I Get A Random New Occupation Every Week - Chapter 2295 - 2296: Bernard’s Invitation

「Shimizu-san, you dyed your hair black.」「Ah, yes.」「Why did you dye it all of a sudden?」「Because…yesterday…」Shimizu-san, who sat next to me and had dyed her hair from blonde to black gradually lowered her voice, slightly blushed, and laid her face down on the desk.

I belong to a good sect that has never turned its back on me for my poor potential, has never forced me to study martial arts, and even helped arrange a betrothal for me when I was young.

Juvenile Qin Chen, the star gate was taken, repaired as abolished, but it was awakened to the memory of the nine ninth, and opened the tenth journey of the sky. Wanjie is a book, I write a pen and write a thousand worlds. The hundred fields are mountains, my heart is the sea, and I walk out of the heavens. Hand Optimus, foot on the ground, this world, I am the emperor, who, dare not to accept?

- Description from sobiquge.com

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.”