Developing My Little World - Chapter 66: A Leaders Grief

No sign in, no punch card.

Do not rely on breathing, do not rely on walking, do not rely on heartbeat.

The system is produced in one step

- Description from novelbuddy

A boy who lost his love for Formula racing after his father died on track, bringing calamity to his family. Left to care for his mother and sister, Luca does all he can to make ends meet. But it seems that every step he takes keeps pulling him back to the asphalt, and one sudden endeavor changes his life completely. [SYSTEM INITIALIZING......] [SYSTEM MERGING COMPLETE!] [Congratulations, you have attained the Formula 1 System] Luca rekindles his love for Formula racing as he strives to find his footing in this world. Rivalries and conspiracies may try to weigh him down, but Luca is determined to emerge victorious. [THE FORMULA 1 SYSTEM, A SYSTEM THAT WILL HELP HOST BECOME THE BEST RACER IN THE WORLD]

【National Martial Arts】【Attributes】There are rumors that ancient Taoist priests could leap over mountain ravines in a single step,There are rumors that ancient generals could crush bronze and iron with one hand.There are rumors that ancient monks could cross the Yangtze River with a single reed,There are rumors that ancient travelers could let out a howl like thunder.Striking a person is like hanging a picture, the strike sounds sharp and crackling,Practicing qi gathers in the Dantian, crossing the river just knee-deep.With the help of the attributes panel, Wang Longhu explored and embarked on the path of martial arts through diligent practice.“Today, I am the number one in the world.”

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.”