The Mysterious Art Museum - Chapter 134 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Traveling to Tokyo in the second year of the economic bubble, he was adopted in an orphanage at the age of twelve and became a fifth-grade pupil at Heiwa Elementary School.

There is no One Punch Man, no Conan’s nirvana when he arrives at the scene, no system, no golden finger, the only fun in life is to go fishing with Tian Kongkui, the little albino girl next door, and occasionally deliberately score zero in the test Ben Yukiko’s mother was angry.

Wrote “Walk in the White Night” famous in the world?

Sorry, too much homework, no interest, finish writing and go fishing.

How about singing “lemon” and breaking arms with Kimura Takuya, or taking part in “Love Letter” to take away the male lead role of Takashi Kashiwahara?

Please, don’t you sleep well for a while, and go fishing in the afternoon.

“School will be closed tomorrow, Tian Kongkui, remember to put on the most beautiful little white dress. I will also put on a tie and a white shirt. After meeting at three o’clock in the afternoon, I will leave on time.”

“?G? Are you going to participate in the JunonsuperBoy star draft?”

“Idiot, let’s go fishing together.”

……

“People are in Tokyo, don’t fall in love”, “From the countryside of Tokyo to a national idol”, “I’m a primary school student, that’s all”, “Madam, can you sit far away from me?” “It’s better to buy karaoke money Bait, so I sang a cappella on the side of the road”

- Description from novelbuddy

Let someone else go to war, you, lucky Austria, go get married! What the god of war can give you, the god of love can also give you.

The smoke of the Napoleonic Wars has dissipated, and the Vienna system that once brought peace to Europe is riddled with holes. Beneath the seemingly peaceful appearance, there is a vortex of the times with undercurrents, the tranquility before the storm.

The air is filled with the steaming mist of sweat, and the choking black smoke makes it hard to breathe. On the elegant dining table, a group of soldiers and fat men in suits are pushing each other, feasting on the feast called the world, hanging on the wall Van Gogh’s self-portrait with waltz in his ears.

Suddenly the music turned into a march, and the picture also turned to the battlefield. Soldiers marched in a neat line, walking towards the machine gun barbed wire.

A shell fell on the ground, and after the smoke passed, countless cavalry rushed to the artillery position.

Accompanied by a loud noise, a wooden plane flew close to the ground, then pulled up rapidly, broke through the clouds, and shone brightly.

- Description from novelbuddy

I am reborn as a minor character and the mother of the main character, the deposed ruler Leriana Ashford.My husband's younger brother will stage a rebellion against him, and only my young children will manage to escape. And the unfortunate Queen Leriane faces a bleak end. According to the plot, my heroine will sacrifice her life during the rebellion to save her children.Except she won't! Dying at twenty-seven is too soon for me and I'm going to change the tragic plot of this novella.I was lucky enough to be reborn ten years before the events of the novel began. At a time when the future King Philip and his brother Razor had just fallen in love with me at the Royal Academy, and their fight for me led to a feud. To survive - I decided not to become queen and live a quiet life with my father the Duke. And in order to rid myself of these two, I had to go to extreme measures.I decided to start dating the daughter of the cursed Duke, who is feared and hated by the entire academy.

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.”