I am that male friend in the harem story - Chapter 191: How to make money?

Zain Talen, your average college slacker, was busy skipping class to go play a new video game he had just bought, when a strange woman came running his way. Before he could get out of the way she collided with him. Quickly picking herself up she ran away leaving behind a pendant. Without knowing where she went Zain pocketed it and decided to look for her after his gaming session. During his binge, he heard it.

*Bang

*Bang

*Bang

His door was assaulted with the banging of someone who sounded desperate to get in. Rushing to open the door he found himself overpowered by something and not soon after felt a sharp pain on his neck. Vision fading in and out Zain found himself at death's door.

“Could this be the end?”

[Congratulations!]

[You have been turned into a zombie!]

[QUEST RECEIVED- Begin your horde!]

[infected 0/10]

[Level 1]

Fang Ze traveled to the world of psychic forensics and activated the detection system.

Since then, the world has gained a crime-solving wizard. In just one year, Fang Ze became the captain of the police force.

Suspicious disappearance cases, corpse dismemberment cases without clues, heinous vampire cases…

With his keen judgment, Fang Ze relied on the assistance of the system to grow all the way.

With the passage of time, Fang Ze suddenly discovered that this world seems to be more than just a psychic forensic doctor…

- Description from novelbuddy

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.

How long I’d been here, I couldn’t quite recall. From this sorry situation, I as always raised my eyes to the sky; a sky in which the great, massive sun was clad in levity. Sunlight poured gently upon all. What a blessing it would have been for the world if only the skies could remain clear. For tomorrow too, and for all days to come, I was to continue to pray for calm. To endure for those who cried, with desperation I remained in prayer.

And then, one freezing, forlorn, soulless, stagnant, drizzly day we died. Or so I thought…