MTL - Seventy Koi: The Unlucky Boss Hugged Me and Cried - Chapter 31

To pick is to choose. This is a story about choices. Three thousand worlds full of gods and demons, with a daoist scroll in your hand, you are able to control the entire universe…

One minute, I was a medical doctor rushing to work. The next, I woke up as a lowly omega inside the pages of my favorite werewolf novel The Psycho Alpha.Alpha Zachary Black. The cruel, ruthless, dangerously sexy Alpha of the Redwood Pack. The same man who kills anyone who breathes wrong around him. Especially women.He hates them. Despises weakness. And he definitely doesn’t believe in love. And he chose me as his personal omega. But there’s something wrong with me. I can hear his thoughts. Not just random thoughts. Dirty thoughts. Dark, possessive, obsessive ones about me. His so-called “personal omega.”He thinks I’m weak, fragile, breakable… but he also wants to ruin me, claim me, devour me. Every time he looks at me, his inner voice screams things his lips would never dare say out loud.I should be afraid of him. I should run far, far away. But how do you escape someone who owns your body and now, wants your soul?Worse, he’s starting to suspect I’m not who I say I am. Because I’m not just Christy, the omega. I’m a stranger in this world, trying to survive a plot I already know ends in blood.

Westheid transmigrates into his favorite game. Just as he's overwhelmed by happiness, he finds that the female protagonist whose families are all killed by Chaos is calling him.“Brother, please eat. Don't just space out. Did you get enough rest last night? There's a social ball at the Holy Tree Palace today.”

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.”