Reborn to Be A Noble Wife - Chapter 127

The most vulnerable time in a tennis game is when you are leading; even if there is a match point, the game is still possible.

Football is round, tennis is also round.

- Description from novelbuddy

The trembling Hyuga Kuroto finally got the treasure that he dreamed of!

How exactly will the world of Naruto be perceived with his glowing Sky Blue Tenseigan Eyes.

Yin Li was born with a pure Yin body. He possessed the body of a male but the fate of a female, his Yin and Yan energies fully inverted. Because of this, his family’s old ancestors claimed he wouldn’t be able to live past twenty years of age.

To prolong his life, his parents fostered a furnace whose energy he could harvest to nurture his own.

As Yin Li looked at the frail and delicately charming boy in front of him, he felt his heart stir with compassion.

The Heavenly Path is carried through reincarnation, life and death are decided by fate.

He couldn’t simply ruin this pitiful child for the sake of his own selfish interests. Instead, he kept the small boy at his side, spoiling him and raising him as his trusted aide.

He truly believed they shared a master and servant’s pure and honest affection, not at all realizing that that wicked boy had been rotten from the start. The delicately charming small boy who was spoiled day and night only ever thought about two things:

1. Why hasn’t master bestowed his favour on me yet?

2. Just how can I climb into master’s bed?

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.