MTL - From White Box To Supervision - Chapter 13 things off work

Lucien's last memory was skidding tires, blinding headlights, the sickening crunch of metal.But that wasn't the end.He lived his life and died an overworked and underpaid, but he rose as Lucian D’Aureville. Incumbent heir to House Aureville, one of the most powerful houses in the kingdom.However it wasn't as rosy as it seemed.His predecessor had been murdered by someone, and they wouldn't be happy to see Lucien alive.Follow along as Lucien navigates the complex and treacherous path of nobility and wealth as he rises to the top.

An ordinary student, a wretched peeper, a cowardly teenager with a kind heart. In a terrorist attack, he inherited the knowledge of countless elites, embarked on a path of God Jagged Tu…

He is an artist!

He is a mathematician!

He is a psychology Doctor!

He is a master of fighting!

In fact, he is a man

Taken off raw site:

A wretched, dirty young man is working during the summer when he was caught up in a mysterious explosion. After that explosion, the young man is then left with the memories and knowledge of dozens of the world’s experts.

He has changed, his heart has become cold, iron-blooded. He became a killing machine, his mind turned mechanical, calculative. Everything goes according to his plans and calculations!

In this magical, slaughterous world, a door is opened for him…

- Description from Novelupdates

The previous lords have committed as many atrocities as possible to fill their bellies. I, the only daughter of that house, had discovered that my servant and lover was a spy.

And as the people wanted, my life ended with my execution.

However, with the memory of getting beheaded intact, I began a new life. I was planning to shoulder the sins of my past life and become a nun, but by some trick of fate, I came to work as a maid for the current lord.

Under my former lover, whose name, age and even hair colour were all lies.

“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.