The Dragon Lord's Aide Wants to Quit [BL] - Chapter 133: The Value of an Hour

Tao Xiaodong had a blind brother. Tang Suoyan, gentle and calm, was his brother’s favourite doctor. As such, Tao Xiaodong loved Tang Suoyan as well.

Oftentimes, people lose sight of that which was easily gained.

Over the years, Tong Ning was so coddled by Tang Suoyan that he failed to appreciate how fetching this rare specimen was—dumping him without pause, and picking him up again when he had a change of heart.

Except, this time, he was a step too late. Tao Xiaodong had long made his move.

Tao Xiaodong looked at Tong Ning, telling him with a smile, “It doesn’t matter who Tang Suoyan used to be with. He’s mine now. As long as I don’t let go, you’ll never be able to take away what I hold onto.”

- Description from Novelupdates

Yun is a novice MMO player who equipped only unpopular skills labelled as garbage. However, soon after the official launch of the game, the NPC stopped to sell Recovery Potion. Everyone finally started to notice the importance of Support Magic and Items. And that spells trouble for Yun as well as all the support-based players. They received orders for recovery potion from endless flood of players en masse, some more aggressive players even go as far as forcing the support players to be their personal craftsman. In order to prevent this from going out of hands, all the support players grouped together to form a community to keep things in order.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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So here's the pitch: I got reincarnated with Mangekyo Sharingan.Sounds overpowered, right? Instant win button?Except I can barely keep it active for thirty seconds without feeling like my brain's being microwaved. My chakra reserves are pathetic. My combat experience is zero. And the system that gave me these powers took one look at my situation and said “good luck” before fucking off into hibernation.Oh, and the Hero Killer—the guy who murders heroes for not being “worthy”—just decided my mom wasn't good enough. She'll never walk again.I know when he'll strike next. I know where. I've got exactly four weeks to train.Four weeks to go from “can't throw a punch without tripping” to “can survive a fight with a serial killer.”The smart move? Stay out of it. Let the pro heroes handle it.But I'm fifteen, angry, and apparently making life decisions with the wisdom of a shounen protagonist.At least I'm in General Studies. Low expectations.What does being a hero have to do with revenge anyway?