Gamers! - Volume 10, Chapter 3 – Gamers and Valentine’s Day, Part 1 of 2

I, an ordinary high school student, Kimizuka Kimihiko, who easily gets involved in things, was appointed to take care of mysterious attache cases by mysterious men in black suits. After meeting a beautiful angel-like detective girl, named Siesta in a hijacked plane, I became her assistant.

And from there–

[You deal with the beehive, and I’ll restrain the enemy.] [Don’t make plans that make me the victim.]

We had those kinds of foolish conversations, all while being completely broke every day and fought against . Even when there were hurricanes, the weather-beaten duo sleep past it. Sometimes when we saved money at a casino, we would jump around on the beds at a resort hotel, only to be broke again the next day. We would walk through deserts, traverse through jungles, conquer mountains, cross oceans– The great detective and her assistant would go through these dazzling adventures–

Until she died.

And this story starts from 1 year after that incident.

I’m the only one who’s left, but I carry on her remained wishes.

This story is far from over..

[The return of the Great Holy Spirit, blood boiling! 】 The father was killed, the family wealth was taken, all the hands and feet were interrupted, and the revenge flame was ignited, and the Qitian Dasheng inheritance was obtained. Since then, the rise of the sky, God blocked the killing, the Buddha blocked the Buddha! Qin Feng wore a gold armor and held a hand of the sea god: “I want this world for thirty-six days, and I will return to the big holy flag!”

- Description from Fpzw (Translated)

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.”