MTL - This Ninja is Obviously Not Strong, But He Kills Too Much - Chapter 689 Know yourself and the enemy, and you won't be in danger in 0 battles!

One day, after five years of living in the shadow of the popular actor—Mo Boyuan, Dr. Jiang suddenly decided that she had enough!

[Youngster don't understand the charm of 'milfs', instead mistaking Lolitas as the treaures]Leading a life filled with regret and pain, Li Zhiyan reborn with a seemingly feeble 'system', taking back to 2010.Right at the moment he was about to be publicly rejected at graduation party after confessing his feelings with a bouquet of flowers to the school beauty, Yu Sisi, and about to become a joke among his peers for years.“I...I am reborn?”The wheels of a new fate begin to turn.All along, the school beauty Yu Sisi has only been deceiving and playing with him. In his past life, Li Zhiyan himself did not know and became a laughingstock, but now, as a reborn person, he has already seen the true face of this girl.He chuckled coldly, glanced at the mother of Yu Sisi on the side, the 41-year-old Aunt Gu Wanzhou.She was mature, intellectual, elegant, kind, considerate, low-profile.The sex appeal of a mature milf lady was radiating all around.Li Zhiyan decisively picked up the flowers, ignored the school beauty, and boldly confessed his feelings to this attractive mature woman in front of everyone.“Lady Gu, actually, I've had feelings for you for quite a while.”

When we met for the first time in our first year of high school, he saw my contempt, but silently continued to clean;

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.”