Claiming My Possessive CEO Husband - Chapter 691 - : The Young Master’s Name is Yigol Mamet!

In 2100 at the turn of the century the first full dive VMMORPG game 'Omega' was released

Ke Jin transmigrated into an era where gaming was in utter chaos. Everyone here deeply believed in the notion of buying happiness with money, as game companies ran wild with various schemes to trick and force players to spend.As a game enthusiast from his past life, Ke Jin felt like he was in a world without sunlight. Luckily, he obtained the Free Game Production System!Players could get the ultimate reward of the “Complete Collection of All Game Design Schemes” without spending a single cent!Not spending money? How hard could that be? Heap on the benefits!Give away 50 consecutive draws during the summer heatwave! Give away 100 draws on the second day after the server opens! Due to the game reaching 50 daily active users, we are issuing a cool skin set originally priced at 999! The planner's niece just turned 17 years and three months plus 7 days old, so we're giving away 50,000 crystals!My sincerity is almost flooding the players. Surely nobody will spend now, right?Secretary: Mr. Ke, good news! Our newly launched game has just reached over a hundred million in daily transaction volume on its first day!Ke Jin: Huh? How is that good news... No, what about the other game? The one where we give full 100-99 discount vouchers upon starting, isn't its sales terrible?Looking puzzled, the secretary said while anticipating the boss's reaction: They've been shouting things like 'what a conscientious company' and 'if we don't spend, they'll go bankrupt,' so they just topped up. That game sold a whopping one hundred million copies globally. Congratulations on making a billion!“......”At 3:30 a.m., lying in bed, Ke Jin was wide awake, unable to sleep. He posted a status: Please, I beg you, stop spending. You guys are really making it hard for me...Player: Understood, Mr. Ke is hinting life is hard, brothers, let's step up! Charge it!

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”

“You’re not taking me to bed. Ever.”