VRMMO: Am I The Strongest Yet? - Chapter 237: The core of the paradise

When his family company went bankrupt, Qi Lin sought help from relatives and friends he had helped before.Qi Lin: “Brother Wang, I treated you to breakfast for three years in high school~”Wang Cheng: “I, Wang Cheng, am not an ungrateful person. Bring me 1000 bowls of hot dry noodles for my old classmate.”Qi Lin: “Xueyao, do you remember when you were looking for a job, you stayed at my villa for three years?”Qi Xueyao: “I paid you three years’ rent for a 10-square-meter room. Why don’t you move your whole family in?”Qi Lin helped these people back then, but now they’re indifferent to him.Disheartened, Qi Lin jumped from a high-rise building in despair.He thought he would die like that, but when Qi Lin opened his eyes again, he found himself back in his third year of high school.The family company hadn’t gone bankrupt, and he was still a rich second-generation playboy.Recalling the scenes after his family went bankrupt, Qi Lin sneered coldly.Since I was all about fooling around and waiting for death, why not become a rich second-generation with no morals?

“My only regret was.. living like a puppet for my sister!”Olivia Witherland had no one but her sister in this world. So when her sister Oriana married the duke of Aykroyd and became the duchess, she had no choice but to follow her there. Despite knowing that her sister had killed the previous duchess and going to harm the child left behind, she kept her eyes closed. But when the child grew up as Demon,he killed everyone including her and the innocent kids, Oriana gave birth to.Olivia regretted that her silence had harmed not only Damon but her innocent nephew and niece. Everyone was killed, but the killer lived a hollow life too.But fate gave her a second chance. Would she be able to save everyone or would destiny play a cruel game again?

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.