Face-Slapping System - Chapter 5 Face-Slapping Store

Lee Jin Woo once lived a dismal life.
He lived pitifully on a day to day basis in his five-pyeon studio filled with mold.

Then, one day, he died in a sudden fire.

When he wakes up, he finds himself inside a novel.
But there’s just one issue…
He had become the novel’s villain!

“Is this a game, or did aliens make me time-travel?”

“It’s terrifying, people who die in the game actually die in the real world!”

“Damn, the whole city is mine, and there are still things that can be brought from the game to the real world, it’s just…”

Song Jian aimlessly wandered through the empty city, accompanied only by mutated zombies and monsters. His only goal now was to survive in such a zombie-infested Doomsday City.

……………………………………………………………

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[Fishing novel, light-hearted daily life, welcome everyone to enjoy reading]Chu Mingcheng, who was nearly thirty, encountered workplace PUA. Working overtime not only meant no extra pay, but also his date for a prearranged blind date had run off.Returning to his coastal hometown to clear his mind, he unexpectedly discovered a mountain of mud shrimp on the beach and accidentally awakened a “Golden Finger.”[Currently unlocked methods of capture: Hand, Fishing Rod][Mud Shrimp, also known as Mantis Shrimp (Level 18)][Current Experience: 0/190][Size +19%][Deliciousness +19%][Capture Probability +19%]...“Go to work? That's just wasting my life.”“Date me? Beauty, I only fish, I don't raise fish!”Conquering the ocean, fishing for crocodiles, venturing into the Amazon; wherever there's water, there's the figure of Chu Mingcheng.

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.”