Campus Rebirth: The Strongest Female Agent - Chapter 2249

Most people don't choose reincarnation.

Reincarnation finds their way to them.

Perhaps they did something great in their life.

Or maybe truck-sama wasn't looking where it was going.

But without fail, those who reincarnate are destined for something great.

A new life where everything changes for the better.

But...

Reincarnation isn't always the greatest thing.

Sometimes you just draw the short end of the stick.

Di Tou just happens to have drawn the shortest stick.

Pulled out of his life randomly.

Taken by a crazy old eccentric man not as a disciple, but as a body double?!

And a janitor body double no less?!

Grasping a system to find... It's a JANITOR SYSTEM!?

Truly, how unlucky can one get?

……………………………………………………………

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Failing at the ceremony, Ethan became a Broken Carrier, the worst and weakest of them all.In this world where abilities had to be created and found through the Patterns, Ethan had no choice but to risk everything to change his fate.“So this is my Construct?” Ethan gazed at the massive gears of his core, preparing to harness a new power.The weakest carriers could always become the strongest, all that was needed were methods, desperate and risky, just like the world itself.

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.”