Kiss Goodnight, Mr.Ji - 1759 Shy?

Little screenwriter Gu Nian has a secret. She was a big fan of an 18th-tier actor by the name of Luo Xiu. Luo Xiu was good looking but his acting was awful. He had no work for 2 years, the one time that he was on a show, he was mocked to the point that even his own mother wouldn’t admit that he was her son. As such, he dropped straight to 18th tier. Gu Nian, on the other hand, was determined to become a gold medal screenwriter and had him be her dedicated male supporting character. ___ Luo Xiu had a loyal fan. Ever since his debut, she did everything that a fan would — wait for him at airports, vote for him online, and wave banners of his. Other fans would waver back and forth but this girl remained his loyal fan for two straight years. Once she was drunk after they have met each other, she patted him on his shoulder, cried and said, “Son, its okay that you are not backed by big bosses! When Mommy become a gold-medal screenwriter, I will back you!” Luo Xiu: “……” ___ After Gu Nian became a gold-medal screenwriter and signed her contract with a up-and-coming media company, she was summoned to a meeting at their office. She texted Luo Xiu outside of the conference room, “Son! Mommy can back you now! Just you wait!” Soon after she sent the message, she heard a notification chime coming from in front of her. Gu Nian looked up, puzzled, and saw a very familiar handsome face. The secretary introduced the two of them, “Miss Gu, this is our CEO, Luo Xiu.” Gu Nian: …..? Secretary: “Boss Luo, this is….” “No need for introduction, I know her.” Luo Xiu looked up after he finished reading the text. His eyes a dark black color. “This is the boss who has been backing me behind the scene.” Everyone: ….? ? ?

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.”