MTL - Midnight Offering: Hades’s Little Pet - Chapter 21 Tears of the past (Part 1)

Broken-hearted and drunk, Yoshida, a 26-years old salaryman, stumbled upon a runaway-from-home high-schooler on his way back from the bar.

“Hey, you. JK.”*

“What the heck are you doing out here. Go home already.”

“Uncle, let me stay at your place for the night.”

“You can do ‘that’ to me if you let me stay.”

“If you meant that as a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. It’s fine by me.”

“Then allow me to tell you that I have no interest in brats.”

“Hmm?”

“Then, just let me stay.”

Notes:

[*] JK is slang for Joushikousei (high school girl)

Childhood sweethearts.
The most popular person in school is my childhood sweetheart.

- Description from Novelupdates

Yang Dongxu found himself reborn and returned to 1979, a time when China was full of opportunities. The Soviet Union or the superpower seems to be doing something.

It seems that Hong Kong’s entertainment industry is not prosperous enough. The NBA is not hot enough, it seems to do something…

- Description from Qidian

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.”