Chapter 2 - The reason why hate this guy

The maid's voice, trembling with fear, broke the silence in the room. "Y-young master Zeph, the Lord is requesting your presence."

Zeph glanced at his reflection in the mirror, barely acknowledging her presence. His reflection stared back, the bloated face flushed and eyes tired. "Tell him I'll be there shortly."

"I understand, y-young master," she stammered, her hands clutching the fabric of her apron tightly. She looked as if she wanted to vanish from his sight, already feeling the beatings from two days ago when she forgot to bring the sugar with the tea.

Thanks to the Count's kindness in bestowing low-level healing potions, the thrown hot tea hadn't left a burn mark on her face.

Zeph didn't bother to look at her again, his focus returning to his reflection, already aware of everything but for now focused on himself.

'I hate this guy,' he thought, scowling at the mirror.

'Sure, he's a villain with my name, but that's not the real problem. The problem is this body—so damn heavy, it's like being trapped in a fat suit.' He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the plush fabric of his robe.

For someone who used to pride himself on muscle, nothing was worse than being encased in layers of fat.

And the man staring back at him from the mirror was the archenemy of his former self—fat and lazy.

"I suppose I need to first lose this weight," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

The thought of exercising in this state felt both laughable and depressing.

As he reached for the door, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His breathing became labored, and each step felt like a mountain climb.

'Unbelievable,' he thought, 'this body is so damn heavy.'

After what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to exit the room, leaning heavily on the doorframe for support. "Fuck, haa... haaa..."

"Y-young Master?!" Servants rushed over, carrying a litter.

The litter, decorated with intricate designs, looked absurdly out of place considering its purpose.

They lowered it carefully, creating a path for him to step onto it, making his teeth grit in frustration. 'It's this kind of pampering that turned this body into a giant tub of fat,' he thought, annoyance bubbling up inside him.

"I will walk." Pushing his irritation aside, he tried to walk.

GASP

Servants, hearing such foreign words, gasped in unison, not understanding if it was a dream.

Naturally, everyone was aware of young master Zephyr's habits of beating, drinking alcohol, and even going around creating ruckus. But today,

'He changed.' Servants saw a new glimmer in those bulky shoulders, big enough to hold the responsibility of the whole Vinlig County.

Zeph managed about ten steps before his legs gave out, sending him crashing to the ground.

'Or not.' Servants' dreams shattered the moment they saw those huge, boulder-like shoulders hitting the floor.

'Damn it. Seriously?' Zeph thought, his face reddening with a mix of shame and anger.

"Hooh, haiyah!" Twenty servants quickly lifted him and placed him onto the litter.

"Haah... haah...." To him, it felt more like a stretcher, and he lay there, panting heavily, sprawled out like a beached whale. 'You damn god! I hope the protagonist of your favorite novel gets NTRed!'

"We're here, young master," a servant announced. Zeph could hardly believe it—real Zeph's father's office was just thirty steps away from his room, yet he still needed a litter to get there.

"Give me a hand," Zeph ordered, his voice tinged with frustration as he cursed this hefty body under his breath, annoyed at the laziness that kept him from even walking thirty steps.

"Oh, come, come, my dear child. How was your day?" His father's voice was warm and welcoming. The middle-aged man, Count Vinlig, with his neatly trimmed beard and soft, caring eyes, looked every bit the doting parent.

His smile was genuine, but it only fueled Zeph's disdain.

'This man is the reason for this shit's current situation,' Zeph thought bitterly. 'Spoiling him to the point of ruin.'

"I'm alright, Dad," he replied, forcing a smile.

This father of the original body's owner, a noble who wore his wealth in the form of extravagant clothing and a perpetually kind expression, had spoiled him so thoroughly and intensely that real Zeph believed he could treat the mansion's staff however he pleased—beating, abusing, and even sitting on some of them.

"Take a seat. Hey, fetch his chair!" His father commanded, gesturing to a custom-made chair designed to accommodate Zeph's oversized frame.

"What's going on, Dad?" Zeph asked, wary of the summons. 'What could he possibly want now?'

"Child, your fiancée is paying a visit tomorrow," his father announced, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Ba-dump.

Zeph's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his fiancée. 'The same heroine who led to this body's downfall,' he thought, a shiver running down his spine.

It wasn't fear, but a deep-seated dread, born from the fact that this woman was sly enough to orchestrate the original body's fall.

"Thalia is also eager to meet you," his father continued, completely unaware of his son's internal turmoil.

'Eager to meet me?' Zeph thought, the idea almost laughable.

Thalia was far from ordinary; she was one of the major characters in the novel and cunning enough to clear this old lad's body from her path.

Technically, when anyone sees this 260+ kilograms of meat mountain, what will their first thought be?

Indeed, it will be, 'A damn hippo!'

And Thalia just called him that.

End result?

Zephyr Vinlig pounced on her with the intent to beat her, but a 250+ kilo fat man falling on a hardly 49 kg girl was definitely more than a small beating.

Wouldn't that be an attempt to murder?

Still respecting the Count's kind heart, she said nothing and accompanied him to the academy.

And coincidentally, on the way there, she threw this damn lard inside the wilderness to die after he again tried to attack her.

Already overweight and unable to walk, this guy died of exhaustion and thirst—the end.

Thinking about all these events, a visible mouth twitch formed with clear frustration on Zeph's face. 'In short, if someone called a potato a tomato, would you just let it slide? No way,' Zeph thought. 'So this idiot right here? A hippo, and he deserves to be called one.'