Maybe a Fake Gintama - Chapter 417: The Most Important Thing Is to Preserve Your Strength!

There was nothing left to lose in his life.He had lived as a hero. He had started at the bottom and worked his way up to the top, at the end he become the best, yet he had always been betrayed by those he had tried to protect.Humanity did not deserve his protection.When everything went out and he could no longer even hope to beg for his life, he could do nothing but look up at the blood-red sky among the corpses of demons and angels.He wished for one more chance, just one more chance.And when that chance was given to him, he swore that he would change everything. He would no longer be a hero to save people, but an anti-hero to save the world.Sacrificing hundreds of people to save an elf, poisoning hundreds of people to save a group of half-demons.He didn't care about any of that anymore, he would protect those he cared about and send everything else to hell.Not even the gods or goddesses could stop him.

[Hero of Knights]

I transmigrated into the mobile game that I was holding until my death.

It happened to be a ‘female-oriented’ card game!

Yeohwan, who became the main character in the game, struggled to set up the strongest handsome knights…

“Were you unable to sleep because of the issue of naming the mercenary corps? Any name given by Commander is fine.”

“Naming the mercenary corps…?”

“You were supposed to tell me this morning. Of course, I didn’t wake you up because of that.”

The voice mixed with laughter echoed in his ears, and the system window he had been waiting for appeared in front of Yeohwan, who had a s*upid expression on his face.

[Please name the mercenaries.] [When completed, the game will begin in full.] Ah… How am I supposed to build a knight order with one B-grade card?

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“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.

Since I’m good-looking, I might as well become an actor.