The Byoukidere Is Her Sweetie - Chapter 527: A Ton of Sugar Isn’t Enough for a Kiss (Three Updates, Please Collect)

After being framed by her boyfriend and best friend, Nicole ended up spending the night with a mysterious stranger. She thoroughly enjoyed the unexpected rendezvous, but when she woke up the next morning, she couldn’t help but feel bad about what she did. All of her guilt, however, was washed away when she saw the face of the man lying next to her.

“He’s... beautiful,” she whispered, awed by what she was seeing. Her guilt quickly turned into shame, and it drove her to leave the man a bit of money before she left.

Kerr was astounded. ‘Did that woman try to pay me? Like a prostitute?’ he thought, offended. “Ask the hotel manager for the surveillance video,” he commanded his assistant authoritatively, his eyebrows furrowed. He had a determined expression on his face. “I want to find out who was in my room last night.”

‘And when I find that woman, I’m going to teach her a lesson!’

Where will their story go?

My name is Charlemagne Theron, yes, that’s right, that’s the Theron you think of, and Ajan Lor’themar is my younger brother.

Don’t call me Daqiang, or I guarantee you will be beaten to three quarters to death. As a reliable time traveler, I will tell you responsibly, I…

“Charlemagne, what are you muttering, today is the day when my younger brother will inherit the position of Ranger General, you don’t want to be used by Cirvanas and Vereesa Hurry up when the arrow hits your nostril.”

“…Okay, my dear Alleria, here we go.”

When the two walked away holding hands, an imperceptible figure appeared on the spot.

“Brother, I wish you a happy Shura field.”

I am Charlemagne Theron, I have led the people to participate in the orc war, defeated the ancient gods and the second fool, I also fought against the Burning Legion, and I have made contributions to Azeroth , I bring salt for myself.

(PS: Don’t call me Daqiang, unless you want to grow an arrow from a certain key part behind you.)

Lei Jun transmigrates into a cultivation world and could seek opportunities and avoid risks by drawing lots and acting according to it.[Moderately good lot, don't join the crowd. Focus on your own tasks. After the chaos, head to the elder's cave mansion to help heal the wounded: gain a Fifth Grade Opportunity, move quietly, no worries behind, auspicious.][Perfectly neutral lot, don't join the crowd. Wait for the right moment. After the chaos, go to Ganoderma Terrace, obtain a Sixth-Rank Opportunity, but attracting envy and trouble, hidden dangers, average.][Moderately unlucky lot, join in the selection, maybe get chosen. But before gaining anything, you'll face catastrophe, get stuck in mortal peril, injuries or death likely, ominous.]

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.