The Demonic King Chases His Wife: The Rebellious Good-for-Nothing Miss - Chapter 21: The long awaited day

“Love Tripped Into My Room: I Just Wanted Peace, Not Panties”Kaito Tenma just wanted a normal life. Wake up, eat toast, avoid drama, and maybe—just maybe—confess to his beautiful, blunt childhood friend, Riko.But fate sucker-punches that dream into space when a half-naked girl crashes through his ceiling and declares his room as her new home. Now he’s living with Yuna, a mysterious (and dangerously clingy) bombshell who thinks clothing is optional and personal space is a myth.From lewd accidents to jealousy-fueled misunderstandings, Kaito’s life spirals into a wild, hilarious mess of high school chaos, horny misunderstandings, and girls who seem way too interested in ruining his peace.He didn’t ask for a harem. He didn’t ask for trouble. But trouble keeps tripping into his life—one girl at a time.

For He Yi, life was like a coffee table laid with all sorts of coffee mugs resembling her misfortunes. She lost her virtue and had a premarital pregnancy—without knowing the father’s identity—right before her engagement. Her father passed away due to a heart attack when his company wound up. At that point, He Yi’s child was one-month-old and the culprit behind these tragedies was her trusted husband.

Under despair and rage, she drove toward her nemesis to knock him down. That had resulted in her becoming a destitute divorcee who could not afford proper meals after she had finished serving her sentence in prison five years later. She lost everything and her child was snatched away by her nemesis.

Her ex-husband eventually married his mistress who was contemptuous of her. “How are you able to live with this? I’d die much earlier if I were you.”

He Yi only gave a slight cold smile. “The reason I’m still alive is to witness how you go to Hell!”

Tunnel Rat is being revised. I have finished the revised manuscript for Book one, which comprises Chapters 1-60.

At some point, the first book will be published on Amazon. A few chapters and an outline of the first book will be left here on RR, and the bulk of chapters 1-60 will be removed, stubbing the book. I will give warning before that happens.

Milo lives in a steel cave within a man-made mountain of steel and concrete. He spends his days repairing the machinery that keeps the habitat livable and tinkering with the prosthetics that help his twisted body move about through the small tunnels and air shafts that are his world. He's as much a piece of discarded machinery as the equipment he keeps running.

Given a chance at being someone different will he become a hero and live in the sunlight? The light beckons, but there are secrets buried in the ground. Ancient mysteries left by races that delved deep and stayed below. Maybe only a tunnel rat could find them?

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“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.