Let's Train Heroine - Chapter 289: Heroine is Embarassed

Extras die every day in various ways in the game [Yo-Ma Great War 3].

I spent my life playing a game.
I hit the wall, stuck in second place for the rest of my life.

Out of the blue, I received a message and was possessed by the game.
As the worthless son of an Underworld Boss!

“Yes, bloodline is also a power, as long as you can use it. My ability is ‘Famiglia’.”

The game addict never disappears. Overwhelming violence, endless wealth, connections in the other world. I, I’ll use anything to stay alive!

[System is assimilating Earth with the rest of the Vast Universe.]

[A Trial Program is needed for efficient assimilation and for that data needs to be recorded from 1111 individuals with Higher Potential Innate Abilities from the assimilating Planet.]

[This Trial Program was further divided into 3 Sub Programs namely, ALPHA Program, BETA Program and GAMMA Program.]

[Congratulations! You are one of the 11 Chosen individuals among 7.8 billion for the ALPHA Program.]

[As a Chosen member among 11 individuals of Alpha Program you will be one of the first to start the Trial Program.]

[When the Trial Program ends, the assimilation with Earth begins.]

[Survive, overcome danger and grow stronger. All the Best.]

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.”