I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

"What the fuck!"

A handsome young man paced frantically around the cramped stone dorm room. He kicked a wooden chair out of his way, wincing as a sharp pain shot up his toes.

’What happened to freedom of speech?’ he thought, his chest heaving with frustrated breaths. ’Isn’t the right to complain a fundamental right?’

He gripped his hair, trying to process the absolute absurdity of his situation. He had been on the forums. He had been typing out a massive, multi-paragraph rant tearing the game developer a new one.

’If you can’t take a little constructive criticism from the players, then why publish your damn game at all? You should have just played it yourself, you motherfucker!’ Sure, cursing out the developer’s ancestors for six generations straight might have been a little overboard. But was it really enough to justify literally killing him and dragging his soul into the game?

’Are game developers really so OP now? Stripping away a soul and transmigrating them across dimensions?’

After raging and pacing for what felt like hours, his weak body finally gave out. He slumped onto the narrow, hard mattress, panting heavily. A strange, rattling wheeze sat heavy in his chest.

He took a few minutes to catch his breath. Then, he finally looked around the room.

Instantly, his blood pressure spiked right back up.

The walls were completely plastered with photographs. One glance was enough to tell they were taken sneakily. From behind bushes, through slightly cracked windows, from the shadows of an academy corridor.

Beneath every single photo was a creepy, handwritten citation. ’Professor Elena bending over to pick up a chalk. 2:15 PM.’

That was bad enough. But then he saw the glass jars lined up neatly on the study desk.

He walked over, his stomach churning. Inside the jars were crumpled tissues, stained napkins, and even clipped fingernails.

Little handwritten tags were taped to the glass.

’Emma sneezed in this.’

’Alicia wiped her lips with this.’

"Why," he whispered out loud. "God, why."

Of all the characters in this massive fantasy world, why did he have to become this guy?

Arthur Vance.

That was his name now. A first-year student at Lornfell Academy. The undisputed biggest loser on campus.

Other transmigrators got it easy. They woke up as the protagonist with heaven-defying luck and a harem of women throwing themselves at his feet. Or they woke up as the villain with insane talent, so rich they could wipe their ass with gold bills. Hell, even waking up as a nameless extra who just watched the plot unfold from the sidelines would have been a better deal.

But him? He was a simp. An ultra-simp.

The exact type of man he hated the most. The kind of pathetic loser who fawned over women from afar, put them on a pedestal, and only ever watched them get railed by some other guy.

’I feel physically disgusted’, Arthur thought, his lip curling in a sneer. ’This idiot spent his nights jerking off to stolen photos instead of becoming a man who could actually take them to bed.’ No wonder he was destined to be expelled in the first year and killed off in an alleyway.

’No. I can’t continue to be him. I won’t be.’

He stood up, his jaw set. ’Since I have transmigrated, I won’t be trash like him. I will be different.’

He surveyed the room. The first step to a new life was getting rid of the old one.

Arthur grabbed the photos off the wall, tearing them down in thick handfuls. He didn’t care if the paper ripped. He gathered them all into a massive pile. Then he grabbed the jars off the desk. He unscrewed the lids and dumped the biological grossness onto the paper.

He threw all of it into the stone fireplace and struck a match.

He couldn’t risk throwing them away in the trash outside. If another student or a professor found them, he would be arrested or killed before the main story even started.

Arthur stood there and watched the paper burn to ash. The smoke caught in his throat, and he doubled over, hacking out a harsh, wet cough. His chest burned like he had just sprinted a mile.

When the coughing fit finally stopped, he wiped the spit from his mouth and glared at the dying embers.

’I’m a pervert, sure, he admitted to himself. But I’m not a pathetic voyeur. If I want a woman, I’ll get strong enough to take her. I want to feel real boobs and ass in my hands, not stare at paper.’

He straightened his back and muttered a command. A translucent blue holographic screen popped up in front of his eyes.

[Name: Arthur Vance] [Year: 1]

[Class: Scout (Unawakened)]

[Strength: 4]

[Mana: 3]

[Dexterity: 82]

[Perception: 85]

[Traits: Soundless Steps (Lv.4), Eagle Eye (Lv.5), Weak Lungs (Lv.3)]

Arthur let out a dry, bitter laugh.

His physical stats were complete garbage. An average first-year student had a strength stat of at least twenty. He had the physical power of a sick child. And his mana was basically nonexistent.

But his Dexterity and Perception? They were insanely high. This idiot had literally maxed out his stealth and observation stats just to creep around the academy unnoticed.

It was a pathetic way to live. But Arthur could use this.

’I know this game’s world perfectly’, Arthur thought, his eyes scanning the glowing blue text. ’I know every hidden mission. I know where the secret stashes of stat-boosting elixirs are hidden across the campus.’

He didn’t need to fight monsters right now. With his weak lungs, a low-level slime would probably suffocate him. He just needed to sneak into the right places, farm the side quests, and slowly fix this broken body.

It was going to be a massive grind. He couldn’t just magically cure his asthma overnight. He was going to have to bleed and sweat for every single stat point.