Guide to raise my cutie husbands - Chapter 1647: Acting like a fool and filing a complaint (2)

When the forgotten past and the mysterious future collide, its up to those stuck in the middle to put a stop to it.Join Stanford “SK” Kirby, a mild-mannered deliveryman and amateur comic book writer, as he fights both the monsters of humanity's past sins and the machinations of their future mistakes.But how is someone this unqualified supposed to do something like that?Why, by creating superheroes, of course!“I have no fear, Operator! For I am here to save the day!”“And I just created a literal knight in shining armor. Alright, let's do this thing. AIM FOR THE DRAGON!”“The mechanical one or the anatomically correct one?”“YES!”

A world where the [Demon King] was defeated by a [Hero] that came from another world. People carelessly forgot about their fear of the [Demon King] and of monsters, living in peace.

In a forgotten and run-down cave in the mountains, a new monster that should not have been born was given birth.

The monster’s name was the [Black Ooze]. It was nothing exceptional other than its black color, an ordinary slime.

However, this slime had the special characteristic of being able to take the abilities of the living things it swallowed. It preyed on an insect that had paralytic poison, as well as other animals. Following that, it attacked a human, obtaining his knowledge and [Desire].

Before long, the monster established its target as the female mage that came to explore the cave.

This world still wasn’t aware.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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I have given up power that can make the strongest of men tremble. I bore scars very few can imagine; loved women, very few had the gall to talk; and tread paths with chaosfiends.

“And I'm still standing.”

- - -

Gale was summoned into a mysterious world of magic and monsters for no particular reason. Thrown into squabbles of beings vastly higher than him, Gale strived to make a place for himself in the vain dream of immortality and a better world.

That was six years ago.

Beaten and battered from years of brutal war, Gale finally had enough and resolved to start over a new peaceful life in a totally unremarkable town with his trustworthy companion, Vale. Give up the weapon of slaughter and take up a hoe? That seemed like a fine deal to him.

Unfortunately, the valley wasn't as unremarkable as he thought it to be. Dictatorial governing bodies, suspicious practitioners, an exceedingly unwelcoming guest, and a secret that would change the entire world, all impeded his peaceful life. Gale will need all his mental stability to keep his temper in check, lest he brutalises his way out of trouble. Again.