MTL - I Might Be A Fake Cultivator - Chapter 2282 Meet the goddess

Jeon Eun-woo has lived for almost thirteen years in isolation in a cell at the Blackwood Research Center.He doesn't remember who he is, he doesn't know who locked him up, and he doesn't know why he's still alive.The apparent calm with which he has lived is shattered when he is assigned a cellmate.Rhys, a young man with invisible scars, appears in Eun-woo's cell with one goal: to kill him.Because Eun-woo is not just any person.He’s the last living Esper.But upon coming into contact with Eun-woo, Rhys unexpectedly bonds with him, something that shouldn't be possible because Rhys isn't a Guide.Or is it?

Lu Chengyu was born again nine years ago after being killed accidentally just after graduating from college.

In order to avoid the unfortunate fate of the last life, Lu Chengyu started from the very beginning and started to avoid his classmate who has good feelings for him.

He began to select stocks, work carefully and everything was in progress.

Just didn’t think of an encounter would bring Yan Mu to his life, Lu Chengyu’s life is no longer lonely.

– Author’s note

This is a story of making a fortune and changing his destiny after a rebirth.

The article is fluent in writing and vivid in character. It captures a delicate, yet naughty and an indifferent face, a warm and passionate attack. A plot twists. Fascinate reading. After all, how can the two men walk step by step. We should wait and see while developing their romance.

- Description from Novelupdates

An advertising director is reborn in 1988 Hollywood as an eighteen-year-old blond-haired westerner named Eric Williams.

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.”