Minute Mage: A Time-Traveling LitRPG - Chapter 164.2: Town

Feng slowly backed up to the door, “W—what’s up with you both?” Two tall blond men stalked closer and caged her in the corner, “Aiden, Ethan, you both are too—too close,”

Lu Qingze, a people’s teacher, once transmigrated into a book and became an unfortunate imperial teacher.

Surrounded by wolves, either defect to the prime minister who has power over the government, or cultivate the young emperor into a generation of emperors through the ages.

Out of professional habit, Lu Qingze chose the latter.

No one is in awe of Lu Qingze, the emperor’s teacher who raised the young emperor with one hand. He has countless supporters of the imperial teacher. It is rumored that Lu Qingze has an ugly face, so he always wears a silver mask, lives in a secluded place, and rarely shows himself in front of others.

Only the young emperor knew what kind of pure and beautiful face lay beneath that mask.

After solving the trouble, Lu Qingze realized with hindsight that he raised the little cub to be a large wolf , and now the common enemy is gone, the little emperor started to move the people around him, and the next person who wants to fall to the ground is He; and now that the rabbits are dead, the dogs must be cooked!

- Description from Novelupdates

They say the greatest blessing is marrying the idol you always dreamed of.

But Qiao Lian knows that reality is different…

The Internet claims that Best Actor Shen Liangchuan is a male god who is unaffected by any sexual drive, but Qiao Lian vehemently disagrees. It’s a lie!

After finally carrying out the contract, Qiao Lian burst out, “I want a divorce! I don’t want such a life!”

- 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.