If the Deep Sea Forgets You - Chapter 119 - My Face

She was a 21st century’s forensic doctor. With her medical expertise, she uses her scalpels to save life and investigate the dead. Unfortunately, she transmigrated to the body of the unfavourable first daughter of Liu residence. At first sight, he looks handsome and charming; with his crotch erected underneath his half-naked body. She smiled and asked, “Have you been drugged, sir? A cure? One treatment costs two hundred taels.” He frowned dangerously as if to judge whether is she worth for him to give his body to her willingly. She quickly used her silver needles on seven acupuncture points and teasingly stared at his crotch. “Look, you calmed down immediately, aren’t I good?” The moment she finished her words, his member grew larger again. She got pinned down by this wretched prince, “I’ll give you four hundred taels, change another treatment method.” “F***!” She got unlucky, and that was how her son Liu XiaoLi got into her stomach.

…… On a fateful day, Liu XiaoLi was refining his medicine-making skill. The little punk walked towards his mom……

- Description from Novelupdates

“Why aim for a world when I can conquer the entire universe?”Draco Valenstein was the kindest human alive, a young man full of ambitions. One day, by some unknown means, he died. Not knowing how or what happened, he was granted 3 wishes before transmigration.In such an unforgiving world brimming with powerhouses, kindness was a weakness. But for Draco, who had been reborn as a demon, such a past was long gone.Evil is the only way!

I am Supreme

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.”