MTL - Boss-gege Excessive Spoiling - Chapter 208 Sister, demon escaping to understand (65)

She possessed a villainess who is known and hated for her evil acts in an unpopular novel. But because of her personality, it was extremely difficult for her to play the villainess role. But not for long…

“I’ll fix your dress according to your taste this instant!”

“My request.”

“O-Of course! As per your request, there’s only one piece available in the whole Empire.”

People around me listen to me well even if I just frown and sit still. Since I don’t have to live in difficulty, I decided to just comfortably live on as a villainess.

“Father. Is it necessary for you to solve formulas in this slow and inefficient way?”

I thought it would be good to be a rich villainess, so I used all my knowledge.

“Why don’t you give me the honor of escorting the Princess?”

I have had enough of dealing with my father, so why did an unexpected character suddenly appear? What if this person disrupts my plan?

As a true over-bearing president scum gong, when Xie He for the Nth time rejected his admirer, he heard a sentence in his head: “Congratulations on achieving the “rejects 100 hosts” accomplishment; as an award you will soon bind to the “Scum Gong and Cheap Shou” system, entering other worlds to complete capture missions.

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.”