MMORPG: I Can See Hidden Information - Chapter 153 - So It’s You

In his previous life Bai Lang was a small star. He rejected his boss and stupidly engaged in a relationship which he thought was true love.

Warning: Matured content.Maya DeLuca was born as a result of adultery. She is the fruit of the shameful love affair her married mother had. Her mother passed away shortly after giving birth, leaving Maya to bear the consequences of her mother's sins.Right from birth, Maya was loathed by everyone in her family, especially her stepfather, her late mother’s husband. Maya is the evidence of his wife's betrayal; hence, she is a thorn in his flesh. He abused her, punishing her for her mother’s betrayal.Maya is a junior chef at a five-restaurant and also works as a waitress at her Stepfather’s gentlemen's club to pay off the debt she owes him.Maya's Life becomes more complicated when she gets entangled with a handsome billionaire, Dalton Black, as he hires her as his personal chef.Maya obliviously captivated Dalton's heart as love blossomed between them.However, in order to fight for her love for Dalton Black, Maya must face the nefarious plans devised by Dalton Black's enemies and those who wish to break them apart.Maya is Dalton's only desire, the light in his grimy world. He would do anything to be with her forever, even though she is a weapon that his enemies plan to use against him.

Kiro is a slave branded with a deadly collar, forced to work in brutal mines under the ruthless Kargal Empire. Each year, slaves are hunted for sport in the deadly Hunting Games—a fight to the death on a savage alien moon. This year, Kiro is chosen to play. Sent into a wilderness filled with monsters and traps, survival seems impossible. But something ancient watches from the shadows—and it has plans for him.

“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.