The Schoolgirl Secret Agent - Chapter 87 - One Thousand Each, No Need To Return It

Waking up in nothing but a cage would make anyone wonder: What the hell is going on?But fortunately, you’ve been reincarnated with a cheat—a system designed to help you escape this dire situation.Now, with the gacha system to guide you, navigating this dangerous world of Marvel becomes a little more manageable. After all, you never know when a certain guy might kick off a population control program, another might decide to play humanoid chess, or yet another starts scheming to rule over everyone.Wait… wasn't that last one kind of the same? Anyway, it's a perilous world, and you were thrown into it without even being asked.So, good luck to me!*******A fanfiction set in the Marvel Universe with gacha elements.It's slow life at first and then it paces.

Leon is an average high school student who likes to watch anime and read novels.
He's about to cross the street, only to be greeted by a truck and died.
But, he got reincarnated as Uchiha yet dead again because Itachi killed him.
Leon got reincarnated again as the grandson of the recovery girl.
He got kidnaped and tortured by All For One.
After his third death, he got reincarnated as a son of Bibi Dong.
In this fourth life, he wants to change his fate to become the strongest.

Note: Please read the tag before reading.
- English is not my first language, so there would be grammatical mistakes in this story.
- Please give my story a proper review.
- I accept a suggestion, but no spam!

The second Ye Lulu transmigrates, she gives birth to three children on the spot.

“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.