Mr. CEO, Please Stay - Chapter 18

“I will leave the debut group.”

I can’t make it in this group. I should leave and set up a chicken restaurant so that my brothers could at least make a name for themselves.

Destined to be a failed idol, I decided to leave the group for the betterment of the others.

However,

[A member dies if you leave the debut group.]

What?

“…This is making me crazy.”

The struggles of Bong Tae-Yoon, the Maknae on top, whose hands hold the lives of his group members, begins now!

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

[Complete your story by challenging countless monsters, demons, and legends]

This is the last sentence I saw before I lost my mind.

And it’s one sentence that I’m still holding on to.

That’s how the journey of killing monsters and wandering in search of all kinds of rumours began.

And it will continue.

Until the day I get out of this damn game.

Michael Alastair never mattered. In a world where strength was everything, he was nothing—just another powerless kid, easy to break and easier to forget. When his tormentors finally took things too far, his story should have ended in that alley, bleeding and alone.But fate had other plans.In the void between life and death, a voice spoke. Cold. Sharp. Amused. [NEW TALENT UNLOCKED: WRITER’S LEGACY]. A system unlike any other—sarcastic, relentless, and strangely invested—offered Michael a power beyond reason and a purpose he never imagined. Now, armed with an SSS-rank ability and a mission to rise, he’s back. And this time, he won’t just survive—he’ll rewrite the rules.

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.”