MTL - Broken-Winged Angel - Chapter 50 Start reading

All Raven ever wanted was a chance — to go to college, make friends, be loved, and live like any other girl her age. But dreams, it seemed, weren’t meant for people like her.As a scholarship student at an elite university built for the wealthy and privileged, Raven's life quickly spiraled into a nightmare. Surrounded by cruelty and entitlement, she became the perfect target. Their relentless torment stripped her of everything — her dignity, her hope, her will to live. She bore it all in silence, blaming herself even for the tragedy that tore her family apart. Despair led her to the edge of suicide, but fate had other plans.Ten years later, those same bullies, now living lavish lives of success and luxury, had long forgotten the girl they destroyed. But Raven hadn’t forgotten them — not one bit.With scars that ran deep and a heart hardened by pain, she returned — no longer the fragile girl they once broke. One by one, she would visit her tormentors, delivering her own brand of justice and making them learn that every cruel action has a consequence.Because this time, Raven isn’t the victim.She’s the reckoning!

Idol show for dead people?Rayen was suddenly thrown into a supernatural idol show after meeting an untimely death at the peak of his career as a band vocalist.Upon waking up in a strange building, with a creepy stalker fan claiming to have written his entire biography, and a strange jukebox demanding him to perform, he learned of his death and found himself in a bizarre situation.[Please select a song to dance.]“What? Dance? I don't know how to dance!”[Select a song or disappear?]“Ain't no way I'm gonna dance!”[If you want to revive, become an idol.]“Screw revival! I don't want to dance!”

It is eight or nine years for her to meet her first love again. In the gas station of highway, she sees him walking from the grocery store. She looks at him, not believing what she sees and asks, ‘Do you still remember me?’ He looks at her, with a bottle of mineral water in his hand, and says peacefully, ‘Yes, even if you became ashes.

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My name is Yan, and since I was a child, I’ve been able to see some strange things.For example—In elementary school, our new neighbor Aunt Tan had a pair of all-around genius twins, who were like the “precious little geniuses” with halos above their heads. They could recite the English-Chinese dictionary backwards at three, master both Chinese and Western musical instruments by five, and hack into a country’s database by seven…Growing up next to such prodigies, my life was inhumane, tragic, and constantly subjected to comparisons.To escape the comparisons with these “other people’s children,” I specifically applied to a private boarding school for middle school.On my first day, my deskmate was a small, thin girl with bangs, wearing an old uniform, and her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s.Three months later, she woke up from a nap with a “rebirth” halo above her head.She moved effortlessly among the cold academic genius, the wolf-like school bully, the fierce boss, and the gentle childhood friend, leaving me, a lonely onlooker, utterly amazed.By university, I thought I had finally escaped this abnormal world.But as soon as I stepped into my dorm room, my footsteps froze.My roommates each had halos like “ancient times to modern,” “post-apocalyptic superhuman,” “will die if not spending money,” and “ghost king revival.”I clutched my little blanket and applied to the counselor for a room change, but to no avail.Over time, I gradually got used to it. “Handover systems,” “management systems,” “book transmigration,” “infinite worlds,” “three-and-a-half-year-olds,” “interstellar live streams,” “red envelope groups”…The types of halos kept increasing, and I was able to calmly ignore all of it, focusing on my own life.Every morning, I skillfully helped my “ancient to modern” roommate, who was being blacklisted online, dodge campus paparazzi and secure seats for class.At noon, I assisted my tycoon roommate in distributing today’s haul of luxury skincare and designer bags, tasting the city’s top private chef’s custom lunchbox, and exclaiming with emotion, “Darling, can I really accept these?”In the evening, I enjoyed the flowers and plants cultivated by my superhuman roommate on the balcony, tasting a mutated cherry tomato and commenting, “I feel refreshed and purified.”Late at night, when my ghost king roommate quietly climbed back through the window, I peeked out to ask, “You’re back a bit late today, didn’t bring anything back, did you?”My name is Yan, and I am not the protagonist of this world.