Madam Li's Identity Is Exposed Again! - Chapter 685 - : Chi Enen Takes the Initiative

Ren Takahashi, a shy, hoodie-wearing tech genius, hides behind the online alias GhostHood — a quiet legend in underground hackathons. Despite appearing average in school, he dreams of becoming a real-life Iron Man — not the hero, but the builder of world-changing tech.Enter Aoi Hoshizaki, a bold, gal-style girl with a love for code, a messy room, and a mysterious spark. When she moves in next door and discovers Ren's secret, their world begins to change — from quiet club meetings to national hackathons, late-night debugging sessions to secret rooftop conversations.What starts as teamwork grows into something deeper, more complicated, and far more electric than either expected. Together, they aim for Japan’s most elite tech university — and face rivalries, rumors, and the whisper of love in every line of code.

[Will you accept the special quest “Idol – Cheon Ise”?] Lim Hyunsung, “Master of Taste”, who pioneered the myth of the restaurant industry. After being killed in some kind of incident, he possesses an idol according to the guidance of an unidentified system.

“This guy… he’s been a failed idol for 5 years?”

Will he be able to save this failed idol with his own hands?

After being reborn in a sci-fi ABO world, Xi Wei became the newly born son of the Imperial King. He thought, as the emperor’s son he could live a carefree and imposing life, but unexpectedly the First Prince is actually an omega? What the hell is an Omega?

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.”