Netheril’s Glory - Chapter 140: The Giant alchemical puppet.

The famous One Piece and the pioneer of the era of great pirates, Gore D. Roger, has one greatest wish in his life—that is to go back to his youth, to take the self who is about to know his cheating vice-captain as a whole. Slap to death!

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- Description from novelbuddy

Kieran was just an ordinary part-timer — a high school dropout who had also given up on boxing. With no parents and no real family, he survived by working his ass off every day. He was raised by a man he believed to be his father, but later discovered he wasn't — though the man passed away before the truth could fully sink in. What Kieran didn’t know was that he was actually the sole heir to a powerful business empire, the hidden son of a wealthy tycoon.

Qiao Nan: Crap! I am your biological daughter, yet I am treated as if I was picked up from the streets. In fact, you treat me worse than that!

Mother Qiao: Qiao Nan, you are not as pretty or smart as your elder sister. You are not as blessed as her. You have no right to study, marry, or to have your happiness!

Qiao Nan: Why am I not allowed to study, marry, or to seek my happiness? I will find a man right now and marry him!

Qiao Nan is dumbstruck upon discovering that the man right beside her is a powerful figure in the quad—the person who has the most promising prospects to be the future Chief.

Qiao Nan stares at the well-built man in front of her. He has firm abs and cold, chilling eyes. She swallows the lump in her throat as she says her greetings, “Good Morning, Chief!”

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”