MTL - Interstellar Favorite Superstar - v2 Chapter 65 First kill

When the night came, there was a twittering sound in his ears, and the monster in the shadows began to move restlessly. Jason’s hungry stomach began to roar, and he couldn’t help swallow his saliva. Hunger was the best spur.

Waking up from a deep sleep, Lin Yue found herself having transmigrated into a peasant's new wife, and to make matters more complicated, she was a replacement for a deceased wife. The husband, over a decade older than her, had already lost two former wives. It wasn't so much a marriage; she had been sold to the family by her unscrupulous parents. Her fate was out of her hands. Before her stood one, two, three, four children, like a line of burdens, all gazing at her with blurry and hopeful eyes. Lin Yue felt an enormous pressure, “Thanks to Yuewen Book Review Group for providing review support!”

Qin Ran grew up in the countryside. She disappeared for one year and lost a year of high school.

One year later, she was taken to Yuncheng by her biological mother to attend school.

Her mother said: your stepfather is from a prestigious family, your big brother is a genius, your younger sister is a top student, you must not lose their faces.

*

Everyone of status in the capital has received a warning from Cheng family’s Junye: Junye’s wife is from the countryside; she doesn’t understand the circle, doesn’t understand the current circumstances, doesn’t understand the financial markets. Her character is very… in short, please excuse me.

Until one day, Junye investigated a big shot, his subordinates looked at the sockpuppet that had come off her while she said she knew nothing about it… they sank into a bewildered silence.

It was probably a story of two big shots trying to hide their sockpuppets so that the other didn’t feel inferior.

“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.