MTL - Everyone Thinks That the Fake Daughter Has Deep Problems - Chapter 117 picking the moon

Yang Yi was orphaned as a child. Foul play was ruled out by the authorities, but Yang Yi always suspected otherwise. Finally, once he was older, he met one of his father’s old friends who revealed the truth about his parents’ deaths. His father was an intelligence broker and had stumbled upon a mysterious, powerful independent spy organization. Both his parents’ were murdered to ensure the organization remained a secret.

Since he was unable to forget why they died, due to his eidetic memory, the only way he could be at ease was to seek revenge. In order to fight against the mysterious organization, he would first have to train in the art of espionage. However, not even one of the national spy agencies was willing to accept Yang Yi into their ranks due to his father’s sensitive identity.

Left to forge his own path into the field, he seeks out his father’s old allies for help. He learns how to be a spy in unexpected places while gathering the resources and allies necessary to form his own private spy organization.

Follow Yang Yi in his quest for vengeance! Follow Yang Yi as he prepares for A War Between Spies!

- Description from Novelupdates

A mental patient, or a born policeman?

A peerless genius, or a master of crime?

There are cops who are least like cops, and there are criminals who are least like criminals.

Neither good nor evil is absolute.

It is a grey world we live in.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.