MTL - Players Of Freedom - Chapter 115 : 1 point change

{MATURE— DARK ROMANCE, MENTION OF SA ON AND OFF SCREEN, BULLY, ABUSE}Read the warning before clicking to read, thank you.In a world ruled by wolves, I am the mistake that breathes.Well, my name is Lisa and I’m twenty one years old.I am the girl with no wolf. No rank. No name worth remembering. Just a human girl trapped in a pack that never wanted me. Scrubbing floors, serving tables, surviving insults , I’ve learned to stay invisible. Until the night of the coronation.Until them.Three brothers. Three Alphas. Fated by blood. Feared by all.And somehow, fated… to me?I didn’t ask for the bond. I didn’t ask for the fire in their eyes when they looked at me, or the hate that followed. I was never meant to belong to anyone, much less them. But fate is cruel, and the Moon has secrets she’s just begun to whisper.You think I will still be alive to tell the story

Like every (Isekai) protagonist, I got reincarnated after getting hit by a hyper-speed truck.

That was an empty and dark life anyway, so I was already looking forward to a decent, unknown afterlife.

But... the world had a unique thing in mind.

In this new world, I had parents, amazing ones at that.

My father was a talented mage, and my lovely mother was a sharp and cunning merchant.

Ignoring all of my weirdness, they loved me unconditionally.

This was the life that anyone would love.

Eating and cooking delicious food, practicing archery and magic, and playing with my parents.

Everything was wonderful until... those demons separated us and it left me in a ferocious forbidden forest, just to be eaten alive by beasts.

But dying wasn't even a question.

I will go back… to them.

Crying blood and tears, she pledged a poisonous vow. The gods did not fail her. She was sent back to a decade ago. The legitimate daughter of Jiang family returned from hell.

“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.