From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra - Chapter 18: A Great Plan

Mimizuku, a small girl with chains on her wrists and ankles and the numbers “332” branded onto her forehead, wanders into the Forest of Night seeking to be eaten by a monster. However, when the ruler of the monsters, the mysterious and beautiful “King of Night,” refuses to eat her, she tries to formulate a way to convince him otherwise.

D-list celebrity Zhong Ruanxing had been embroiled in controversies over her sultry figure ever since her debut. Smear campaigns and malicious rumors clung to her like a shadow. Years of oppression from higher-ups and sabotage by rivals made it difficult for her to shake off her reputation as a femme fatale, severely hindering her career.

Song Jingxing, CEO of the prestigious Song Group, graduated top of his class and stirred up storms in the business world with his capabilities. An aloof presence at the pinnacle of power, his interpersonal relationships were a mess, with even family keeping their distance. People loathed his attitude.

A freak accident caused these two very different people to swap bodies.

What they thought would be an arduous ordeal turned out to be an unexpected boon. Each found they could easily resolve issues that had plagued the other.

The celebrity living the CEO’s daily life: Greeted his family affectionately, treated subordinates with care, gave employees benefits, complimented his secretary’s new hairstyle—starting the day with vigor!

The CEO as celebrity: Trampled over rivals, tore apart enemies, sent lawyers after antis. Whoever dared provoke him would die! The CEO was whipping the entertainment industry into shape!

Much later, netizens posted:

[Who is Zhong Ruanxing’s backer? Her resources are too good now. From nobody to A-lister, whose thighs did she hug to get here?]

Online influencers hurried to speculate about the magnate behind Zhong Ruanxing.

Until the famously aloof CEO of the Song Group responded: I’m pouring resources into my own girlfriend. Got a problem with that?

I am Ye Qing. Lucky I found a [Monster Factory] application.

This bunch of super strong monsters are individually comparable to over 100 human beings, and they bring all kinds of skills!

Efficiency? With the skill processing speed +300, you still want to compete?

Precision? *cough, cough* Bring me that legendary dial caliper, let’s show them what absolute precision really mean.

Ye Qing: When, us, men want to be successful, we pull out our wallets.

Monsters: Don’t play those malice games with us. The creation of ultimate machinery is our love and life. These impenetrable bodies are our tools of the trade.

A 20 meter tall, overly buffed, savage looking monsters hold on to a ultimate cutting machine and yelled at the sky: “I am not targeting anyone specifically! Rather I am telling you all that, everything, in front of me and my tools are, nothing, but TRASH!”

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”