Infinite Ebullience - Chapter 74 - 43 Layout Part 1

Fate, a gatekeeper who had been working for the castle, is beset by a few burdens.

“Ji Xiao Li” Chen Yu Bai pressed the body under him and gritted his teeth, “What exactly did I owe you in my past life?”

“I…don’t…know..but you don’t know too? Aren’t you a fortune teller?”

At this instant, even the thousand years ice jade bed under them can feel the chill emitted by this man.

“I am the Grand Tutor! Great Divination Master! Don’t call me a fortune teller!”

- Description from Novelupdates

Keita Sumeragi was a man of dreams—once a hopeful mangaka who poured his soul into heartfelt tales of romance, comedy, and friendship. But the world never smiled back. Readers ignored him. Publishers laughed. And when the only offer he got was to draw the one thing he hated—NTR (Netorare)—he refused.Until life left him no choice.His wife walked out. His daughter starved. And when his first NTR manuscript was complete, the publisher gave the job to someone else.Broken, guilty, and hollow, Keita leapt from the rooftop with a bitter smile—Only to awaken in the world of his own rejected NTR manga.In this twisted realm, he’s reborn as the main protagonist—handsome, popular, and surrounded by women with all-too-familiar faces. His sweet and kind “motherly” wife resembles the wife who left him. His seductive stepsister has the same eyes as his daughter once did.In this warped erotic hell, where anyone can be seduced—teachers, aunts, even grandmothers—Keita must face his deepest guilt, his darkest fantasies, and the genre he once despised.Because in this world, NTR is fate.And the story must go on.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”