Real or Fake Missy : Female Side Boss Character Does Not Want to Die - Chapter 129 - Did He Confess?

Who says that after rebirth, you have to slap faces, abuse scum, and revolve around enemies and men!Revenge is just incidental! Slapping faces and abusing scum are not the main battlefield of life!After being reborn, of course, you have to live out your own wonderful life, otherwise, it would be a waste of the chance of rebirth.

Adam's life has been a huge disappointment.Growing up, he was a shy kid with no confidence; he had no ambition; he had no plans for the future.He didn't realize the time flowing by until one day he hit rock bottom.His wealth was taken away from him. He had nothing.Now he lives in a single-room apartment, he is making barely any money; he has no friends, no family, and no lover. He is all alone living a pathetic, miserable life.He is so pathetic that he died in his own apartment, slipping on a beer bottle.But fate has other plans for him. He didn't die but ended up back in the past with an upgraded body.Now, with another chance in life, he is determined to strive for greatness.____________________A/N - This is a smut-focused story. Expect a lot of sexual scenes.

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.”