Rejected To Be Your Second Chance - Chapter 87. Beautiful Gowns & Terrible Pain

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Quinn Winter is a young man from another world. One day, he is suddenly chosen to become the new Demon King. But the Demon Kingdom is in big trouble – it's losing a terrible war against the human kingdom called Gran'le.To help his people, Quinn comes up with a risky plan. He will sneak into Gran'le and learn their secrets. But things don’t go as planned. A powerful noble sponsors him, and he ends up joining Heavenward Academy, the top school for training future heroes.At the Academy, there's a big challenge called the Selection. The best students become Paladins – magic knights who fight demons. Quinn doesn’t want to become a Paladin. He is a demon king! But now, he’s stuck in the Selection… and if he wins, he’ll become the very thing he’s supposed to destroy.He started the day badly. Now, things are getting even worse.

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.”