MTL - The Mightiest Leveling System - Chapter 53 Laozi is arrogant, it is mad!

Cheng Yin likes her deskmate Chen Yan for a long time, but she never dared to confess her love for him, and the phrase ‘I like you’ is a secret hidden in her heart, but she can’t help but blurt it out from time to time…
Cheng Yin: “Chen Yan, I’ll whisper something to you.”
Chen Yan always leans over quite cooperatively, “What?”
The words came to her lips, Cheng Yin blushed and changed it into: “Your pants are unzipped.”
Chen Yan: “?”
Later, this kind of useless whispering has become more frequent, and Chen Yan listened again without moving a bit: ” Speak.”
The day of the party, Cheng Yin drink for the first time, Chen Yan became two in front of her eyes, she grabbed the person with both hands, want to try to catch the real Chen Yan, only to have her hand caught, he lowered his head in her ear and said: ” Let me whisper to you.”
Cheng Yin: “…… what?”
Such bad behavior, she thought it was something bad, Cheng Yin checked her pants and made sure the zipper was closed before she lean over.
The man’s breath blew softly in her ear, laced with a bit of the smell of wine.
“I like you.”

- Description from Novelupdates

We’ve come to a world where the roles of men and women have been reversed. So, of course, women will rush to us. “You don’t have to bring water.” “Oh, okay…” …I guess I’ll just have to live the way I always have.

He is an undead who is devoid of all humanity, he is the one and only supreme overlord, he is a man who has severe mysophobia.

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.”