MTL - My Iron Suit - Chapter 1512 Fascinated by this feeling!

People say, follow the destiny.

Traveling through time to become the despised descendant of the Shen family, the royal family gave him the proud daughter of heaven.

The proud daughter of heaven is pleased with the son of the Shen family, and the Shen family does not want to marry such a fairy.

Everyone said that this down-and-out young man should accept his fate, how could he climb up to heaven’s pride.

But even though it is called the destiny, it is not a human matter!

- Description from novelbuddy

Broken-hearted and drunk, Yoshida, a 26-years old salaryman, stumbled upon a runaway-from-home high-schooler on his way back from the bar.

“Hey, you. JK.”*

“What the heck are you doing out here. Go home already.”

“Uncle, let me stay at your place for the night.”

“You can do ‘that’ to me if you let me stay.”

“If you meant that as a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. It’s fine by me.”

“Then allow me to tell you that I have no interest in brats.”

“Hmm?”

“Then, just let me stay.”

Notes:

[*] JK is slang for Joushikousei (high school girl)

Indra (5) grew up in her family while being shunned and ostracized. When she regained the memories of her previous life, she decided to run away from home and thus trained herself to absurdity.

During her training, she encountered the young adventurer Sword, who looked just like a middle-aged guy. Worrying about the impertinent, eccentric, pointlessly strong young girl, Sword invited her to go on a journey with him.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”