NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 96

Chapter 96: Stupid Dare!

“…why don’t you prove it, Lui? Lift her up in your arms. Show us all what a real man you are!”

Lui’s jaw tightened, but before he could fire back, Artis raised a hand, cutting him off like a king silencing a jester.

“Come on, Lui, it’s basic physics. If you can’t lift your loving wife—the very woman who chose you—then what are you even doing with that dick of yours? Hell, if it’s less than two inches and you can’t even hoist a feather, maybe just snip it off and call it quits!

“At least as a woman, you wouldn’t have this whole ‘manly failure’ thing hanging over your head. But no, no—you’re Lui the Legend, aren’t you?”

Artis leaned forward, his grin turning wicked.

“The man among men. You’ve got this, right? Right?!”

The words hit like a hammer to Lui’s pride, each syllable ringing in his ears like a death knell. His face turned a shade of pale usually reserved for ghosts, and his fists clenched so tight it looked like he might implode.

Juliana raised an eyebrow, her surprise quickly melting into a soft laugh.

She was enjoying this way too much, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched Artis’s mockery hit its mark.

Lui’s mind raced.

‘This fucking kid! Mocking me? In my own house?’

His ego screamed louder than the logical voice in his head reminding him that lifting Juliana might actually break him in half.

Then he caught Juliana’s gaze. She was smiling at him.

Smiling.

And somehow, in that moment, it felt less like a smile of encouragement and more like she was thinking, Are you really going to let this cocky little shit win?

Fueled by equal parts rage and desperation, Lui straightened his spine and puffed out his chest.

“Fine! I’ll show you what a real fucking man looks like!”

Lui pushed himself up from his seat with all the determination of a geriatric gladiator entering the arena.

His body creaked in protest, his knees sounded like someone cracking walnuts, and his spine chimed in with a symphony of groans. But adrenaline—or maybe sheer spite—was doing its job, numbing the pain and fueling his resolve.

Juliana raised an eyebrow, then stood as well, looking amused but mildly skeptical. Artis leaned in closer, grinning like the smug little bastard he was, ready to savor whatever disaster was about to unfold.

“I-I… uh… I’m going to lift you now, okay?”

Lui stammered, the confidence from earlier taking a nosedive.

“Okay.”

Juliana replied, completely unfazed, as if he’d just announced he was going to the fridge for a snack.

She casually extended her arms outward, like some goddess granting permission for mere mortals to worship her.

Lui crouched down, his skeletal frame trembling slightly as he wrapped his arms around her legs just above the knees.

Any other part of her was too much for poor old Lui to handle—mentally or physically.

The guy had done enough damage over the decades, and now he was trying to play the role of Mr. Redemption. Problem was, his body wasn’t exactly on the same page as his good intentions.

Artis glanced over and saw Juliana smirking at him. That woman had mastered the art of the smug smirk like it was her life’s purpose. Her face practically screamed, “Go ahead, make a move. Oh wait, you can’t because hubby’s right there. Pathetic.”

And for a split second, Artis wanted to. Not out of pride, but because her confidence was the kind that made you want to prove her wrong just to see her face crack.

Meanwhile, Lui decided to take the stage with a bold attempt at heroism—or whatever you call a man trying to lift someone twice his size with knees that sounded like bubble wrap being popped.

With a dramatic heave that could’ve been straight out of a soap opera, he started lifting her. Well… “lifting” was a generous word for what was actually happening.

The reality? Lui was quivering like a chihuahua in a snowstorm. His old joints screamed louder than a bad karaoke singer, and his muscles? They weren’t straining—they were filing for early retirement.

Juliana gave him a little boost with her feet, probably thinking she was doing him a favor. But nope. Lui stayed glued to the ground, doing his best impersonation of a wind-up toy stuck in place.

Honestly, the only thing being lifted in that moment was everyone else’s secondhand embarrassment.

“Uh, can you… give me a moment? My legs aren’t… uh… strong enough.”

Lui stammered, his face a deep shade of beet red. He looked like a man trying to hold it together in the middle of the world’s most humiliating circus act.

Sweat poured off him—not the kind you get from lifting something heavy, but the oh-god-why-did-I-sign-up-for-this type of sweat.

And sure, Juliana wasn’t exactly light as a feather, but the poor guy looked like he was trying to bench-press a planet.

