In Naruto as Zhongli - Chapter 56: INAZ - 55

The whole world mutated. Mysterious resurrections happened in real life. The Tribulation descended.

One day, fate played a cruel joke on Fujino. When he woke up, he found himself in the world of Detective Conan. Now, he’s a high school detective with no parents, a four-story building to his name, and a barely sustainable career solving cases.Just when he was at a loss for what to do, a Professional System suddenly activated, allowing him to acquire real detective skills—through pay-to-win mechanics.From that moment on, he ditched the usual “Conan logic” and became a true rational detective, using real investigative techniques instead of convenient anime tropes.Q: Why do you, as a detective, know so many different skills?Fujino: Well, isn’t it normal for a professional detective to actually learn professional skills?

(Rebirth + Business warfare + Pampering spouse + Dog food)Investing today? I've got more important things to handle.Financial crisis? Not my problem; anyhow, I won't be losing money.Huh? This stone of yours is pretty nice, wait for a call at home!Xiao Ming closed the door, turned around, and took out a fist-sized diamond: “Honey, let's grind this into a ball for the kids to play with!”

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.”