Villainess Is Changing Her Role To A BroCon - Chapter 212

Xiang Ye (Ah Ye) and Charles have the fated arrangement of master and servant. In the depths of darkness, Ah Ye scooped up Charles – a vampire butler. Possessing a fervid passion for service, Charles single-mindedly attends to the secretive young master Ah Ye – regardless of his ferocious appetite, abhorrent taste in clothing, and relationship failings – for the master is always right.

On the other hand, in the chaotic era of scientifically enhanced humans, powerful heroes become the protectors of normal citizens, going where evil needs subduing. This young master may be secretive, but he is our hero.

Noel likes his world quiet, clean, and perfectly organized. He’s the kind of guy who alphabetizes his books, avoids eye contact, and considers a wild night one where he reads past midnight. Drama? Not his thing. Parties? Pass. Sharing a dorm with a chaotic stranger? Just another obstacle to endure—hopefully, temporarily.Enter Luca: flirtatious, chaotic, and chronically shirtless. A walking disaster with too many admirers and not enough awareness, he leaves messes—and broken hearts—wherever he goes. Loud, reckless, and charming, he’s everything Noel can’t stand… and somehow, everything he can’t stop noticing.What starts as a clash of lifestyles soon turns into late-night conversations, innocent pranks, and lingering stares. Somewhere between eye rolls and shared ramen, their rivalry begins to blur—until even Noel can’t deny his quiet little world feels empty without Luca.Noel wonders why his heart skips a beat whenever Luca’s near. And Luca? He’s realizing the one person who doesn’t fall for his charm might be the only one who truly sees him.Falling in love was never part of the roommate agreement—but hearts don’t follow house rules.---Vibes & Tropes:Grumpy x SunshineForced ProximityMutual Pining & Slow BurnSass, Snark, and Secret SoftnessMovie nights, pranks, cuddles, and the accidental love story

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.