Heartwarming Aristocratic Marriage: Influential Master’s Wife-Chasing Strategy - Chapter 1701

I was not a perfect person, not an easy teammate to get along with, and I could not even be considered a good person at all.However, no one in this world could deny that I was the greatest basketball player, not even God!

“Oh Lord Lunareio, you are the only one who can save our world.”...My name is Rikuya Takatsuki, and I didn’t ask to be summoned to some fantasy world with my classmates. But there I was, expected to be a hero and protect the Kingdom from Realm Eaters, dimensional monsters chewing through reality.Apparently, all the races summoned forth heroes of legend, which was sort of a shocker to me since it wasn’t the cliché “slay the demon king” trope.Sounds cool, right? Wrong. While everyone else got flashy powers and legendary classes, I was slapped with the FFF Auto Hero class—no skills, no perks, and no respect.The kingdom handed me some pocket change and politely told me to scram.Fine by me. I was all set on enjoying the easy life in this new world anyways, when out of nowhere a bunch of cultists kidnapped me, claiming I’m their prophesied god or whatever.They gave me a mansion, unlimited snacks, and zero responsibilities, so of course, I played along.But then my so-called useless class kicked in. Turns out Auto Hero means my body hijacks itself whenever there’s danger, turning me into some kind of unstoppable killing machine. Efficient? Sure. Ethical? Not so much. Now everyone thinks I’m this terrifying cult leader who takes down monsters, corrupt kings, and anyone dumb enough to stand in my way.While my classmates enjoy their shiny hero lives, I’m here in the shadows, leading a cult, toppling kingdoms, and pretending I have some grand plan. The truth? I’m just winging it.I mean... what’s the worst that could happen?

In this world, mystery and the supernatural never depart.Those who, with bodies honed through thousands of trials and indomitable wills, break the chains of life and pursue human limits in modern cities, are known as martial artists.Under neon lights, swords clash. At the tops of towering buildings, friendships are made through fists.Among mountains and peaks, heroes discuss their ways.Here, martial artists who have broken the “seven physical limits” carve their godlike names under the heavens, stunning both the ancient and modern worlds and making the stars shine brighter!Here, the once-in-a-decade “World Martial Arts Tournament” broadcast is the highest rated program globally, where martial artists fight for their nation and themselves!Here, martial artists, with their mortal flesh, combat dark spirits and mythical beasts in life and death battles to protect their homeland's civilization.Here, every true martial artist unswervingly believes:“The martial way is boundless; my body is unfettered!”

“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.