My Artist Is Reborn - Chapter 74 – Happy birthday!

Every Thursday at midnight, tune the FM button. Behind a blank hiss, maybe you will hear a broadcast like this: “Welcome to Midnight Radio Station “Thriller Night Talk”. This is the anchor Bei Quan. Please tell us about your story; no matter how bizarre it is.”

The rich second-generation Wei Fuyuan broke up with his family and was cut off from his financial source. He accidentally broke into a broadcasting studio to apply for a part-time job.

Wei Fuyuan: This place is small and shabby. The front desk lady is so fierce and her assistant is a three-year-old child laborer?? Are you really a regular company!

Bei Quan: During the internship period, the monthly salary is 7800 Yuan, including three meals and accommodation. Do you want it or not?

Wei Fuyuan : I’ll do it if I can live next door to you!

On the first night at work, Master Wei found out that this company called Sāntúchuān was more irregular than he thought.

Colleagues felt that there were ghosts in the world, and the audience said that they were dead, and they had to follow the poisonous anchor. The crime scene…

Wei Fuyuan : Wait, isn’t this the job of the police?!

Bei Quan: Look over there, the ghost is here.

Wei Fuyuan: Ah, ah, don’t come near me! The young master doesn’t like women’s ghosts. Don’t get me… Eat my righteous face-breaking fist!

What you see may not be true, and what you hear may not be true.

The truth and falsity interweaved between the story, the stand-in for a crime they didn’t, betrayal after betrayal, money and love…

Pursue the mystery, punish evil and promote good

This is the Thrilling Night talk for you—

Don’t be afraid.

[Wei Fuyuan the rich second generation born with aura to attack x mysterious poisonous tongue Bei Quan]

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This is the story of Kir, who has to thwart the will of Heaven, Hell, and his parents in order to survive, protect the people he loves, and achieve happiness.He just has to make it through life at a magical academy, avoid dying, and survive to find his birth mother, the lost Daughter of Heaven. Or be forced to take his place at the side of his father, a Duke of Hell bent on destroying the way things are.It's a lot to handle for a quiet, brooding angel boy.Fortunately, he has company. A succubus, a foxkin girl, and a half-angel boy to start. And Kir has his own secret: this isn't his first go at life.

– The planet [Earth] has entered the abnormal state [Apocalypse].

– You have failed in saving the Earth. The Authority, [Vintage Clock (EX)] rewinds the world’s time.

For Yu Jitae, it was a message he had seen many times.

It was tiresome.

It would have been great had he died with everyone else.

But he couldn’t, for his authorities that made him the strongest existence, brought him back in time whenever he did.

And even with his strength, he couldn’t protect the broad earth against the maddened dragons.

– The world’s time will soon begin.

As the clock resumed ticking in the direction it should, his 7th iteration came to a start.

Fortunately, he finally had a gist.

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.”