MTL - Wife, You Can’t Run After Eating - Chapter 14 shameless

Hurt. Bullied. Ignored. Boris decided to end his life in the most pathetic, cowardly way imaginable.But of course—how could even death go right for him?Fate, it seems, had other plans.Boris wakes up in another world, reborn as Kaden Warborn—the second young master of the Warborn family. A clan of glorious madmen who treat death like a family tradition.And wouldn’t you know it—death comes knocking again.[Congratulations, Host. You have awakened the Cycle of Rebirth System.][Core Principle: Die to grow stronger.][So go on, Host. Don’t be shy.][Court death.]…Excuse me?Armed with a system that rewards dying, surrounded by maniacs who treat funerals like festivals, Kaden Warborn begins his new life.Hopefully, this time, not like a coward.

Fate is weird. Of all the people in the world, why would it select me to send to a different world?

And what is it trying to do? Put up a show by giving me a system? But oh well, what do I care.

The previous owner of this body was a cripple and looked down on, but now I can slap their faces with my system.

Young masters? Get out of my way!

Princes? Geniuses? Oh please. I have a system. That does not mean anything to me.

I know that I am not the greatest. But fate gave me a cheat system, and I am not wasting it.

I am going to do whatever it takes to conquer this world. Fate forced me to do this. It isn’t my fault if I cause some ruin on the way.

There is a very strange restaurant in the City of Sin.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”