Uprising In The Plot! After Transmigrating, The Bigshots Pampered Me - Chapter 92 - Evidence of Crime

Xia Yuqing is a shut-in+fujoshi from the 21st century. After an accident, she transmigrates into the body of a young princess forced into a political marriage to another country.

“W-where is all this blood coming from? Is this– Is this nose blood? AH, YOUR HIGHNESS! A-are you alright? What? No! You mustn’t! Princess Xia, please, come back!”

“… I… need… to… see…”

The aide could only helplessly look on as Princess Xia Yuqing crawled towards the emperor’s quarters, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.

Fujoshi: a term for a woman who enjoys reading about relationships between men.

- Description from Novelupdates

After she noticed she was being chased after by a certain beauty, she bound herself to a System and started her quick transmigration journey…

After a countless number of worlds, the beauty was finally driven to villainy, and his long, elegant fingers pulled at his black tie…

I made a character gacha game with constellations that people from other worlds can relate to. I was worried about what would happen if the constellations got angry, but… [The King of All Demons complains that the Demon King character’s pick rate is too low and begs for some fan service content.] [The First Elven Hero asks when their episode as the protagonist will be released.] [The Master of the Night fidgets their fingers, wondering if their character’s jaw could be made a bit more slender.] They… unexpectedly like it?

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.”