Breaking the Day - Chapter 246: Boosting Morale

Seven years ago, she freely and easily abandoned ￥100 and ran away, carrying her unborn son with her. Seven years later, she returned with the lady killer’s genius son, never expecting that her darling son would sell her out to MBS International. Unexpectedly, her immediate superior was the Mr. ￥100 from seven years ago!

[Warning: The title might be named this way, but we’re actually NOT on hiatus.]I’m a third-rate writer, Yu Il-Shin.So don’t think that I’m actually a god; it’s just a name.One day, I experienced the much-anticipated awakening, but my newfound skill was… kinda weird?…In the small world connected through my mobile phone where the little, weak ants were getting killed regarded me as their god?

After the death of her grandfather, Lu Xiaoxiao, a girl who lived in the 23rd century, lived alone in the villa left by her grandfather regardless of the dislike of relatives.

Suddenly, she found that her grandfather left her a space in Yu Peili. She likes to read novels, fearing that the end of the world will come, and she starts hoarding things desperately.

In the country, it became the body of an 8-year-old girl named Lu Xiaoxiao whose parents both died with the same name and surname. Fortunately, the space has come together, even in this strange era, I can live well

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”