Nurturing the Hero to Avoid Death - Chapter 17.2

Lin ShuYi was sentenced to death by the traitorous Emperor for a treasonous crime he didn’t commit. Before drinking the poisonous wine on the execution ground, he stared up at the snow falling from the sky and said to himself, “This is for the best, I will be a cook in my next life! I miss roast chicken…”

Then he woke up inside a body of a teenager in an era completely different from his past life. After that, he meets a nice old man who owns a small restaurant. Completely lost in this new modern world, he found that the only thing that would never change, no matter where one lived, was cooking.

Thus he picked up the promise he made to himself, to be a chef in this life.

- Description from novelupdates

Rogers Darren is a smoker, drinker, liar, lothario, gold-digger, rule-breaker.At a brutal Marine HQ hearing, Darren faces accusations of scandalous wages, stolen Germa tech, suspicious Celestial Dragon deaths, and a few too many questionable entanglements with nobles-just another day for the greatest disgrace in Marine history.Biting his cigar, Darren simply grins: “I smoke, I drink, I lust for money and women, I crave power, I lie, and I break every rule... but I'm a damn good Marine.”Silence fell like a dropped anchor.(￣□￣；) (ーー゛) (￣o￣)

In a one-sided marriage that lasted several years, Shen Heyu made herself the butt of a joke.On the day of the divorce at the civil affairs bureau, Pei Yansi scorned her coldly: 'Shen Heyu, I'll wait for you to come back and beg me!'But once she disappeared for good, the man regretted it.He pursued her relentlessly, entangled her day and night, even kneeling before her begging to get back together.Shen Heyu was somewhat speechless, 'Pei Yansi, can't you act like a human?'Pei Yansi's lips curved slightly, 'Not acting human is fine too, being a loyal dog isn’t so bad.'

“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.