Touchline Rebirth: From Game To Glory - Chapter 143: After the Final Whistle

Jian Ci is the light. An S-class Esper, his powers ripple with the warmth of a thousand suns, his smile a blinding beacon that draws humanity, and hope, to him like moths to a flame. He is the Sun, a magnetic force of nature, utterly unaware of the abyss that gazes back.Yu Xi is the dark. A shadow with skin, a man who walks through life with a silent, consuming emptiness, broken only by a singular, scorching singularity... Jian Ci.He is the Abyss, a dark constellation orbiting a single star, and his existence is now defined by the answer to one terrifying question.How far are you willing to go for him?Yu Xi’s response, spoken as clearly as a death sentence.“To hell and back.”This is the story of an impossible equation: Light + Darkness = ?It is a love that warps physics and morality, a descent into an obsession so profound it threatens to rip the very fabric of their world.Yu Xi knows their combination is impossible, a contradiction that should result in utter annihilation. Yet, with a quiet, terrifying devotion, he is prepared to burn the world, his own soul included, if it means securing his star.

While enjoying the favor of a handsome man, she learned that her country was ruined and her family was destroyed. What should a fallen princess do?Xiang Ying says, of course, she should use space to her advantage, empty the palace, and leave nothing for the enemy army!As the captain of a post-apocalyptic infrastructure team, she was thrown into a book by an explosion.The enemy army entered the palace, famine was impending, and she was encircled as a prisoner of war, taking care of three children.Such a catastrophic beginning made Xiang Ying exclaim, the good days are coming!Compared to the post-apocalypse, what is this?On the road to exile, while others suffered, she enjoyed melons. When everyone else was munching on dry bread, Xiang Ying and her children were savoring sumptuous meals.Everyone grew thinner, except for the three children who remained plump and cheerful, patting their bellies and saying wildly: Mother, we can’t eat any more, really!Xiang Ying, holding hot pot, milk tea, and roast chicken, enjoyed the scenery along the road, hoarding supplies as they fled, making life more flavorful.The villainess mocked her: What use is only having food? You're still a conquered slave!Xiang Ying pulled out the Imperial Jade Seal: Right, from today onwards, I will be the Empress.The enemy army was dumbfounded; she never said the thirty thousand wanderers she brought were elite troops!On the day Xiang Ying restored her country, the man who accompanied her through hardships held her hand.Jie Chen: For the sake of our three children, can we finally become official?Xiang Ying: Men should keep to their places, not seek a title.Jie Chen: ...With the country as my betrothal, my Jade Seal and my nation are all yours.Xiang Ying: Deal! Tonight's our wedding night!

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.”