Escaping the Mystery Hotel - Chapter 247: Room 202, Cursed Room - ’The Little Mermaid’ (25)

Yao Mo Xin, the empress of Da Chu died in a cruel way a day after she gave birth at the hands of her husband the emperor, Ye Hong Yi, and her legitimate second sister, Yao Shu Ran. Ye Hong Yi got the throne because of the smartness of Yao Mo Xin, but he hated her because she made him feel like a useless person who needed a woman to become the emperor.

Science and magic exist side by side in this world.

This is the peak of the science side with a curriculum for espers, Academy City. In this city where 80% of the population are students, the season has finally come when all residents are excited and fidgety!

It’s Christmas Eve.

Amidst the city showing a cheerful hustle and bustle, ordinary boy who can’t keep up with school, Kamijou Touma, also doesn’t intend to miss this event! He was hard at work in his supplementary lessons…

A backward glance from the default misfortune-prone bastard, the silver-haired sister freeloading in his dormitory, Index, in the heart pounding scene different from the usual, activates a new gluton skill!? While Kamijou tries to desperately stop that, Misaka Mikoto taken in by the Christmas Eve atmosphere appears before him.

When a young woman is killed in a traffic accident on her way home from work at a tax bureau, she suddenly finds herself transported to the world of the otome game she was playing the night before – but instead of the heroine, she’s been reincarnated as the bad guy! Using her knowledge of the game, “Iris” manages to avert personal disaster and decides to rebuild her life with her modern-day economic know-how. This is one mean girl who isn’t going to let her perceived reputation stop her from being a heroine!

“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.