The Regressor Can Make Them All - Chapter 11

Transmigrated into the body of a cannon fodder villain, Chu Yu has three major worries:

1. How can he help the protagonist turn into a real harem master?

2. How can he develop a good relationship with the protagonist?

3. How can he live properly without holding on to the protagonist’s thigh?

The protagonist has three major worries:

1. Eldest disciple brother has changed

2. Eldest disciple brother has really changed

3. How can he marry eldest disciple brother?

System: Congratulations! ~ Sprinkle Flowers ~ Grow Old Together Happily!

Chu Yu: … Wait, what about the harem novel?

Author’s Note – This 1vs1 (no harem) And HE (Happy Ending)

- Description from Novelupdates

As soon as Qin Feng opened his eyes, he was horrified to find himself lying in a drafty thatched hut. The problem was that he was still in his villa! What was even more horrifying was that there was another man lying under the blanket next to his legs!

“You, you, who are you?”

The man quietly sat up, exposing his upper body. He looked at him fixedly for a moment, then took a broken bowl from the table by the bed. He said in a muffled voice, “Wife, drink this water.”

Qin Feng rolled his eyes and fainted. Without permission, it is forbidden to reproduce or adapt it. Violators must be investigated.

Mira is determined to be a botanist—no matter how dangerous or violent it may become. Mira made two requests upon entering the multiverse: a botany class to further her research and to be dropped off in an isolated forest far from the violent god-rearing system BS going on. She was granted both—but not in the way she expected. The system abandoned her in a hellishly dangerous forest—where she earned a rare class that excelled at killing things.

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.”