MTL - The First “Soft Chinese Paper” In the Interstellar! - Chapter 13 mock battle

For the wine to be drunk on her wedding night to actually have been a cup of poison and for the one to poison her to be her husband, who would believe it?

Ou Renjin likes keeping beautiful young men because he likes watching the drama.

Watching them be arrogant and conceited; watching them be obsequious and sycophantic; watching them have ulterior motives and fight with each other, seeing all the evil side of human nature.

Until, he picks up a poor little guy.

The poor little guy is ignorant and helpless, treating Ou Renjin as his whole world, spending all his salary to buy him gifts, standing in front of him in times of danger without hesitation, even…

…saying to him in the calmest and lightest of tones after knowing that their heart matching is successful, “I am very grateful that you have been hiding it from me, but I have long been ready to give my heart to you.”

* * *

036 was born as a test subject, without parents or friends.

As the only successful “petri dish of renewable organs”, he had every organ in his body cut out and transplanted to the rich and powerful countless times.

After getting used to the pain, he met the most special person in the world.

This person was so good that he wanted to cut out his own heart immediately.

- Description from Novelupdates

“9th Class Low Grade Familiar.”He was shocked to find that he had summoned the weakest familiar that could be.Only when he saw the status, he couldn't help being more shocked.“Hypnosis? Why can no one else see this? What even is this skill?”

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.”