MTL - The 21st Century of the Gangsters Everywhere - ~ Seven hundred and twenty-five autistic teenagers (by) looking for relatives

my name is Vexsus but you can just call me Vex

I was a human previously like all Isekai protaganists except this time i was reborn as a monster. Join me in my adventures as i discover and explore not only my new body but also this new world i'm thrust into.

Blue sky, white clouds, lazily lying on the beach, while feeling the gentle breeze coming from the sea. Hounds at the side with marine animals chasing each other around. Cups of unrivaled wine from his personal winery with cuts of prime A grade steaks readily around. For others, life is all about pursuing money, power, and fame, but for Jiang Hai, this type of lifestyle is what he constantly dreamed of.

- Description from Novelupdates

Sophia Alcott, the daughter of Earl Alcott, lives a lonely life as a maligned and infamous shut in, with nothing to do but to work on her skills as a budding apothecary in the dusty storeroom she’s forced to call home.That is until she suddenly wakes up one day and finds herself in the body of an even more infamous villainess (one who actually earned her reputation) locked up in a tower.Although the only clue she has about how this happened is a cryptic note, instead of despairing about her new situation, she’s in awe at just how luxurious the treatment she’s receiving in this ‘prison’ is compared to how she had to live before.Meanwhile, back at Earl Alcott’s mansion, all hell is about to break loose.That’s because…

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.”