MTL - Traveling Through the Stars - Chapter 3093 not for you

“You’re not taking me to bed. Ever.”

Waking up from a big dream, Fu Yu felt that he had been forced into a mouthful of pie by God.

Everything familiar, suddenly becomes virtual.

Working kitchen table, tools used, co-workers, and customers.

All things have become walking NPCs and auxiliary props.

Daily life and work have become the main tasks that need to be completed, and the key clues for advancement.

 …

The customer ordered a piece of loose pork.

Fu Yu took out a piece of fresh tenderloin: [Pork: Freshness: 90%]

Holding an egg with one hand: [Egg: Freshness: 85%]

Heat oil in a pan, prepare starch, and prepare onion, ginger, and garlic.

First fried and then fried, the meat is cooked out of the pan, put on a plate and served in front of customers: [Ding! Complete the task with a slice of loose meat. Get rewards: cooking experience +10, RMB +100, a colander without oil! 】

 …

As a chef who is being chased and fed by God, as long as you cook, you will be promoted!

- Description from novelbuddy

After choking to death on a watermelon, Rong Jiahui thought that she would enter the netherworld and be reincarnated.

But when she opened her eyes, she discovered, to her very horror, that she had returned twelve years into the past…

Looking at the beautiful and awkward “little brother” that would be conferred the title of Marshal in the future for outstanding military service, she almost let out a snort of laughter.

She firmly decided to hug the thigh of this little brother, and climb to the top of her life!

The plan was beautiful, but it had just one problem.

Why had this little brother… suddenly turned into…

A little sister…

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”