Love Affairs in Melbourne - Chapter 241 - 237 Alternative Marketing Strategies_2

Mu Yangling was reborn in the family of Orion. He thought he could live a simple and happy life. Who would have thought that a military disaster had nearly destroyed their family. His father was classified as a military household, and their family accompanied them to farm the fields.

Unfortunately, they could not even tell the seedlings of grains. Qing, looking at his mother and younger brother who were about to cry without tears, Mu Yangling raised his chest and said, “It’s okay, I have the strength” and some agricultural theoretical knowledge from a thousand years later.

- Description from novelbuddy

After a year of relentless effort, Alex becomes the first to conquer a tutorial quest deemed impossible by the entire playerbase of Endless Leveling Online. But instead of loot or leaderboard fame, he earns something far stranger—an invitation from the God of Games.His prize? A one-way trip to Arcana, a living, breathing world where stories shape reality—and a chance to become the Protagonist of his own story.In a land of endless possibilities and ever-shifting destinies, Alex would try to bend the rules, rewrite fates, and forge his own legend. But being the Protagonist means more than glory.It carries a heavy responsibility.As secrets unravel and alliances are tested, Alex must decide whom he must protect, and save before the world collapses under the weight of its own story.

After successfully completing the tasks of the B-Class World, Lu Yue finally succeeded in entering the A-Class world.

What? The blackening value of the males in the A-class world is above 80!!

Lu Yue: What are you afraid of? Calm down!

This is a story of a drama king and a black-bellied male.

First World: Mafia’s Pet Lover
Second World: Revenge of the Reborn Boyfriend
Third World: Emperor is a Ladies’ Man…

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.