I Became The Academy’s Blind Swordsman - Chapter 202: Zetto is bad (4)

This is a ‘rebirth’ story where Chen Rong, the heroine, finds her second chance at life after burning herself to death. Set in the Eastern Jin era when bureaucrats and their lofty yet equally hypocritical and oppressive ideas once ruled the empire, Chen Rong is made to use her past life’s experience to survive and hopefully find happiness this time around.

“I have a home to go back to.”

Mori Tenko is the self-proclaimed ace of the going-home club. He tries to set a new record on his usual route home from school, but gets hit by a truck when he tries to save a strange puppy.

Then he’s picked up by a fat old man who calls himself a god, and is sent to a different world called Veriathes, where swords, magic, and skills rule the world, and where he is told to live out his life cheerfully and happily.

As soon as he arrives there, Norimi is subjected to a harsh baptism. Realizing that the world is not easy, he throws himself into battle, training himself to survive and protect his place in the world.

This is the story of a young man who later became known as the Lord of the Deep Temple and shook the world.

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Hiro transmigrates and finds himself in the body of an orphan that’s about to be evicted from his orphanage. It wasn’t anything personal, but the orphanage’s policy doesn’t accommodate children who have reached the age of 16.From the gates of that humble establishment, Hiro slowly explores the facets of this world that was both familiar and unfamiliar due to its uncanny resemblance to his previous world—Earth.With his Daily Life RPG System urging him to excel in every aspect of his daily life, Hiro marks his presence in both the mundane and mystical circles of this new world.

“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.