She Made a Comeback as a Renowned Doctor - Chapter 952: Malicious Framing, Poor Acting

This is my first original novel, it may be bad, but this is all in my mind and imagination. (Warning!! There will be an Incest genre) Thank you o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o(oh yeah I forgot, this cover is not mine, I just edited it, if you feel you own it and don't like me using it, please tell me)

Caelith doesn't want too much in life, a clean home, a happy mother, and maybe a girlfriend. Raised in the Stormont manner, one of the highest ranking noble household in the kingdom, he grew up a bastard, mistreated and abused by the main lineage.At the tender age of sixteen nobles undergo a divine ceremony, receiving the opportunity to be blessed by the gods however he receives Nothing.Caelith struggles in this world but at the end of the day, He is Nobody, and he has Nothing.

Usami is a beautiful classmate with good morals and top grades. At school, she views Sakuto as her rival. But when he bumps into her after school, he sees a different side of her. She was playing at an arcade after classes, and she had this innocent smile that one couldn’t imagine on her at school.For the sake of getting along with her, he gets close to her at school and then plays together with her after school. They each have their places where they can deepen their bonds, and at last…This is the start of a heart-warming love triangle romcom!

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.”