Zhang Fei - The Abandoned Son - Chapter 566: A Mysterious Figure

Drowned, betrayed, and humiliated—Brandon’s life ended in the most pathetic way possible. But when he opened his eyes again, he was no longer Brandon.Reborn as Noah Weaverheart—in a novel he had read—the spoiled yet talentless son of a duchess, he quickly realizes a cruel truth: he’s nothing more than a stepping stone, fated to die in the first 30 chapters of this world’s story.But fate isn’t set in stone.Because he now has the Sovereign Bond System, a power that allows him to share everything from the women he bonds with—but at 10,000 times the quality.—[Ding! You have bonded with Neko Neko.][Ding! You have shared the affinity and talent of Neko Neko.][Ding! You have obtained the affinity: Ice (SSS rank) and the talent: Sovereign of Ice (SSS rank).]Noah’s lips curled into a knowing smirk.If this world wanted him to be a stepping stone, then he’d crush the so-called protagonist, steal his harem, and rewrite destiny itself.

A once-opportunistic boy is reborn into a world of his dreams, equipped with a strong system. And he can do anything he ever dreams of.Beautiful woman? YesS*x? YesYuri? NONTR? NOSo come and enjoy the novel I write for fun.PS: This novel is fantasy and has nothing to do with the real world.

Broken-hearted and drunk, Yoshida, a 26-years old salaryman, stumbled upon a runaway-from-home high-schooler on his way back from the bar.

“Hey, you. JK.”*

“What the heck are you doing out here. Go home already.”

“Uncle, let me stay at your place for the night.”

“You can do ‘that’ to me if you let me stay.”

“If you meant that as a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. It’s fine by me.”

“Then allow me to tell you that I have no interest in brats.”

“Hmm?”

“Then, just let me stay.”

Notes:

[*] JK is slang for Joushikousei (high school girl)

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”