MTL - I Had a Home In 1982 - Chapter 535 534. Good Spring (the last day at the end of the month to ask for a monthly pass

In an inaccessible village, there were a few houses on the hillside.

People from far away were attracted here and the mountain road was crowded with luxury cars, because, in this town, there was a young man with incredible medical skills who could cure all kinds of illnesses!

Im-sol is an ordinary student who is about to graduate from college.

Hiding the fact that she is a fan of Ryu Seon-jae, the fifth member of the Idol group ‘Potato Pancakes’,

Right now, she is doing cosplay in public.

-BREAKING NEWS- Ryu Seon-jae, a member of the Idol group, ‘Potato Pancakes’, is dead!

Then one day, because of an accident, Ryu Seon-jae died and Im-Sol, who was in sorrow, accidentally picked up a pocket watch and made a time leap to the past, six years ago.….

Gray pants, white shirt, beige knit vest.

No matter how much she blinked and squinted at him, he was standing alive, right before her.

“Seon-jae, that’s Seon-jae. Ah, it’s him. He’s real.”

Ryu Seon-jae, a high school student who she only saw in the picture, was right in front of her eyes.

This may be an opportunity.

An opportunity to prevent Ryu Seon-jae from joining Potato Pancakes and becoming its 5th ‘unlucky’ member.

An opportunity to save Ryu Seon-jae, who died at the age of 23 with no luck because he took a wrong cold medicine.

Eighteen to live again, with only one goal.

It is to save Ryu Seon-jae!

To save the best in the past,

Im-sol’s struggling ordeal, ‘The Best of Tomorrow.’

At the moment when he was about to be buried alive by the villagers, he blew himself up… no, he saved himself successfully.

He just wants to live and die in this era, but… that woman is too crazy.

…

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- 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.