The Mechanical Era - Chapter 135 The Internal Revenue Service Department

Why build a harem……when you can steal everyone else’s?Rejected without confessing. Friendzoned before even speaking.Too bad for them—he’s done being average.Armed with a system that thrives on charisma (even if his starts at rock bottom), sharp tongue, and unmatched game sense, Eiden isn’t here to play nice. He’s not the hero, not the villain—he’s the damn glitch in the story.The protagonist ?? He’ll outwit them.The arrogant beauties? He’ll make them kneel.The childhood sweethearts, the princesses, the cold beauties?They’ll come to him. Willingly.This isn’t your story. It’s his conquest.And no harem is safe.

Jyera, a parallel Earth ruled by humans, was about to enter the interstellar era when the apocalypse arrived. Animals turned into monsters, humans became zombies, the weather went crazy, and all technology stopped working.Rick was a rookie firefighter on his first day of work when the apocalypse began. With the help of other survivors, they trusted each other and managed to survive the initial chaos.But due to the greed of his companions, Rick was betrayed by them and ended up dead. After regretting his choices and accepting his fate, Rick finds himself alive again 7 days before the apocalypse begins. Now armed with a powerful system and knowledge of the future, Rick plans to not only survive, but thrive in the harsh apocalypse…

Possessing immortal arts, he can give life and he can bring death. Treading upon thousands of heroes, every corner of the city has his legend…

“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.