MTL - 94 Diagon Alley - Chapter 11 Festival

When Ning Xiaoyu, a starlet on the 18th line, participated in a variety show, he happened to meet the popular actor who was taking a nap in the waiting room.
The man leaned against the large floor-to-ceiling windows, his long legs stretched casually. The afternoon sun shines on him unscrupulously through the glass window, and his profile falls in the morning light, so handsome that he doesn’t look like a real person.
When Ning Xiaoyu was about to retreat politely, a line of characters suddenly appeared in front of her.
[Girl, do you want to be popular? Want to enjoy the feeling of being watched? As long as you are favored by the actor, you can have all of these. At this moment, the actor is resting in the room, you can
A: Kissing the actor
B: Candidly take a photo of the actor’s beautiful boy sleeping in spring
C: Accompany the actor with tenderness for ten minutes]
Ning Xiaoyu waited for a while, and after realizing that he had to choose an option, he reluctantly chose c
The dating system was so excited that it rubbed its hands: Come on, girl!
Then it watched Ning Xiaoyu sit down next to the actor, took out the melon seeds that he carried with him, and began to kick Erlang’s legs up.
The love system that is secretly poking and waiting for sweets: Is there something wrong? ? ?
–
The actor Lu Jingdu participated in a live variety show, but due to the mistakes of the program staff, the live broadcast equipment was still on when he was resting during work.
So the audience in the live broadcast room watched helplessly as an 18th-line artist beside their brother, knocking melon seeds leisurely.
Netizen A: Very good, lady, you caught my attention.
Netizen B: You can still be so leisurely around the actor, maybe that’s the only one?
Later, Xianyu found himself on fire.
Ning Xiaoyu looked inexplicable: Why did it become popular?
The love system on the side said quietly: I guess you can eat melon seeds quickly

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- Description from novelbuddy

This is the story of an ignorant scum who pretends to be a scholar and goes to the world of Meiman to slaughter various scholars and bosses.

This is also a story about pretending to be a fool instead of pretending to be an idiot.

When the heaven will entrust a hero with a great responsibility, he must first take his nickname ‘Problem’, let his online name be ‘Jiancao’, and change his character to ‘conscience’.

Except for the protagonist’s surname Mei, everything else is fine.

- Description from novelbuddy

Akira Tsukihara was a romance author who despised love. Though she wrote best-selling novels filled with idealistic romance, she harbored nothing but contempt for the genre and the readers who adored it. Love, in her eyes, was a lie—an illusion that blinded people from the true forces of the world: power, betrayal, and ambition. One night, in a fit of frustration, she cursed love itself... and woke up trapped inside one of her own stories.Reborn as Aira, a nameless peasant girl in the Kingdom of Seraphis—a world she had meticulously crafted—Akira quickly realizes that reincarnation isn’t the fantasy dream she had written about. She isn’t a noble, a princess, or a heroine blessed with beauty and power. She is a nobody. A commoner, struggling to survive in the harsh realities of the medieval world she had once designed as a mere backdrop for her grand romances.As Aira, she faces starvation, endless labor, and the crushing weight of insignificance. But Akira was never one to accept fate. If she couldn’t escape this world, she would rewrite the story on her own terms. She would carve her name into history—not as the lovestruck heroine of a cliché romance, but as the mastermind who would bend the world to her will.In a land ruled by noble bloodlines and political schemes, where the romance tropes she once loathed play out before her eyes, Aira sets her sights on one goal: destroying the very ideals of love that had imprisoned her in this wretched world.Even if it means becoming the villain of her own story.

“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.