MTL - The Cp with the Female Partner Exploded In the Entertainment Circle - Chapter 151

With an F-rank Trait, deemed the worst of the worst, 5-year old Shin Yu-sung is abandoned by the Shin-oh family, which is famous for raising hunters.The same year, he meets one of the strongest hunters, the Fist King, at the orphanage and is adopted by him.The Fist King became the strongest not through his Trait or special abilities — but by training his body.He takes note of Shin Yu-sung’s physique instead of his Trait—Nine blocked yin pathways.“Your blocked pathways cause your body’s mana to overflow, giving you an exceptional mind and god-like looks! But you also pass away before coming of age…”An abundance of bodily yang.“Your body is overflowing with the energy that can cure your nine blocked yin pathways!”

WARNING: FL is scheming and evil.

Chen Ye transmigrates to the Great Wu Dynasty and binds himself to an orphan cultivation system. As long as he nurtures orphans, he earns points, which can be used to draw skills to bestow upon the orphans.But…Chen Ye always feels that these traits are a bit strange.[Strong Physique: Increases strength growth rate; but can only use heavy weapons] [Dexterous Hands: Enhances talents in cooking, sewing, and other life skills; greatly enhances talent in mechanisms and manual techniques] [Perseverance: As long as there is determination, nothing is impossible; but thoughts must be clear and unobstructed] [Draw Lots: The things drawn will accompany for a lifetime; but…]

“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.