MTL - Space and Rebirth: The Favored Genius Doctor and Businesswoman (Reborn In Space: Pampering The Genius Doctor And Businesswoman) - Chapter 1367 To be big

Every Thursday at midnight, tune the FM button. Behind a blank hiss, maybe you will hear a broadcast like this: “Welcome to Midnight Radio Station “Thriller Night Talk”. This is the anchor Bei Quan. Please tell us about your story; no matter how bizarre it is.”

The rich second-generation Wei Fuyuan broke up with his family and was cut off from his financial source. He accidentally broke into a broadcasting studio to apply for a part-time job.

Wei Fuyuan: This place is small and shabby. The front desk lady is so fierce and her assistant is a three-year-old child laborer?? Are you really a regular company!

Bei Quan: During the internship period, the monthly salary is 7800 Yuan, including three meals and accommodation. Do you want it or not?

Wei Fuyuan : I’ll do it if I can live next door to you!

On the first night at work, Master Wei found out that this company called Sāntúchuān was more irregular than he thought.

Colleagues felt that there were ghosts in the world, and the audience said that they were dead, and they had to follow the poisonous anchor. The crime scene…

Wei Fuyuan : Wait, isn’t this the job of the police?!

Bei Quan: Look over there, the ghost is here.

Wei Fuyuan: Ah, ah, don’t come near me! The young master doesn’t like women’s ghosts. Don’t get me… Eat my righteous face-breaking fist!

What you see may not be true, and what you hear may not be true.

The truth and falsity interweaved between the story, the stand-in for a crime they didn’t, betrayal after betrayal, money and love…

Pursue the mystery, punish evil and promote good

This is the Thrilling Night talk for you—

Don’t be afraid.

[Wei Fuyuan the rich second generation born with aura to attack x mysterious poisonous tongue Bei Quan]

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“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.