MTL - I Can’t Play This Game Anymore - Chapter 938 Fist of Separation

The most vulnerable time in a tennis game is when you are leading; even if there is a match point, the game is still possible.

Football is round, tennis is also round.

- Description from novelbuddy

In the age of giant ships and cannons, in the digital interstellar era, there is no martial arts, no mechs, pure interstellar warfare, and giant ships and cannons fighting against each other.

There are digital warships, frigates, destroyers, cruisers, battleships, dreadnought flagships, Titan super flags, and even mobile fortresses and mobile battle stars.

The passionate interstellar battle, the battle of civilizations, and the battle of thousands of titans super flag.

Countless alien civilizations compete for living space, and the result of the failure of the cruel civilization war is the end of civilization, and the survival of hundreds of millions of species is in your mind.

The flesh and blood are weak, and the machinery soars.

Design evolution, gene soaring.

The heart is better than things, and the spirit can soar.

Spiritual disasters, insect disasters, high-dimensional demons, and the agreement to revive.

Key words: leading the mainstream, data flow, interstellar war, farming, the fourth natural disaster, planetary warship, star fortress, four-dimensional fortress, negative star, etc.

Starting point is the only data-based interstellar war novel, there is no similar genre, don’t miss it when you pass by.

The author also has Wanding’s old book [Global Age of Gods] to enter by clicking on the author’s name.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.

I became the childhood friend of the protagonist in a novel. The childhood friend who died from taking drugs.