MTL - The Moon In My Arms - Chapter 24 Large-scale eating melon scene

One day, when a novelist woke up from a restless sleep,he realized that he had transformed into his 12-year-old self.

“Your stats are lower than that of your average person.”

The weakest by a mile among the otherworldlers of class 1-A, Takatsuki Makoto.

The Heroes and Sages who had cheat skills in his class had went off, and the base set lifespan is 10 years?

The Great Demon Lord is going to revive soon?

I am a Mage Apprentice?

Isn’t the balance way too bad? This damn Isekai is a tr*sh game!

“Want to be my believer?”, the Goddess that told me this has zero believers!

Aah, this is bad…I don’t think I can clear this. The Goddess with zero believers is an incredible beauty, and she is telling me she is imprisoned somewhere and is waiting to be saved. My last and hardest mission is to save the Goddess.

Clearing this Isekai that only has adversities, the story of the weakest mage.

After living as a famous Korean vlogger-slash-mukbanger, Neoma died a (shameful) death and regressed to her tragic first life— the life where she has to live as a hidden princess with a tyrannical father and a yandere twin brother.

She died at the hands of her psycho brother in her first life. But luckily, she charmed her “big brother” this time. Her father remains a sc*mbag, though.

But a blessing in disguise happened when her twin brother got “sick.” Because of that, she has to pretend as the “Crown Prince,” forcing her father to treat her well.

She thought she was finally on the road to becoming a lady of leisure.

But, despite her laziness, she still ends up completing royal duties that put her closer to the throne than her sick twin brother. The next thing she knew, they already prophesied her to be the first empress of their very patriarchal empire.

Now Neoma finds herself in the middle of the succession war she never wanted to be involved in!

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.”