MTL - The Best Of You - Chapter 2

“Rebirth in the 90s: The Counterattack of the Delicate Wife” is now available, please support it, dear old and new readers.Bai Xiao was reborn in 1985, back to when she was 18 years old during the release of the college entrance examination results. Her grandmother and uncle, afraid she would break free from their control, had hidden her university admission notice. Nobody would dream of stopping her from attending university this time. In her past life, her soldier brother and married sister protected her; this life, she would protect them.Chen Shimei's trash father, stepmother, and stepsister can all step aside, I don't know you.When she resolutely jumped into the river, that person... this isn't murder, sister is reclaiming her special ability from her past life.A certain man: Whether it's suicide or murder doesn't matter, you owe me a life-saving debt. Marry me in return!............With over a million completed writings, quality guaranteed, we welcome new and old readers to collect and support with recommendations.

The night before her wedding, her world shattered.Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by her fiancé, who demanded her kidney as the price for his love, she thought her life was over. But she refused to be a victim.At the altar, she made a bold move: she called off the wedding and declared she’d marry anyone willing to step up. To everyone’s shock, he—the richest and most powerful man in the city—stepped forward, claiming it was his “duty” to marry her.Overnight, she went from a betrayed bride to the wife of her ex-fiancé’s uncle, turning the tables on everyone who wronged her. From navigating family drama to outsmarting scheming rivals, she rose to become the undisputed queen of both families, building an empire of her own.Now, with a thriving career and a husband who adores her, she’s living her best life. But when her husband calls, begging her to come home because their twins are “starving for attention,” she knows her chaotic yet glorious life is just getting started.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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