Weird Live Broadcast: I Can Deduce Endlessly - Chapter 151: Your Own Freedom (4)

In the year Stardate 1, mankind entered the interstellar age, with interstellar migration, spaceships, alien races, and outer gods...arriving one after another.By the year Stardate 717, Fang Xing looked out upon the cosmic backdrop teeming with dense armies of foreign races and declared that all aliens, cultivators, tentacles, esoteric teachings, and evil gods would be intimidated by his supreme talent and smashed to pieces with his iron fist...Well, this is actually the story of a transmigrator, who whimsically dominates many different worlds with the help of his professional panel...

The Nine Tribulations Immortal Venerable is reborn in the city, sweeping away contemporary enemies.In front of me, brothers stand. Enemies kneel. Foes lie down.Women, any pose is OK.

Yan Xi was the eldest young lady of Beiqiao City’s top four families, the Yan family. Despite her talents, she was sickly and destined to die young. She was an unattainable dream girl for many.

One day, she had a dream, and the setting was in a novel. In the novel, for the sake of alleviating his pain of losing his wife, and soon his daughter as well, her father adopted a girl named Chen Xiangxiang who looked just like her. The girl was docile as a deer and very therapeutic, which made her all the more lovable. This girl became her substitute, and after a series of heart-wrenching incidents, everyone, from her father, brother, fiance, to her friends, they all doted on this girl. Meanwhile, she, the real rich daughter, was schemed against. After being disfigured, she jumped from a building and fell to her death.

Now, she returned to the moment when she was just discharged and before the tragedies happened. She lowered her head and looked at the person before her. She smirked. This time, she would control every development, and those who intended to harm her could forget about escaping.

“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.