The Useless Stepmom Brings Her Kids to Reality TV Shows to Photograph Them - Chapter 373 - : Always Expecting A Plot Twist

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”

The past life Ji Anran: “Geng Yan, let’s get back together.”

Geng Yan, who was dumped: “I refuse. You have powers anyway, and you can live well without me.”

After rebirth, the weak chicken Ji Anran: “Geng Yan, let’s get back together.”

The dumped Geng Yan: “I refuse.”

Ji Anran, lying dead: “I have no power, you don’t care about me, just let me get cold1.”

Geng Yan: “… …” The unsuccessful Geng Yan can only take away the weak chicken, one cannot put sand on the wall2 Ji Anran.

Later… what about the ordinary person without the strength to truss a chicken?! Who’s the guy in the day?

- Description from Novelupdates

Scorned by the world he was born in, Arthur had no other choice but to learn how to deal with it. Yet, just as his hard work and dedication were about to pay off, the hate towards his origins brought him to his death.

But that wasn't his fate. His future wasn't supposed to end with his head cracking against the edge of the stairs. His bloodline could not die as that would be against the wish of the universe itself.

Thrown to another world, he found himself in a situation where the skills and craft he honed would be no longer of use. His patience, his creativity, his logical thinking were no longer in demand in a world where strength reigned supreme.

Or was it?

My system is overpowered. I'm not shameless enough to deny it.

Scores of women and slaves all around? Those are the wishes of a naive kid, not mine.

Lower the price of those apples by a quarter and we will have a deal!

Dear, stop, I cannot hold any longer!

Jump in and follow Arthur's adventures as he proves that even the illogical world of sword and cultivation has its own rules. Laws, that one can learn, laws, that Arthur sets off to use to his own advantage!

“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.