The Daily Life of a Female Esper in Ancient Times - Chapter 104

Qiao Zhiya is a hybrid. Before he was born, his elf father wanted him to have a strong physique unique to dwarfs; his dwarf mother wanted him to have a tall body unique to elves. And then he was born, his features delicate and beautiful, his body weak and thin… his strength at the peak of the dwarfs!

Then he crossed. With his beloved little hammer, we walk along females-who-is-as-tall-as-he-is and male-who-is-a-head-taller-than-him-on-average future… blue, thin mushroom wants to go home.

Chu Rong: picked up a small dwarf who always wants to run away. Its cute, wanna drag home.

Qiao Zhiya: ??? Mama, there’s a pervert!

- Description from Novelupdates

I was a 28-year-old researcher in Japan, and before I knew it, I have been reincarnated in a fantasy world.

Furthermore, I had a half-spirit father and a spirit mother.

An aunt who is deeply attached to father, cousins who are problem children. Girls who cause awkward situations as in an otome.

Furthermore, in order to gain the affection of a love interest, a cousin even had a word battle with a king!

I am very busy helping humans as well as spirits!

And when I find people who are targeting my father,

「I’ll crush you.」

The cheat protagonist deters those who aim at her family. This is such a story.

The ordinary world is not ordinary, ordinary people are not ordinary, and safe places are not safe.

This is a story of a passer-by male protagonist who is entangled by various girls with strange hobbies or even non-human beings while surviving in the cracks and opening a harem.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”