MTL - Virtual World: Close Combat Mage - v3 Chapter 953 No wind, no waves

Beneath the peaceful façade of the modern world, an undercurrent of shocking crimes roils in the underbelly of society.

Du Jiuyuan lay in a grave of love for three years. Finally, her heart was as dead as ashes, she gave up on finding love and decided to go down a career path of a strong woman. But what was going on with her ex-husband? He used to be someone whom she would only see once every four to five months. Why was he appearing in front of her now and then? When she talked to others about collaboration, he would coax her from behind. “Yuan Yuan, this person is unreliable. Let me invest in her for you, okay?”

When she got into conflict with others, he would support her from behind. “Yuan Yuan, don’t be afraid. Your husband is Ji Jinchen. Don’t worry about her.” Du Jiuyuan was speechless. “…” Please take note that it was her ex-husband who divorced her. One day, when a male colleague sent her home after a meal, she was seen by Ji Jinchen. The man blocked her at the foot of the wall and questioned her in a low voice. “Don’t be with others, otherwise… I will lose my mind.

Later, Du Jiuyuan rose to the top of her career and attracted countless suitors. One such suitor gave her a bouquet of roses and the next day, her office became a sea of flowers. Some suitors gave her desserts that could only be bought after queuing up. The day after that, her office would be flooded with desserts. Some suitors gave her a pet… Du Jiuyuan went crazy. “Ji Jinchen, if you dare to give me a house full of pets, I will fight it out with you!”

Ji Jinchen said, “Jiuyuan, forgive me for being stupid and not seeing your grievances, but you have to believe that from the moment I married you, I never thought of getting a divorce. Du Jiuyuan: I thought that the man I loved for seven years was a stone that couldn’t be covered up, but then I realized what kind of fiery heart was hidden in this stone.”

“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.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.