Number One Lazy Merchant of the Beast World - Chapter 83 - Daily Raising of Children on Earth (1)

Shi Qing’s task was to be a protector.

“Han… Yi Jin? The dual-class loser villain bastard, Han Yi Jin?”Han Yi Jin had reincarnated as an insignificant villain in a male-oriented modern fantasy novel.Han Yi Jin, the small-fry villain who hung around the main character, Kang Yoo Hyun, and died at the beginning of the story.“Aren’t you acting a little strange today?”“What’s strange? F*ck off if you don’t have any business with me.”To avoid suspicion, he acts like Han Yi Jin from the original story. This rather attracts the attention of the gongs, and Yi Jin is looked upon with suspicion.[Synchronisation is complete.] Shake the Catnip (S): All stats of the designated opponent +20%In the meantime, he had acquired the “Catnip Skill” from nowhere.Because of this skill, which becomes more effective the higher the intensity of the skinship, Yi Jin begins to attract the obsession and interest of the other characters…“I love it when you curse.”“Hyung, would you like to go out on a date with me?”“You wouldn’t think of that if I cut off at least one of your legs.”“Keep running away like that. I’m curious how far you can go.”These crazy bastards are obsessed with me.“Why are you all staring at me with those eyes? Get the f*ck out of here, you crazy bastards!”Will Yi Jin be able to escape safely from the clutches of the gongs?Will he be able to escape death?

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.”