Hide And Cultivate In The East Palace, Only To Find The Prince Is A Girl - Chapter 182 - : The Crown Prince ‘s Response

“Hero, where are you going?”“To eat.”“Hero, where are you going?”“To the bathroom.”“Hero…!”“…”The woman who followed me everywhere… Ended up following me all the way to Earth.———A former hero who returned to Earth, now unemployed and just lazing around at home.Then, the saintess who came with him made a suggestion—“How about streaming?”“Hmm… This might actually be a good idea.”And so, the Hero & Saintess Healing Stream begins!

Nikola Tesla, the genius, a man who lost everything to balant capitalism and betrayal, awakens to find himself reborn as an orphan. What is this world? Why is he here? And will he once again fall for the capitalistic betrayal or pave his own way? What would happen if his genius adapts to cunningness of the society?

A young love leads to a lifetime of entanglements. Zhao Mo Sheng is a university student with a sunny disposition. The bright and cheerful Mo Sheng fell in love at first sight with He Yi Chen, one of the top students from the Law Faculty. However, his poor communication skill, makes her depart sadly for overseas. Seven years later, Zhao Mo Sheng returned home and spotted him immediately in a crowded supermarket, …….

This is a very short and sweet story about two college sweethearts, who separated on a bitter note but fate tosses them together again seven years later.

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.”