The Big Boss & His Dainty Wife - Chapter 78 - : The Hypocritical Gentlemanl i

A hero must be compassionate, selfless and courageous.But that isn't all. Because a hero must also be powerful.In this world, power is everything. Strength decides who gets to save lives and who's left with community service. That’s why I was nothing — a rank 50 E-Class reject, skating through the streets, saving what little I could while the real heroes battled gods and monsters.Then one day, I died. Almost.Dragged into the abyss, I was given a second chance: the Forever Core. An armor that evolves. A system that never stops adapting. Every battle, every hit, every mistake, I come back stronger.Now, the monsters that once crushed me can’t kill me the same way twice.I must adapt. Evolve. I must grow stronger and fight harder. Because humanity is worth fighting for.Even if I have to burn every villain alive to prove it.

When a national athlete of China laughs at being able to win a gold medal in video gaming, what a pro-gamer like yourself ought to do is take your size-42 shoe and measure it against his pretty face!

30 year old Lu Ziwen was born in poverty and after struggling for a lifetime, he is finally able to perform in the Golden Hall symbolizing the highest honor. However, an hour before taking the stage, he was killed by his lover.

With eyes opened once more, he was unexpectedly born again in the body of the fallen star Qi Mu!

Who controls the world with notes?

Who is the king of the classics?

Qi Mu: I’ve conquered you; I am the king of classical music!

Min Chen: … As long as you are happy.

This is a story of a reborn violinist, vengeance, struggling for the top, and dominating the world of classical music!

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”