You Are My Starlight - Chapter 40

– The planet [Earth] has entered the abnormal state [Apocalypse].

– You have failed in saving the Earth. The Authority, [Vintage Clock (EX)] rewinds the world’s time.

For Yu Jitae, it was a message he had seen many times.

It was tiresome.

It would have been great had he died with everyone else.

But he couldn’t, for his authorities that made him the strongest existence, brought him back in time whenever he did.

And even with his strength, he couldn’t protect the broad earth against the maddened dragons.

– The world’s time will soon begin.

As the clock resumed ticking in the direction it should, his 7th iteration came to a start.

Fortunately, he finally had a gist.

Haruma Kazuki is a cursed (or maybe just deeply unfortunate) high school student whose lewd, panicked, or absurd thoughts literally manifest in reality — especially when he tries not to think about them. The more he denies or avoids feelings, the more chaotic and trope-heavy the consequences.

Receiving the terrible news of never again wielding the bow has him spiralling down depression lane.However, things took a turn for the better when he opened up to see he had been transmigrated to a world of his favourite novel, as a character bedridden in a coma for five years.Aldrich Aldaman is an extra who met his end after being in a coma for five years.

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.”