MTL - My Disciple Died Yet Again - v3 Chapter 336 The vest is loaded

What is the experience like after transmigrating into the novel’s foreordained miserable cannon fodder?

Su Zui, who had only ever treated other people as cannon fodder, expresses——

Your father is still your father.

Winning just by laying down, system silently gave his family’s host a call: Papa 666.

Boss: Be good. A single parent family isn’t good for the child. Call me papa number two.

System: ???

Even though the roles assigned are all definitely touching and inevitably miserable cannon fodder, this does not hinder Su Zui’s path on oppressing main leads to the point they question their life.

- Description from Novelupdates

[No fixed CP + wear books + brain hole cool text + women disguised as men + group pet]

Gu Lan crossed over and became the cannon fodder of the original book disguised as a man, counterattacked the protagonist of the original book who slapped her face, and lived in a dormitory full of sickly beauties.

Until one day, she discovered that her roommates were villains from other horror novels. After discovering the secret, Gu Lan thought she would be killed, but her roommates all looked at her strangely… Contrasted with cute Zhengtai, sickly and beautiful boy, split personality school girl, cold and stern school bully, romantic and noble son who plays Shura every day field.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.

Ein was a hitman on hire. A killer, a shadow, a death with insomnia, if you may.He had witnessed countless pairs of eyes dim as the light of life faded, leaving nothing but vile hollowness. Needless to say, the sight of a soul popping out of the dead body was a first.And it wasn't just any soul. It was the dead heir of Byers Holdings, the same guy he killed with his own hands. Turns out the rich boy Adriel had a horribly irritating and loud soul, but worst of it all - impossible to get rid of.Who would have thought that killing on a blue moon night could lead to being haunted?