MTL - Bleach: Secret Intentions - Chapter 54 : Zhibo Haiyan

From quiet grind to legacy brew.Jun had nothing—no café, no followers, not even a bed. Just a secondhand kettle and a broken dream.Then came the Barista System.No shortcuts. No instant success. Just slow, intentional tasks... and a promise:Brew. Grow. Endure.Every pour sharpens his skill. Every cup deepens his path.From street corners to pop-ups, from whispered praise to a space of his own—Jun’s grind is just beginning.This is a story of stillness, patience, and the quiet pursuit of mastery.Because greatness isn’t given.It’s brewed—one cup at a time.

Han Yang never thought he would one day sell himself into a marriage with another man. He believed his life would be mundane but that man, named HeLian Qing, broke his pre-planned life. Parental debt, a child’s compensation, he had no chance whatsoever to resist, he has no ability to resist.

I see that I have reincarnated into a game world.This cultivation world is dangerous, so I shall install a max status attribute mod.The cost of living is expensive, so I shall install an infinite gold mod.Treasures and artifacts are scarce, so I shall install an item duplication mod.No alchemist is selling heaven-grade pills, so I shall install a pill factory mod.Someone said money doesn't grow on a tree, but my 4th-dimension farms grow spirit stones.Game protagonists are ruining countries and sects, so I shall install a protagonist-hunting mod.What game mods or systems should I install next? Oh, right, I forgot. I need to rescue poor villainesses and heroines from those vile protagonists. Please excuse this villain.

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.”