooth, every resentful glance? It was fuel for his ego.

He could practically hear their internal monologues:

"How the fuck is this guy real?"

"Does he even have to try?"

"I bet he fucks like a demon."

And the answer to that last one?

Yes. Yes, he did.

Smirking, Artis casually adjusted his pants, making sure to give the crowd a generous view.

A collective gasp.

A housewife fainted.

A baker dropped an entire loaf of bread.

A husband contemplated murder.

And Artis?

He just kept walking, whistling a tune, perfectly content with the chaos he left in his wake.

'Shit. I should probably figure out where the fuck I'm taking Juliana.'

Artis scratched his head, realizing that his knowledge of this world was suspiciously empty when it came to anything beyond sex and palace intrigue.

The novel never mentioned markets, shopping districts, or even a decent place to grab a fucking meal.

What kind of shitty world-building was that?

For the past two weeks, he'd done one of three things:

Teased Nadia and Juliana until they were dripping.

Made palace visits to stir up political drama.

Occasionally drank at the tavern while dodging thirsty stares from both women and men alike.

Beyond that? He was useless.

If someone had put a sword to his throat right now and asked, "Name one good restaurant in this city," he'd be a dead man.

So, like the brilliant, strategic mind he was, he did the only thing that made sense—he started walking aimlessly, hoping for divine intervention.

...

After a few minutes of wandering, Artis was not impressed.

The area was boring as hell—just tiny houses with zero personality and barely any vegetation.

It was the kind of neighborhood where dreams went to die.

Stores? Sparse.

Attractions? Absolutely none.

Anything remotely worth his time? Not a single fucking thing.

The only shops he passed were stationery stores, which was ridiculous because who the hell was out here buying ink and quills like that was the height of entertainment?@@novelbin@@

He sighed.

'This is fucking hopeless.'

Just as he was about to give up and admit he might actually have to ask someone for directions like a commoner, he turned a corner—

And bam.

He was suddenly standing in the middle of a bustling, chaotic, ear-splitting marketplace.

He surveyed the chaotic, sweaty mess of a market with a smirk, watching as people bumped, shoved, and yelled at each other like it was a full-contact sport.

The road was ridiculously narrow—probably because both sides were packed to the brim with tiny vendors selling everything from roasted meat skewers to suspiciously glowing potions.

He glanced around and spotted a few larger buildings in the distance—probably taverns, restaurants, or brothels. Maybe all three. Efficiency, right?

"GET YOUR FRESH FISH!" one vendor bellowed. "CAUGHT JUST THIS MORNING!"

Artis side-eyed the very dead, very dry-looking fish hanging from the stall.

'Lies. Deception. Fraud.'

People were shoving past him, bartering aggressively, and basically acting like they were in a battle royale for the best produce.

And the moment they spotted him?

All hell broke loose.

"Handsome sir! You must be rich!"

"My lord! Fresh fruit for you!"

"Do you need a new cloak? No? How about a wife?"

"My daughter is single!"

"So am I!"

It was insanity.

'So this is where Nadia and her friends hang out, huh?'

But honestly? He kind of loved it.

The market people took one look at him—his god-tier face, his effortless swagger, and his very obvious 'big dick energy'—and just assumed he was filthy rich.

Which, to be fair, wasn't completely wrong.

But that wasn't the point.

The point was, he finally found somewhere lively enough to entertain Juliana. A place that can make her happy. Continue your saga on My Virtual Library Empire