MTL - My Dear, She is Always Unmotivated - Chapter 173 dirty language

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

Suzuki, an adult programmer, suddenly notices that he’s been thrown into a different world while wearing a casual clothes at level 1. He gained high levels and treasures after using the 3 times use-disposable-magic, Meteor Shower, at once. After that he intends to do different world “sightseeing tours”?

He meets 3 beast girls, beautiful purple and black haired sisters, and an eccentric blonde haired elf girl along with various people during his trip. Although there are occasional fighting with demons and demon lords, this is a heartwarming fantasy story at heart.

If someone told Shen Jin before that zombies can wipe out human beings,

Shen Jin would definitely scoff: “Give me an artillery company and I can clean up a city!”

However, when the zombie virus came without warning, the hot weapon most relied on by human beings could not be fired for some reason.

The real horror comes…  

It’s getting dark, the internet is going to be cut off

Shen Jin hid in the basement, shivering, and the fingers on the keyboard were no longer fast.

Sudden! A light flashed!

“Huh? My World Support System… System!?”

“Ah this!”

So Shen Jin believed that as long as I didn’t go out, I was the perfect undefeated God of War.

Start your own doomsday fat house life

“The first step… just smash it a hundred trees!”

[Serious non-driving group: 869543467, welcome sand sculpture (crossed out) cute book friends to add group chat to urge more]

- 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.”