MTL - After Being Forced To Become a Boss, I Just Want To Be a Salted Fish - Chapter 1138 Opening presents

Theatrical regression life of an old-fashioned villain (kkondae) who recalled his past life.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for a better life.”

——

Survival in the ‘Otherworld’; a place where only the insane can set foot in.

“Old Tang, you activated speed-related Genetic Base Points. What’s the direction of those Base Points?”

This question caused Tang Ting to have a melancholic expression.

“It’s… Hand speed…” “And the right hand at that!”

Xu Tui slipped onto a daze.

Hand speed and the right hand. This image…

Didn’t the teacher say that it was easier to activate the Base Points of the areas you use the most?

“Old Tang, just what do you use your hands for?”

What the hell? That menace who bullied me since I was six years old, actually became a pretty girl after three years of living apart? And she even ran to our agreed duel location to confess to me, hoping that I can become her boyfriend?!

This is a plot against me! There’s definitely an enormous conspiracy behind this! I won’t be fooled by you! Even if you tear up and act all pitiful, I will still disregard you and humiliate you, until you’ve have completely paid back all my childhood grievances!

What’cha lookin’at? There are very reasonable grounds for bullying a girl!

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”