Forget My Husband, I’ll Go Make Money - Chapter 231

Once the football jokes, our factory has eight fights exclusively!

The arsenal that once swept the Premier League and hit 49 unbeaten rounds began to sink. That was the beginning of the nightmare of countless Arsenal fans!

Our factory, Nana, the leader of the European Union, the temperature difference sign, the captain of the sales team, the four crazy demons, etc…

The Gunners bid farewell to the Henry era and sent Vieira away. The fans thought it was ushered in a new era, but the reality told them that it was a traitor who deceived all their feelings!

In August 2011, Arsenal captain Cesc Fabregas left with a humiliating transfer, and at the same moment Arsenal welcomed a teenager!

Wenger: “Do you want to be an ordinary defender or a world-class midfielder?”

Everything changes from here…

- Description from novelbuddy

A legendary powerhouse of his generation, tired of the bustle of the peak, returned to the ordinary city and started a new life as an ordinary teacher. He wrote the legend in the city.

Magnificent mountains and rivers, the rising powerful ones. Some ancient martial art masters stood at the peak, becoming legendary. Some financial crocodiles rose up in the minuscule places, laughing arrogantly.

However, watching the school beauties was better than fighting and killing; educating was better than fighting for fame.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”

At some point in the 21st century, the Christian God stopped listening to the prayers of humanity. Monsters with colossal strength and endurance began to emerge and humanity entered its darkest period.