Maybe a Fake Gintama - Chapter 568: When Troublesome People Carry Troublesome Things, Only Trouble Ensues

The archaeologist “red-haired witch” made too big of a disturbance while excavating tombs, gloriously becoming a martyr in the midst of the grave chamber’s collapse. Seventeen years later, she had transmigrated into the Five Regions Continent. The delinquent Meng Fuyao who struggled to survive in the lowest rungs of society, cast aside her boyfriend who was about to marry another person with a slice of his five fingers.

After many years of unrequited love, she used her power and favors to coerce him into marrying her. Yet, she knew there was a constant “lunar light” in his heart. In the presence of this lunar light, he would never cast a glance upon her. Eventually, she regretted it, she no longer wanted this marriage. But who could tell her why the man had started to relentlessly pursue her now?

Chu Qing transmigrates to a world where women hold all the power. In this matriarchal society, men are judged solely on their looks, while women are expected to provide for their families. Men are only considered eligible for marriage if they have good virtues, while women must possess a house and a car to be considered desirable. Even worse, women who are financially supported by men are accused of being freeloaders, and some women are known to prey on younger men.

As the “school belle,” Chu Qing is frustrated by these rigid social norms. He believes that a man’s true worth comes from inner strength and character, not just physical appearance. With his ability to cultivate immortality, he sets out to prove that men can be powerful and valuable in their own right, challenging the status quo in this matriarchal society!

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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.”