Antihero In the Hero Academy: I Can Connect the Past Heroes - Chapter 13: Even More!

Hi there, I’m Chen Mo, as you’ve already noticed from my name, I’m a main character profile, or at least that’s how it was supposed to be. For legal reasons, I won’t be disclosing my real name, I’m a typical corporate slave working 996 at a game development company.Although I hate it, its not all that bad, I hop on with my non-existent friends every now and then doing the usual stuff, yk, cranking 90s, getting the Ws(never) and reading some dogshit wuxia novels with negative translations but I still make it work.That was my life until I was transmigrated into the world of cultivation and took over my boy Chen Mo’s profile RIP lol. Chen Mo’s your typical MC profile, yk, has talent, then gets spiritual roots removed or whatever, engagement annulled, just the usual stuff.Anyway, enough about that, during my transmigration, I somehow got to keep my programmer job, don’t ask how idk either. To pay tribute to my boy Chen Mo for taking his account before he had his heaven defying opportunity to take revenge, I’ll build a sect for all MC profiles in the world. Your engagement got annulled? here’s a cultivation system, your sect got destroyed? here’s a god-level cultivation technique, your spiritual roots are broken? here’s some more.

[Ding! You get 1 Stone Block!][Ding! You get 1 Dirt Block!]Bob the builder! Oop sorry cannot anger the copyright God on summary alone.Ben is a great uncle…. Yes he was living a poor photographer for daily news paper named…. Okay this gonna make the God angry, let’s try again.Ben is your average construction worker, one day he suddenly find himself surrounded by darkness. He was confused how he found himself in here, but a system screen appear in his eyes.

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.”

Seven years ago, she freely and easily abandoned ￥100 and ran away, carrying her unborn son with her. Seven years later, she returned with the lady killer’s genius son, never expecting that her darling son would sell her out to MBS International. Unexpectedly, her immediate superior was the Mr. ￥100 from seven years ago!