MTL - Tattoo - Chapter 9

“Classes” are given at the age of 10, and the presence or absence of “skills” greatly affect life. Arel, the son of “Sword Princess” Fara and “Magic King” Leon, has been branded as “Classless”… But even without a job or skills, Arel believes he can persevere through effort.

Xu Youyou rebirthed to when she was 16 years old and chose a path different from her previous life and met Qiao Mu ten years earlier. The youth who had braved the wind and snow protecting her till death — and who had confessed to her.

And she realized, the Qiao Mu ten years earlier and the Qiao Mu she knew were completely different people. He didn’t have his smile that could radiate sunlight, he didn’t have his courage that could penetrate snowstorms, and he certainly didn’t have his perfect eight pack. He was like a short mushroom, quietly growing in the corner’s shadow.

Xu Youyou: If you dare be like this when you confess to me, you are so dead.

Qiao Mu was a teenage Weiqi genius, he loved Weiqi, but because of his shadow of youth was unable to enter the competition arena. And because of the fear, he was unable to become a professional player and could only return to a typical school life.

Until he met Xu Youyou.

A widely known reckless and fearless girl, who was the complete opposite of him. She was good at everything, except things relating to love. Clearly he wasn’t her type, yet she always provoked him. But the biggest joke was himself, he clearly knew everything, yet could not help but fall into the hands of the enemy.

- Description from Novelupdates

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.

Living life in this new world was already hard enough....So why?Why is the villainess of this world obsessed with me?