MTL - Journey To the World of Film and Television - Chapter 10 Why is the pretty girl named Song Tie?

Tricked by a soothsaying mother, during the ghost year, ghost month, ghost day, and the wide-open Ghost Gate, I sneaked into the deep mountains with a Zhang Family heirloom, the Star Stealing Life-changing Talisman.By a mix-up of Yin and Yang, a devastatingly beautiful thousand-year-old female corpse absorbed some of my life force, and she awakened...Kids over 12, please watch this book together with the little buddy on your back, and don't block his view! (Note: don't turn back now, because he has also seen this text!)

Amid a world war, with his awakening to powerful special abilities (Soul Armor Abilities), Kamiya Yuusuke, conscripted into the military at the age of 10 due to this newfound power, continued to achieve numerous victories on the challenging battlefield. As a result, at the age of 15, he held the position of Brigadier General.Despite traversing battlefields worldwide, he finally managed to return to Japan. The joy of returning home was short-lived, as news of an underage boy in the military started to leak to the public. In response, the military high command ordered Yuusuke to attend a military school called the Special Operations Soul Armor Academy and undergo a revision of his military records.Yuusuke, secretly pleased at the prospect of reclaiming his youth, faced numerous troubles, whether due to the nature of the unique school or perhaps because he had been in constant battle since childhood. What will happen to his relationships with strong-willed girls such as his half-silver-haired childhood friend, the older sister officer who is his work partner, and the tsundere honor student of the same age?

“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.

There were women approaching me, who had decided to die.