MTL - Uchiha’s God of Muscle - Chapter 6 Split Uchiha

I killed the player.

He was one hell of a f*cker.

Lacking funds for his brother-in-law’s dowry, Cole Stone is abandoned by his cheating girlfriend.

He makes a phone call…

“Ma’am, I give up. I don’t want to work hard anymore.”

“Sure.”

$10,000,000 is credited into his account.

Betrayed, mocked, and humiliated for being poor…

Cole Stone is forced into an engagement with a billionaire CEO whose motives are unknown.

“Ma’am, I would like to issue you a refund—”

“Do you think that my dowry can be refunded so easily?”

Cole Stone is stunned speechless.

Unfair! Absolutely unfair!

How will Cole Stone fare with this mysterious and sassy fiancee of his who never takes NO for an answer?

How will he fare in the world of elites?

Shu Yu has passed through the book, and has become a poor cannon fodder who was implicated by the dead female supporting role and only appeared twice and was finally exiled for thousands of miles.

After finding that he could not change the result, Shu Yu decided to eat, drink, lie down and wait.

Who knew that the exile had not yet come, but she was suddenly told that she was not the daughter of the Shu family.

Her biological parents were peasant households who lived so hard to make ends meet that their house was leaking.

And the Shu family decided to obliterate her in order to hide her blemish.

Shu Yu: Come on, I can’t kill you.

Returning to his biological parents, Shu Yu finally sighed as he looked at the plate of pickles and a bowl of porridge on the table and placed in front of him, as well as his parents’ nervous and bewildered expressions.

You can’t lie flat, or you’ll starve to death.

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.”