Another world Game Developers in Japan`s 1991 - Chapter 428 - 382: Osamu Tezuka

Everyone is not optimistic when the most renowned man in Yuncheng married the least favored miss of the Mu family.

Rumor has it that the young Miss Mu family is pathetic, weak and dainty and an easy subject to bullying.

Mu Huan nodded enthusiastically: En, I’m a bully.

The big man who was bullied by her didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: Doesn’t your conscience hurt whenever you claim this?

The once unloved Mu Huan, the moment she was a pampered wife, she became the mad devil . Since then, she was covered from fighting someone and taught when doing homework.

What evil step-mother, scum step-sister, black hearted white lotus, Mr. Bo will go all out to kill!

Being pampered and held in the palm of his hands, the conqueror of his heart, Mu Huan, was interviewed one day.

“Mrs. Bo, what is the secret to you and Mr. Bo’s everlasting love?”

“I like him the most, and he likes me best.”

- Description from Novelupdates

Might is truth!

Iron-blooded Prime Minister Bismarck once said: “To solve major contemporary problems, we cannot rely on speeches and parliamentary resolutions… we must rely on iron and blood.”

Qin Tian, ​​a military enthusiast, was reborn as the fifth son of William II, Prince Oscar . Originally, he just wanted to eat and wait to die, but by accident, he became the heir to the empire.

For his own life, Qin Tian had to do everything possible to let Germany win the war!

Qin Tian’s goal: “Use the German sword to obtain land for the German plow, obtain daily bread for the German people, and fight for the land under the sun for the German nation!”

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.”