Rabbit Must Die - Chapter 628 - 227 Tai Mountain Collapse_1

By the time I reached thirty, I hadn't managed to provide any of the happiness I wanted for my wife.I also still couldn't become the support my parents relied on.At this turning point in my fate, my income suddenly began to increase randomly.(A daily life tale in a wealthy family setting, featuring a single female lead and no harem.)

Konoha’s blue beast: “I want to prove that even if you don’t know ninjutsu or illusion, you can become an excellent ninja. This is the whole of my life. This is my way of ninja!”

The Roaring Emperor of Clover*: “I want to prove to everyone that no matter whether you are a poor ghost or an outcast, you can achieve great things!”

Hao Fan: “If there is any relationship between these two other than being equally inspirational, it is that my buddies were unlucky enough to transmigrate and become Rock Lee first. Because of physical defects, they couldn’t control Zach to perform ninjutsu, and then protested to the system. Afterwards, he transmigrated into Asta who couldn’t use magic…”

- Description from novelbuddy

Ling Jing Shu lived with humiliation and heavy burdens all her life, and only at the moment before death, she suddenly woke up and repented. If god gives her a chance to live for a second time, she will say three words to the man who let her down: You Get Lost!!

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”