MTL - Jun Jiuling - ~ 716. Fourth volume and final volume whisper

[Moody Boy x Martial Arts Girl] [HE] [Male Lead is Crazy,]

Quan Zhisui didn’t understand why Wei Shixu was always getting beaten up by people from other schools, and why she constantly had to rush in to save him from danger. Later she found out that those people were just hired thugs.

They were paid by Wei Shixu.

“We’re through!” She firmly drew the line.

Wei Shixu smiled cheekily, “Fine, then don’t come to me for tutoring anymore. Fail the exam and repeat the grade, then let your scumbag dad and stepmom control you.”

Quan Zhisui had to compromise, “Let’s cooperate until the college entrance exam is over, but don’t go looking for trouble when there’s none.”

Wei Shixu: “I won’t go looking for trouble if you date me.”

Quan Zhisui: “I don’t date in high school.”

…

After the college entrance exam ended, Quan Zhisui went far away to university. She blocked all forms of contact with everyone, thinking that would make him give up his obsession, since it was decisive enough.

But she heard that at the awards ceremony, Wei Shixu tore up his university admission letter.

A year later, a certain repeater pursued her to her university.

No sign in, no punch card.

Do not rely on breathing, do not rely on walking, do not rely on heartbeat.

The system is produced in one step

- Description from novelbuddy

During the Yongle period of the Ming Dynasty.

Zhang Anshi was ignorant, and he committed a heinous crime.

His brother-in-law is the prince? Oh, that’s all right!

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”