Welcome to the Innocent World - Chapter 209: A Married Woman’s Charm lll (R-18)

In the morgue full of Uchiha corpses, he opened his eyes…

A mysterious voice rang in my ear…

He looked confused: “Saving the ninja world, what’s the matter with me, the remnants of Uchiha?”

- Description from novelbuddy

Travel to the wizarding world.

“But… what about the wizard who promised to pursue the truth?”

“Why are they all greedy people who pursue power!”

With infinite knowledge comes…

It’s endlessly weird!

- Description from novelbuddy

Before Wufu was reborn, she had no idea there was such a thing as rebirth. Only after her rebirth did she realize Heaven must have thought her previous life was too smooth, so it sent her to suffer in this ancient land where morality, decency, and the Female Precepts were held in high esteem, pitiful indeed! From being a master jade carver to having her soul transmigrate into a farm girl with a wretched background, she was bullied and humiliated. Even the bun-selling mother advised her that forbearance is gold? Bullshit! She could endure, but her other identity absolutely could not—robbers, swept away; insults to her mother, you're crippled... Wufu has a saying, for every insult and humiliation, I will repay a hundredfold. But what's with this one? He doesn't bully her; he only wants to sleep with her? And he even dares... to mount her? Well, a lord can endure, but Wufu cannot. Mount him back, life or death, a hundred years, neither owes the other anything!

“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.