Why Do Heroines Chase The MC In 'Transmigrated As A Fat Villain All Heroines Are After Me'?

As someone who's binged this novel twice, I can confirm it's absolutely a harem story, but with a twist that sets it apart. The protagonist gets transported into this world as the overweight antagonist, yet somehow all the female leads become obsessed with him. What makes it interesting is how the story plays with typical harem tropes. Instead of the usual handsome hero, we get this unlikely fat villain who gradually transforms physically and emotionally. The heroines aren't just cardboard cutouts either - each has complex reasons for chasing him, from political alliances to genuine affection that develops over time. The romance isn't instant; it builds through shared struggles and character growth. While there are multiple romantic interests vying for his attention, the novel keeps you guessing about who he'll ultimately end up with, if anyone at all. The relationships feel more substantial than your average harem story because they're tied to the plot's political intrigues and power struggles.

I binged 'Transmigrated as a Fat Villain All Heroines Are After Me' last weekend, and the MC's arc is wild. He starts as this cartoonishly evil guy—think blackmailing heroes, sabotaging kingdoms, the works. But around chapter 30, things shift. The heroines don’t just fall for him; they *change* him. Their relentless affection forces him to confront his own toxicity. By volume 3, he’s using villain tactics for hero work—like hacking enemy systems to donate their gold to orphans. The author plays with morality like putty; he never becomes a saint, but he stops being a true villain. His final act is sacrificing his villainous 'system perks' to save the heroines, which screams redemption without erasing his edge.

The protagonist in 'Transmigrated as a Fat Villain All Heroines Are After Me' breaks stereotypes with his unexpected abilities. Despite his bulky appearance, he moves with shocking agility, dodging attacks like a leaf in the wind. His main power revolves around 'Gravity Manipulation'—he can increase or decrease weight at will. Imagine crushing enemies under 10x gravity or making himself weightless to leap buildings. But here's the kicker: he also has 'Charisma Overdrive,' a passive skill that makes people obsessed with him. Heroes who should hate him instead fall hopelessly in love, creating hilarious chaos. His final trick? 'Plot Armor Detection'—he senses when authors try to nerf him and exploits loopholes in the story's logic to survive.

In 'Transmigrated as a Fat Villain All Heroines Are After Me', the MC ends up with a surprising harem of heroines who initially despised him. The main love interests include the fierce swordswoman Elena, who starts as his rival but gets drawn to his strategic mind. The icy mage Seraphina melts when she discovers his hidden kindness, while the rogue Lilith can't resist his unexpected charm. The twist is that none of them realize they're all falling for the same guy at first, leading to hilarious and tense moments. The story cleverly subverts the typical villain trope by showing how his genuine growth wins their hearts.

In 'Transmigrated as a Fat Villain All Heroines Are After Me', the MC's weight loss journey is brutal but effective. He starts by pushing his body to extremes—fasting for days, then switching to a diet of raw vegetables and lean meat. The key detail is his use of a forbidden alchemy technique that burns fat as fuel for magic, turning his excess weight into temporary power boosts during battles. This creates a cycle where fighting literally makes him thinner. His transformation isn't gradual; there are visible changes after every major conflict. The more he engages in life-or-death struggles, the more defined his physique becomes, until he eventually sheds all the villain's original bulk and develops a warrior's build.

In 'Villain Manipulating the Heroines into Hating the Protagonist', the villain's deception targets three key heroines, each with distinct personalities and roles. Sophia, the childhood friend, gets tricked into believing the protagonist betrayed her trust by fabricating evidence of him colluding with her family's enemies. The villain plays on her loyalty and fear of abandonment, turning her warmth into cold resentment. Then there's Elise, the noble knight, who's fed lies about the protagonist's involvement in her mentor's death. The villain exploits her sense of justice, twisting her honor into a weapon against the one she once admired. Luna, the mage with a tragic past, is manipulated differently. The villain creates illusions showing the protagonist mocking her failures, preying on her insecurities. What makes this heartbreaking is how each heroine's unique bond with the protagonist gets weaponized against him. The villain doesn't just spread rumors—he crafts personalized emotional traps, using their strengths against them. The aftermath shows how deep the deception runs, with the heroines' hatred feeling justified from their perspective. Their eventual realization of the truth becomes a powerful moment of growth, but the damage done lingers in their relationships.

The heroines in 'Villain Manipulating the Heroines into Hating the Protagonist' fall for the villain's schemes because the story brilliantly plays with psychological manipulation and emotional vulnerability. The villain isn't just some mustache-twirling bad guy; they're a master of exploiting insecurities and past traumas. One heroine might have trust issues from previous betrayals, making her susceptible to fabricated evidence against the protagonist. Another could be manipulated through her sense of duty, convinced the protagonist is a threat to something she holds dear. The villain often uses half-truths or staged scenarios, making their lies feel painfully believable. The author does a fantastic job showing how isolation plays a role too. The villain systematically cuts off the heroines from communicating with the protagonist, creating echo chambers where doubts fester. Some heroines are influenced by social pressure—when others around them start believing the villain's narrative, it becomes harder to resist. The most tragic cases are those where the villain exploits genuine flaws or mistakes the protagonist has made, amplifying them out of proportion while hiding their own malicious intent. It's this combination of emotional wounds, information control, and social engineering that makes the manipulation so effective and heartbreaking to watch unfold.

I've been obsessed with 'Misunderstood Villain Heroines Mourn My Death' for months now, and what really hooks me is how the so-called 'villainesses' are anything but. Take Lady Vespera—she’s labeled a tyrant for ruling her kingdom with an iron fist, but dig deeper, and you see a woman who took the throne after her family was slaughtered, forced to make brutal choices to prevent civil war. The story paints her as cold-blooded, but her diaries reveal sleepless nights and a heart shattered by betrayal. Her 'cruelty'? Executing traitors who poisoned entire villages. The narrative frames her as a monster, yet she’s the only one who protected the commoners when the nobility turned a blind eye. Then there’s the witch Sylphine, accused of cursing an entire city. The truth? She was trying to purge a plague unleashed by the real villain, a holy knight who wanted to blame her for his sins. Her magic backfired, yes, but she spent decades afterward secretly healing survivors—only for them to spit on her, believing she caused their suffering. The irony kills me: her selflessness is what doomed her reputation. The story’s genius is showing how history is written by the winners, and these women? They lost the PR battle long before they lost their lives. And let’s not forget the assassin-raised princess, Isolde. Called a 'mad dog' for her bloody past, nobody mentions she was groomed from birth to be a weapon, then discarded when she questioned her orders. Her 'rampage' was a desperate bid to expose the court’s corruption, but of course, the chronicles call it mindless violence. The way the novel juxtaposes public perception with private agony—it’s heartbreaking. These women aren’t villains; they’re casualties of a world that couldn’t handle their complexity. That’s why the title hits so hard: their mourning isn’t just for the protagonist’s death—it’s for their own erased humanity.