Rebirth: The Universe's Hidden Heiress - Chapter 110: Are They The Same Person?

In regards to the MMORPG Cross Reverie, Sakamoto Takuma boasted an overwhelming strength that was enough for him to be called the Demon King by the other players. One day, he gets summoned to another world with his appearance in the game. There, there are two people that insist “I am the real summon master.” Takuma gets slave-turning magic used for summoned beasts cast on him by the girls –

When she stands, she’s like a white peony. When she sits, she’s like a tree peony. When she walks, she’s like a lily flower. And when you look her in the eyes, she’s like the Great King of Terror.

Despite having the qualities to be a peerless bishoujo, because of the look of her eyes and that atmosphere of hers, she’s feared by others; such a girl is forcefully sent to another world.

Being told that she would be granted a wish as a special favour, the girl made a wish────

“Make my eyes and atmosphere normal please.”

This is a story recounting the lifestyle in a parallel world of a girl who would be perfect (probably) if just her one weakpoint was overcome.

A fantasy comedy with magic, dungeons, and a hero and demon king(candidate) who she gets tangled up with.

“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.

Behind the calm smile lies a heart riddled with scars.Beneath the weight of fate burns an unyielding gaze.A body trapped in the abyss of despair—if it reaches out, can it grasp the light called hope?A soul locked upon the rack of destiny—if it prays sincerely, can it embrace the future called redemption?