Second World Novel - Chapter 208 - 208. The Moving Hill

When a young woman is killed in a traffic accident on her way home from work at a tax bureau, she suddenly finds herself transported to the world of the otome game she was playing the night before – but instead of the heroine, she’s been reincarnated as the bad guy! Using her knowledge of the game, “Iris” manages to avert personal disaster and decides to rebuild her life with her modern-day economic know-how. This is one mean girl who isn’t going to let her perceived reputation stop her from being a heroine!

Lu Junxi reborn in a small fishing village in Japan in 1950 and obtained the “Fishery King” system, which can help him detect the location of fish, and every time he fishes, he returns with a full reward. Can help him build the most cattle fishery, aquaculture I am the most hanging!

At this time, the Japanese fishery and ocean fishing have not yet started, and the offshore aquaculture industry has not yet developed. Lu Junxi felt that he wanted to be the owner of the Hokkaido fishery!

“No, wait, there are only five men left in the whole fishing village, who will go fishing with me?” Lu Junxi was dumbfounded.

- Description from novelbuddy

Karl transmigrated into a new world, and once he reached the age of 18, the day of the profession awakening ceremony came.In this world, your strength and profession determined everything about your life, with no second chances.And with nobody to support him, it was make or break for Karl.Yet, once his turn arrived, and he closed his eyes...He woke up in a strange and unfamiliar place.[Welcome to the Spirit Cemetery]A skeletal figure appeared before his eyes: it was death, revealing itself to him.“What the...”But before he could even understand the situation he was in, he heard a notification.Ding![You have awakened the EX-Rank profession “Spirit Summoner”][This is your Spirit Cemetery, find a way to fill it.]

“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.