Artis chimed in from the sidelines, his grin wide enough to swallow the sun.

“What’s the matter, Lui? Should I grab some scissors for you know? Ha-ha-ha!”

If looks could kill, Lui’s glare would’ve incinerated Artis on the spot. Instead, all it did was fuel Artis’s obnoxious cackle, and Lui’s anger and embarrassment doubled.

With a deep, wheezing breath, Lui dug deep into whatever reserves of strength—or pride—he had left.

“I’ll show you scissors, you smug little shit.”

He muttered under his breath, gripping Juliana like she was a sack of potatoes that needed moving right now.

“Uh… my husband, are you sure you’re alright?”

Juliana asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern. And that? That was the final nail in the coffin. Hearing her call him “husband” again—it wasn’t just a word. It was the word. It lit a fire under Lui’s aching old ass.

Fueled by sheer determination—and maybe the memory of younger days when he didn’t sound like a dying accordion—Lui gave one final heave. And then it happened.

CRACK.

“AHHH!”

Lui’s scream was less a cry of triumph and more of a holy-fuck-I’m-dying-right-now yell. It echoed through the house, rattling the windows and probably scaring the neighbor’s dog.

He hit the ground like a sack of bricks, landing hard on his knees. His hands shot to his lower back, his eyes wide, his expression pure, unfiltered oh-shit-I-broke-something-important.

Juliana managed to keep her balance, landing gracefully on her feet like a ballerina who accidentally wandered into a slapstick comedy.

Lui, on the other hand, collapsed like a deflated air mattress, groaning as he dragged himself toward his seat.

“Fuck! I can’t do it.”

He wheezed, crawling like a man whose soul had left his body halfway through the attempt. Once at the table, he flopped his sweaty face onto it, arms spread out like he was surrendering to life itself.

“Is your bone broke?”

Juliana asked, her face a mix of concern and awkward amusement as she sat down beside him.

“No. Just… a minor injury,” Lui grumbled, his voice muffled against the table. “Let me rest… for a moment.”

He sounded like a man who had just fought a bear and lost—not in combat, but in dignity.

That’s when it started: the low, sinister chuckle from across the table. It grew louder, deeper, until it erupted into a full-blown cackle.

Artis was laughing so hard he nearly knocked out the liquid gold from the table, tears streaming down his face.

“Hahahaha! Man among men, my ass! Looks like you don’t love your wife, huh? What a hero. Tsk, tsk—what a colossal waste.”

Artis sneered, shaking his head like a disappointed dad at a little league game.

A vein visibly throbbed on Lui’s forehead. His fingers twitched like he was moments away from launching the table at Artis’s smug face. But no. Not yet. He would bide his time.

The bottle wasn’t going to keep pointing at him and Juliana forever, right? His time for sweet revenge was coming.

Lui tilted his head up slightly, watching Artis with a glint of determination as the smug bastard spun the bottle again.

This time, the odds were finally in his favor. After what seemed like an eternity of watching that stupid bottle twirl, it came to a dramatic stop—right on Artis.

The flat end of the bottle? Perfectly aimed. Lui couldn’t help but let out a victorious, maniacal laugh that would’ve made villains in B-movies jealous.

“Yes! Finally!”

He shouted, sitting up straight as if he had just won the Olympics. But then his back immediately reminded him he was no spring chicken.

He winced, clutching his aching spine like an old man who’d tried to do yoga for the first time.

But that didn’t stop the smile from plastering across his face. Oh, sweet, sweet revenge was a dish best served with a side of back pain.

Juliana, like a goddamn cheerleader at a high school game, clapped her hands, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Finally! Go husband!”

She cheered, probably a little too excited to see Artis take a hit for once.

Artis, ever the cocky asshole, shrugged, crossing his arms like he was the picture of indifference.

“Fine, bring it on. I chose dare.”

He said, as if he was ready to walk through fire and not get burned.

But Lui? Lui wasn’t thinking straight. Was it the alcohol? His sheer stupidity? Or maybe a deadly combo of both? Whatever it was, what came out of his mouth next could’ve been a scene from a badly written comedy.

“You’ve been mocking me all night because I couldn’t lift my wife.”

Lui barked, the words slurring just slightly.

“Well, let’s see you try, big man! You think you’re strong enough, huh? You think you’re so fucking muscular and manly? Go ahead—lift her up!”