MTL - Entertaining Into Bitterness Drama - Chapter 67 Deaf ten

[ Late check-ins accepted. Abyss residues surcharges apply. ]The Last Neutral Inn, a small establishment run by a retired man named Aldous. He serves good soup, honest tea, and the only guaranteed neutral ground between the mortal world and the Abyss.He used to change the world. He doesn't do that anymore, but he has opinions about bread. He will share them.In a place where exiled gods need somewhere to sleep, demon courts require neutral venues for negotiations they can't afford to lose, and abyssal entities older than civilization occasionally need a simple word with someone who won't panic, Aldous runs the only establishment that qualifies. His guests aren't only human. His inn shouldn't exist. The Abyss stops exactly at his property line, which nobody has satisfactorily explained.Aldous makes soup. He fixes the stairs. He files the paperwork.He is no hero. No king. He runs an inn.The question nobody had the courage to ask yet is why.

In a world yearning for grand adventure, a soul, weary of mundane existence, is ripped from his reality and thrust into the nascent era of One Piece.Reborn as Dracula D. Alucard, he finds himself in a surprisingly tranquil time, a quiet before the storm of the Great Pirate Era. But within him, a chilling truth awakens: an unyielding immortality.His mere presence shatters the calm, birthing the terrifying legend of an unkillable monster.Even Gol D. Roger, the soon-to-be Pirate King, is left in bewildered disbelief: “I don't understand; that sword thrust clearly hit his vitals.”The mighty Whitebeard acknowledges a new horror: “That man is a monster even harder to kill than Kaido!”The World Government, driven to utter despair, can only lament: “We've assassinated him successfully thousands of times. Why is he still alive?!”And the legendary Marine Hero, Garp, simply quips, “Kaido? I think that guy killed him...”For Alucard, however, this endless defiance of death is merely a perplexing fact, or perhaps, a casual game.“What's the big deal?” he asks, a faint, almost innocent tilt to his head, as if genuinely puzzled by their consternation. “Killing me is simple. Just stab my heart about eight million more times.”As the world stands on the precipice of an age of grand dreams and unfettered ambition, what fate awaits the eternal devil who cannot die, doomed to wander a sea that promises everything but an end?

***Completed***“I'll marry you if you promise to kiss me every day.”On the harrowing day she lost her family, out of all the men she knew, Marcella didn't expect those words from “Sweet Baby” Tony. She thought he was not interested in her.She had to ask him for the marriage as she wanted to fulfil her sister's last wishes.She got married the day she suffered a horrifying loss.Don DeAngelo's youngest daughter became the wife of Antony Crawford.She didn't wait to think why he wanted to marry her when every men she knew wanted her for who her father was. She trusted him that much.But in a day, she learned that Tony was not so different from other men.What choice can she make?She can throw away the marriage and lose custody of her nephew, or...She chose to be married to him. Their marriage can be a deal. She needed him, he needed her. It's all fine.Except...What does Tony feel? Is their marriage all but a business transaction for him? What is the secret he is hiding? Why can't he reveal it to her?-----*Excerpt*“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell,” she said looking into his eyes. The alluring mystique behind those blue eyes made her heart skip a beat.How can she hate and love someone this much? She must be missing a part of her brain.In the silence of the dining room, the candle flickered. The curve of his lips widened and in the romantic ambiance, the thin lines around his eyes gave her a thrill.“Quoting Oscar Wilde?” he chuckled comfortably, leaning forward.“Isn't that true in our case?” she asked.She observed him, trying to digest every single expression on his face.He went silent. His lips pressed to a line. His pensive eyes never left hers except for the few seconds when he placed down his cutleries. She still couldn't guess what goes on in that smart brain of his.It is this, she thought. I am a decently adventurous person. He's an adventure. Maybe that's his allure!“Then, Birdie,” he stood up and walked to her.Marcella's back got stiff as she tried to figure out what he was going to do.Also, is that a pet name? Birdie? It's nice. But that came out of nowhere...She followed him with his eyes. He kneeled beside her and held her hand. Only when she felt the warmth of his big hand on hers did she realize that she had been holding her breath for a while.This man is going to be the end of her. It sucks when he does not feel even half of what she feels.“Let's be angels,” he kissed her hand. With a smooth smile that reached his eyes, he looked at her. “Let's be each other's angels, and let's make this world our heaven.”“You are...”Unable to find any words to say to him, she buried her face in her hand. Her chest was heaving as if she ran a marathon.This man surely is going to be the end of her.“What?” he chuckled while teasing her to show her face. “What am I?”“You're a brute, Mr. Crawford. That's what you are,” she said trying to hold her stoic expression to relay her “disapproval” of his methods. But in front of his goofy smile, she lost.She lost, and she didn't feel defeated.She felt delighted in his presence.“Mark my words, Birdie. I am taking you to the White House,” he said.Marcella opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. The determination shining in his eyes...He's not talking about a visit to the White House, is he?No way! No f*cking way!Her eyes widened. But he was smiling sweetly as always. He stood up and leaned to her ear.“Let's have today's kiss on the bed,” he said.Before she could form a resistance, he picked her up and walked up the stairs.Again, Marcell pondered the one question she's been asking a lot lately.Whom did I marry?

Perhaps the paintings in a museum are subjected to more nonsense than you would hear anywhere else in the world.The language that comes out of an artist’s life is the painting itself. It contains the most ordinary lives that know failure, desire, recoiling in fear, and compromise.Learning is about understanding that language. We miss much of what the paintings speak because there is no way to ask the long-dead painters about the philosophy of their lives.In an alleyway in the residential area of Jongno, there’s a peculiar art gallery. This place enables us to transcend such limitations. By sheer coincidence, I ended up visiting that place and began living an entirely different life.