MTL - The Villain and the Cannon Fodder’s Mother - Chapter 37

30-year-old Jo Minjoon has always wanted to become a chef. He started his culinary career late in life, however, and is currently chopping onions at a restaurant. Regretting his life choices, he wishes he could go back to change it all and falls asleep. Meanwhile, someone out there is willing to give him another chance and send him back in time. How will he use the new powers he obtained from this mysterious being?

Yukima Azuma—charismatic, confident, and utterly unforgettable. He was the man every girl wanted but could never truly keep. One by one, they fell for him, only to be left with memories they couldn’t erase.Kasumigaoka Utaha: “I was his first, the one who taught him love… only for him to use it on other women.”Sawamura Eriri: “If I hadn’t been such a tsundere, maybe things would have been different.”Yukinoshita Yukino: “He was my light in the darkness, the only one who ever truly saw me.”Yukinoshita Haruno: “That bastard ran away after taking everything from me.”Hoshino Ai: “My only true love. The one I can never replace.”And when asked about their relationship with him?“Ex-girlfriend.”But to the women still in his life?Sora Ginko, Kato Megumi, Sagiri, Bocchi, Shinomiya Kaguya, Kirisu Mafuyu, Suou Yuki, Alya—“Thieving cats.”Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how far he went—one truth remained: Yukima Azuma was the one man they could never forget.

“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.

Hello, everyone. My name is Shen JianGuo. I’m a night school teacher. I mainly teach the subjects of (Marxist) philosophy and ethics. I occasionally review new policies and measures for the students. I never see my colleagues and students during the day. The training institute classrooms are all abandoned schools, hospitals, or houses. The bus number is 444 and it always appears in front of my door at 12 midnight and disappears before 5am.

What? You say I met a ghost? Impossible. As a staunch scientific materialist, I don’t believe ghosts exist in this world.

But recently I’ve had an issue to raise. Can the training institute bring the class time up a little bit? Wouldn’t it be good to start around 8pm? Though I fear nothing on earth or in the heavens, I’m afraid of going bald.

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