For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion - Chapter 31: A Mismatch of Skills

Beichuan, who loves animation, finally came to study in District 11. After graduating, he always wanted to become an original artist and worked hard for it, but unexpectedly it became a production process. For this reason, his goal has a new change, becoming Supervision!

“Lao Xu, please stop your pen.”

“Senior Nakamura, you have to continue to live.”

Disclaimer: This book is a lot of daily life, it is a white box fandom single heroine, don’t spray if you don’t like it.

- Description from novelbuddy

They had been together since high school. Together, they faced the cold faces of their parents and the satirical or disdainful eyes of others, started a business and experienced all kinds of ups and downs. When their company was on the right track, Zhishu He was asked to give up his career to stay at home, while Wenxu Jiang gradually changed and began to indulge in merry-making. However, Zhishu chose to forgive him. Zhishu got an incurable disease, while Wenxu Jiang was still indifferent. Zhishu still chose to forgive him. Love had become a kind of habit, which was equal to an incurable disease.

In a peaceful sunny day, Zhishu quietly left Wenxu Jiang and the house in which they had lived for a long time without an advance notice.

Soon he was gone. A man with pure spirit and deep love for Wenxu Jiang disappeared from this world forever…

Sometimes love cannot stand the test of time. Someone will not know how to cherish the love until he loses it…

This is probably the story of a modern man who became the Seventh son of Kangxi in the Qing Dynasty. This is probably the story of how the Seventh brother Yinyou worked hard and fell in love by the way. So there is no doubt that this article is ambiguous, and it is easy to guess who the couple is.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.