PAMPERED BY MY THREE BROTHERS: THE RETURN OF THE NEGLECTED HEIRESS - Chapter 1056: This board has decided

“Everyone deserves a happy ending, don’t they?”…In the brutal fantasy RPG Fall of Ares, saving the world came at a cruel price — the deaths of every heroine the player had grown to love. No matter how skilled you were, their sacrifices were inevitable. The game warned you not to get attached.But one young man did.After beating the game and lamenting their tragic fates, he wakes up in its world — reborn as an extra, armed with one mission from a mysterious system:[Change their endings. Let them live.]Now enrolled at Mysteria Academy alongside the heroines doomed to die, he must rewrite fate itself. For every girl he saves, he’s rewarded. But the world resists change. Calamities draw closer. The true enemy — the Children of the Sky — are watching.And one of the heroines… remembers it all.

I became the wife of a man with a lover. Well then, I guess I have to protect his chastity?

“You can sleep on the floor then.”

“What?” His eyes said he didn’t want to.

Well, yeah. The floor was hard. Then it couldn’t be helped.

“I’ll just hold your hand and sleep. You trust me, right?”

But, how come the bed broke on my first night with my husband?

*

Aristine, a princess confined out of the Emperor’s sight.

When in reality, she was the owner of the [Monarch’s Sight], able to see the future, past, and present.

She, who became the sacrifice for a political marriage, was married off to a terrifying barbarian…

“The most precious things should naturally be given to my bride.”

But her husband, whose monstrosity she prepared for, was way too normal.

However, he belonged to someone else.

‘I’ll go make money then.’

She might as well make the goldfields her own.

*

Can Aristine really achieve her dream of living freely on a pile of money?

Or will she end up killing two birds with one stone?

“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.

The most vulnerable time in a tennis game is when you are leading; even if there is a match point, the game is still possible.

Football is round, tennis is also round.

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