Dominate the Super Bowl - Chapter 952: Strive to the utmost

Ryutaro, an ordinary high school student, was suddenly summoned to another world by a mysterious magic circle in his room. Upon arrival, he was greeted by King Albert of the Celestia Kingdom, who declared him a hero destined to defeat the Demon King. However, when Ryutaro checked his status, he was shocked to discover that his assigned job was not a warrior or mage, but… a Farmer.Deemed a failure, Ryutaro was cast away to Black Forest, a place where unfit heroes were abandoned and where the Demon Queen was imprisoned. Just as he was about to despair, a system notification revealed the existence of a Legendary Hoe, a mythical farming tool with extraordinary abilities. Determined to prove his worth, Ryutaro embarks on a journey to master his newfound power and show the world that even a farmer can become a hero.But deep within the forest, an unknown figure watches his every move… Who is this mysterious person, and what awaits Ryutaro in this new world?

As the youngest son of a top chaebol in the Blue Star entertainment circle, Lin Zhibai thought that his life was just to eat and wait to die.

Until that summer.

The system fell from the sky, and he awakened the memory of his previous life.

“So I’m from Earth?”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”