I Got Rich in Period Fiction - Chapter 620 - 596: She Wouldn’t Mind Ten More of Her_3

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.

Why build a harem……when you can steal everyone else’s?Rejected without confessing. Friendzoned before even speaking.Too bad for them—he’s done being average.Armed with a system that thrives on charisma (even if his starts at rock bottom), sharp tongue, and unmatched game sense, Eiden isn’t here to play nice. He’s not the hero, not the villain—he’s the damn glitch in the story.The protagonist ?? He’ll outwit them.The arrogant beauties? He’ll make them kneel.The childhood sweethearts, the princesses, the cold beauties?They’ll come to him. Willingly.This isn’t your story. It’s his conquest.And no harem is safe.

In her third year living in this steampunk world, Ciel gained the ability to simulate both the past and the future.These simulations turned into a game where she could act without restraint, and after countless trials, real life became a replica she could navigate as though speedrunning it.Churches, potions, mutations, the Old Gods, witches, sealed artifacts… none of these have anything to do with Ciel. She’s just an ordinary girl who wishes for a peaceful life.She just happens to be particularly skilled at snuffing out danger before it even begins.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”