Extraordinary Genius - Chapter 1243 - Toyota’s anger

After her rebirth, she stared at her drop-dead gorgeous husband and suspected that she must have struck her head hard at the door for demanding a divorce time and time again!

In her previous life, she was blinded and murdered by her blood relatives. Now that she was reborn, she vowed to hold on to this thick thigh of her president husband, ravage her enemies, tear down that white lotus and regain her happiness.

- Description from Novelupdates

Bob was a good guy. He had done everything you were supposed to do. He exercised, he kept to a healthy diet, he'd studied hard, gotten excellent grades, and was working towards his masters. Somehow, things just weren't working out for him like he'd been told they would. He was stuck in a thankless position, constantly passed over, and it seemed that the only being on earth that cared about him was his cat.

Then things got worse.

Never back a man into a corner unless you want to find out just how hard he can fight.

“It’s true… So why does no one believe me?”Sometimes, I play small pranks, but they’re really just small ones.I’m not the mastermind at all.

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.”