MTL - Nine Cents Refining - v3 Chapter 2805 0 king

Manchester United, once a dominant force in world football, finds itself struggling under Erik ten Hag despite having the financial power to rebuild.Big-money transfers fail to restore the club’s glory, forcing Ten Hag to shift his focus to homegrown talent.Among the overlooked prospects in the U18 squad is Leo Calderon, a 17-year-old central midfielder buried deep in the pecking order.Lacking physicality and dismissed by teammates as weak, Leo endures constant ridicule from those who dominate with strength and athleticism.But during one ordinary training session, everything changes—Leo suddenly sees passing lanes no one else can, angles of play invisible to even the most talented prospects.Yet, there’s a problem. His vision surpasses his ability. The passes he attempts don’t connect, his technique unable to match his newfound awareness.Coaches dismiss his efforts as sloppy, and his struggles continue. But one unexpected observer—a visiting League One assistant coach—notices something different.He watches Leo’s movements, seeing potential where others see failure.As Leo fights to prove himself in an unforgiving system, the question lingers—can he refine his raw talent before the club moves on without him?

Nicole d'Armand never expected to walk into her apartment and find her fiancé *bleep*-deep in another woman's lady bits. What's a girl to do?Well, after obliterating an 18th-century Meissen vase, delivering a punch that would make a heavyweight boxer proud, and embarking on a night of raucous drinking, Nicole figures she might as well embrace the chaos.But when alcohol and pheromones collide, her wild night spins into something unexpected... Like a ride on the Logan Everett express.Which, naturally, leads to a whirlwind of its own: She's his fated mate. Because of course she is.And he rejects her. Because of course he does.Now embroiled in a mystery bigger than her post-breakup hangover, Nicole finds herself the prime suspect in a murder she didn't commit—no matter how tempting the thought might have been. And the only person who believes her innocence? The same guy who shot down the idea of being her fated mate.Great. Just what she needed: her love life is a crime scene, and the man stupid enough to let her go is holding her freedom in his hands.

The Interstellar Fleet from the game appeared before the ordinary youth, Bai Zhongqi, and the player became the Chancellor of the Empire, opening a new chapter for his brethren and Earth as they set out for the vast sea of stars. The nations of Earth were engaged in cunning and fierce competition for the future of the Intergalactic Era. Bizarre and varied alien civilizations were waiting for Earth’s explorers to discover them. It was a cruel, dark jungle where only the fittest survived, and a world filled with opportunities and magnificent adventures. But for Bai Zhongqi, this was simply a laid-back story about leading Earth’s friends, furiously climbing the tech tree, beating up aliens, and dominating the Galaxy.

“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.