MTL - The White Cat’s Divine Scratching Post - Chapter 8 good sleep

Roan crossed over and became an FBI agent.

Several years later, when interviewing the world-renowned detective Roan Greenwood, the reporter asked:

“Excuse me, what made you persevere on the road of solving the case?”

Roan tilted his head and glanced at the sports car beside him, the villa behind him, and the beauties in the villa, and smiled slightly:

“Of course it’s the bonus after solving the case.”

“???”

- Description from novelbuddy

Inside the dining room.

Fangzheng: Hello, I’m on a blind date.

Sister Yu: A blind date?

Fangzheng: To make a long story short, I know you are here to deal with your parents. As long as we make it clear, we can go back to our respective homes.

Sister Yu: Do you know who I am?

Fangzheng: I don’t know much, so what do you say? Continue to photograph or?

At this time, a waiter came in and bowed awkwardly to the two of them: I’m sorry sir, I made a mistake, this is not the room you are looking for! Your blind date is next door!

Fangzheng: ….

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”