MTL - You Are Just Making Up the Exercises, My Disciple, Have You Really Mastered Them? - Chapter 368 A fierce young man from the spiritual realm

It has been six years since the game to decide the world’s fate began. The strongest player, Hero King Kang Yoosung, who has never lost his first place as the top ranker, greets a new season. “It was… over for me a f*cking long time ago. I’m just doing this for the money.“ [Provocation stat increasing exponentially!] [The Clown Lord expresses satisfaction with contractor’s behavior!] The survival journey of a player with insane talent begins now!

Become famous early, make money early, and enjoy the joy of life in America with both fame and fortune.The Great America, Hollywood, business warfare, entertainment industry, celebrities and movies…“Do you know what my favorite movie is?”“The Wolf of Wall Street?”“Yes, these sentences are really amazing!!”【The world of investing can be a jungle. Bulls. Bears. Danger at every turn】【I'm talking about normal people, working-class, everyday people. Everyone wants to get rich. Am I crazy? There's no such fuckin' thing as an Amish Buddhist】【Are you behind on your credit card bills? Good! Pick up the phone and start dialing!Is your landlord ready to evict you? Good! Pick up the phone and start dialing!Does your girlfriend think you're a fucking worthless loser? Good! Pick up the phone and start dialing!I want you to deal with your problems by becoming rich! All you have to do today is pick up that phone and speak the words that I have taught you. And I will make you richer than the most powerful CEO in the United States of fucking America!!!】

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.”

In her former life, she was robbed of her status, her looks, and her reputation.