EX rank supporting role’s replay in a prestigious school - Chapter 627: Long tail (6)

In 1919, Donnie's soul traversed into the United States.To start off, Donnie, just a soldier who had recently stepped down from the battlefields of World War I, was framed by his superior. Before the Prohibition era began, he took over a bar in Atlantic City. With the perspective of a transmigrator and ruthless tactics, he gradually became the largest bootlegger in America.In the roaring twenties, Donnie delved into bootlegging, ran beauty pageants, built his career, and stormed Wall Street.Decades later, when people studied modern American history, they found that the name 'Donnie Block' was one they simply could not ignore!!!Additional Tags: ACTION, TRANSMIGRATION, GENIUS, KINGDOMBUILDING, URBAN, SHOWBIZ, POORTORICH

Here, only those with spiritual roots can cultivate while those with mortal roots are destined to stay mortal.

Mo Wuji only has mortal roots, but will he only remain as a mortal?

From a caste based high school, bottom-tier Naomi Masatsugu is caught up in a summon of his class to a different world. However, as soon as they arrived the king said, “This guy is unnecessary because he only has clumsy skills ” and it is concluded that he is to be forced to administer the orphanage, which no one wants to do. Unfortunately for the orphanage his skills were cheat skills that cause the girls to cling to him.

In order to “defend” the girls that depend on him, he must operate the orphanage while overcoming the powerful people, authorities, and former classmates that surround him.

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.”