Sponsor System: Harem With Infinite Money - Chapter 196: I Want To Report Them

Iris Morris is by no means looking for any more drama in her life ( she has loads of it thanks to her mom). However, when Lucas Andrews pops up and ruins her interview, the drama she has been running away from unfolds in all the “wrong” ways, like him suddenly filling her small circle of influence. . .and her mind!For Lucas Andrews, nothing is as important to him as getting the Adder magazine to be number one on the bestsellers list worldwide. So when Iris comes to support the promise he made to his mother out of her sheer love for editing, he can't help but fall for hard for her, especially when a fake dating deal to ward off his possessive “fan girl” comes into play.

A filthy, idiotic, hypocritical alcoholic degenerate, known to most as Ricky Freeman, died in a tragic car accident when his lower half was crushed by a drunk driver. Coughing out a bloody mourning for his balls, Ricky finally dies only to wake up in his next life. Reincarnated in the 1920s as a orphaned kid, how will he live in a universe filled to it's brim with cosmic beings-*DING*'Huh?'[Congratulations Host for receiving the Impregnation System]

In the Central 46 Compound, the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 and the notorious scourge of the Female Shinigami Association, Masatsuki Aozaki, stood before the Sages and Judges.“You have improper relationships with numerous members, Seated Officers, and Captains of the Seireitei?”“As Captain-Commander, maintaining close relationships with them helps facilitate my work.”“...”The Judge narrowed his eyes. “Then how do you explain modifying the female Shinigami's Shihakushō into miniskirts?”“To transform the Seireitei into a perfect paradise.”“Tsk tsk… A paradise for all Shinigami? That’s not entirely unreasonable…”“No, a personal paradise.”“A private—wait! Captain-Commander Masatsuki, that kind of thinking is clearly wrong!”“Do you want to die?”“...”“Forget it, Captain-Commander Masatsuki. We’ll set this matter aside for now. Let’s discuss some of the outrageous statements you’ve made in the past. Those were jokes, right?”“No, I was completely serious.”Masatsuki calmly ran his hand along the hilt of his Zanpakutō and spoke with conviction. “I have a great relationship with my subordinates, I get along well with Hueco Mundo, and I’m even friends with all of your wives and girlfriends. But rest assured, I’m a good Shinigami. You can safely leave the world in my hands!”Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto: That damn brat! Shunsui, Jūshirō, don’t stop me—I need to teach him a lesson!Thus begins the tale of the most incorrigible Shinigami!

“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.