Dating My Scumbag Ex’s Uncle - Chapter 836 - Young

No system, pure time travel, relying on intelligence and knowledge to control the situation, do not enter if you do not like it.-----------------------The protagonist travels to the Republic of France and becomes a quasi-rich third generation in a family of agricultural tractors.Unfortunately, it is near Paris. The Germans will soon come here, and to preserve the family, France must be saved.Gallieni: “God, the enemy actually presented their flank to us!”Xia Fei: “This can't be true, could it be a trap?”Protagonist: “The food is ready, go ahead, do I need to feed it to your mouth?”German Army: “Is this a tractor factory? What are these steel monsters that are impervious to knives and guns?”

On the eve of the millennium, a sixteen-year-old Chinese boy left his hometown and came to Europe just to play football to support his family.

But he didn’t expect that an adventure would make his football career unique from then on.

Twenty years of ups and downs, he has won countless honors, looking back, Ronaldo, Zidane, Ronaldinho, Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappe and many other stars are all shining, But there is only one king of the ball, hanging high in the sky like the sun, shining forever!

(No system, talent improvement + hard training)

- Description from novelbuddy

Mu Yangling was reborn into a hunter’s family, and she expected to live a simple and happy life.However, a disaster almost shattered their home.His father was conscripted into the army because of a war, and the whole family had to follow and settle in a farming village.Unfortunately, they couldn’t even distinguish the seedlings of the five grains.As Mu Yangling looked at her mother and younger brother, who were on the verge of tears, she straightened, lifted her head, and said, “It’s okay. I have strength.”She also had some agricultural knowledge from a thousand years later!

“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.