The Returner - Chapter 7: Ah, is that so? (4)

Being adored by one's parents and hoping to achieve something that could bring them happiness, a child sacrificed their carefree personality and chose the path of books and knowledge at an early age.Without looking back to see how those they thought were their parents were, in truth, only pushing them from behind.Esme, a prodigy from an early age, excelled in everything, unlike her sister, who, though adored by both parents, always lagged behind.Finally, after saving the company from debts and restoring it to its former glory, Esme looked back at her parents in hope of recognition but...“You are not even my daughter, you pathetic fool.”“Hehe, Sister, how about I take your fiancé?”“Um, you see, Esme, I love your sister.”“Tch, insect, how dare you reject checks whenever I, your mother, asked for money!”Those words lingered in Esme's mind before she lost consciousness and woke up inside a prison.“What are you doing here, Aron?” Esme looked at a handsome young man seated in a wheelchair, gazing at her with amusement. He was her sole business competitor, and now, he was visiting her in prison.“Nothing, just came here for a proposal, Miss Esme...”Let's see what awaits the journey of an heiress who was wrongly accused of being fake, betrayed by her fiancé, and had to seek support from her business rivals.

In 2100 at the turn of the century the first full dive VMMORPG game 'Omega' was released

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.”

200 years after the world has ended, the laws of society have long been forgotten.