I Have Seven Big Brothers - Chapter 53: Bad customer

“Wait, someone might see.” Charlton said, recalling the glass window.

Gu Qingli, a modern-day doctor and poisoner, was killed by her best friend. She was reborn as a weak peasant girl who could easily be bullied. Not long after she returned home, her wedding was called off. Everyone in the village started speaking poorly about her. A greedy matchmaker showed up and tried to convince Qingli to marry an older man! The matchmaker had barely been gone for a few seconds before returning once again. It seemed that Xiao Laosan, a man from the same village who was famous for bringing bad luck to his partner, wanted Qingli as his wife. The matchmaker wondered why a wretched woman like her was so popular. Gu Qingli did not mind. She thought that she, a wretched woman, was a perfect match for this man. For the days to come, she'd take her younger brother with her to forage for herbs, and they'd stir up trouble when they got bored. Wretched woman? A failed investment? Those things had nothing to do with her!

*Book 1 and 2 are available on my new page . It has been written under a new name 'Gilgamesh' and a new pen name Tobascoasako. It features light edits on the original. [wife will be reposting for me]*Book 3 is now updating every week on Sunday!

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.”