Novel & Cerita Ugly Cartoon Characters Male

When my wife, also the president of a company, learned that I had voluntarily donated part of my brainstem tissue to awaken her long-cherished love, who had been lying in a coma, she finally left the abbey where she had been praying for his recovery for the first time in seven years. She came to the company and asked what compensation I wanted. Everyone assumed I would seize the chance to ask her for a child to secure our marriage. Instead, I handed her a divorce agreement. For a moment, the entire office thought I was simply playing hard to get. My wife’s expression turned icy. She stripped me of every position I held, then immediately promoted her beloved man and raised his salary, telling me to reflect on my mistakes. Little did she know… The surgery had cost me my memory. The man standing before her now was no longer the husband who had swallowed every grievance. He was now the spirited young man from seven years ago. And this time, he would never sacrifice himself again.

"Shut down for rectification, fined $500,000, plus $300 compensation per customer. That’s the penalty from the Food Safety Bureau. Let’s see if you dare serve us gutter oil again!” Yves Larson, a part-timer at a construction site, sends me a provocative text purposefully, as though he's worried that I don't know what's going on. I just stare at the sign that says "closed for renovation", which is hung on the front door of my eatery. Never would I expect that the budget eatery that I've opened for the sake of the workers will be transformed into a blade that's aimed at me, thanks to the very same workers. That night, I sit in the apartment that my dad has left to me before his death. There, I spend the whole night smoking. Early the next morning, I head over to the bank and withdraw the money left behind by my dad, which is 260 million dollars. Half a month later, my eatery is open for business again. Work resumes at the construction site as well. Yves leads the construction workers to the restaurant at lunch. "I've taught him a good lesson last time. This time, I'm very sure that he won't have the guts to serve us cheap food made of shitty ingredients!" What he doesn't know is that the original eatery is already demolished. In its place stands a luxurious five-star restaurant. I stand in front of the main entrance as I perform a welcoming gesture to the workers. "This is a five-star restaurant that offers a private dining experience to you. The minimum bill for each table is 4000 dollars. You're welcome to dine here."

At the parent-teacher conference, Emery Carey's essay, My CEO Mom, won first place, earning thunderous applause from the class. But the mood soured when my daughter ran to me in tears, her cheeks marked with red handprints. "Emery hit me again. He said I don't belong in his class and spat in my face." I scooped her up and marched to the teacher to demand answers. The teacher brushed it off. "It's just kids' horseplay. Don't blow it out of proportion. Emery's mother is the CEO of Mills Group. Get the picture and pull your kid out. Don't affect the mood." I froze, shocked by the absurdity. Then I dialed my lawyer. "Prepare the divorce agreement. Olivia is leaving with nothing." She'd been using my money to fund her lover and his son. That betrayal would not go unpunished.

I'd barely been welcomed back into the inner circle when the fake heir tried to pull me into his little crew. The other rich kids, of course, couldn't resist messing with me. They pushed me to smoke and drink, treating me like some obedient stooge. I was pissed—steam practically coming out of my ears. He, meanwhile, put on this innocent act and said, "Hey, go easy on my brother. He just moved back from the middle of nowhere and doesn't know how things work around here. I'll take this one for him." Everyone ate up his "loyalty," and just like that, my reputation as some clueless hick was sealed. That day, he was set on dragging me to another rich-kid party. I was about to put my foot down when, out of nowhere, the steward from one of the capital's old-money families showed up at our door. He said it was a special order from the lady's father—an extravagant gift. My parents' faces lit up instantly. They clapped the fake heir on the shoulder, practically glowing with pride. "Ryan, you've made us proud! Looks like Sophia's family is more than pleased with you. This engagement—well, it's as good as done!" Ryan straightened his tie with practiced charm, shooting me a smug, taunting look. But when I glanced at the label on the gift box, I couldn't help but laugh. Every new hire at Harrington Group gets the same welcome package. If the Chairman of Harrington Group knew someone was mistaking it for an engagement gift for his daughter, he'd be furious enough to lose sleep.

My in-laws, Melvin Gardner and Sharon Murphy, kept it a secret from us and traveled all the way to Metoville to surprise their daughter, Vivian Gardner. I brought them to the restaurant where Vivian worked as head chef, thinking she would give them a proper welcome and a great meal. However, Vivian called over her favorite pretty-boy apprentice, Tyler Lambert, and had him handle a batch of wild-harvested oysters from the deep sea. These rare specimens were notorious because they may carry Tetrodotoxin if not purged with extreme precision—a high-stakes task that even the seasoned chefs usually avoided. Tyler frowned and whined at her, "Oh come on, Chef, these oysters are so tricky to prepare. I'm not sure I can handle them..." Vivian just laughed it off. "Just give them a quick rinse, and you're done. They're just a couple of old country folks. There's no need to fuss." Melvin and Sharon ate the oysters. Within ten minutes, they were foaming at the mouth and collapsed on the table. When Vivian rushed over, she did not even bother to look at the two elderly people. Instead, she was busy comforting Tyler, who had gone pale and fallen into her arms. She said, "If they got food poisoning, send them to the hospital. But make sure they sign a liability waiver before they leave." She glanced at me casually, her tone suggesting the poisoned elderly couple had nothing to do with her. "Your parents are from the countryside, so they're probably not used to city food. Don't try to pin this on the restaurant or Tyler!" It hit me that she still had not realized the people who had collapsed at the table were her own parents. I looked at her helplessly and confirmed, "Are you sure you want to clear 'Tyler' of all responsibility?"

"Quinn, I accidentally hit someone when I was driving earlier. I think… I think it was your son!" The day after my friend, Owen Jolin, gets his driving license, he insists on driving to the kindergarten to pick up his son by himself. I advise him to spend a few more days practicing his driving skills, seeing as that road is always packed with trucks. But he just rolls his eyes at me. "Don't worry about me. I'm super good at driving, you know!" After that, he stomps on the gas pedal and speeds away in his car. But a short while later, he calls me on the phone, and he sounds extremely frightened. He tells me that he has hit someone outside the kindergarten. He said the child is completely drenched in blood, and he somehow looks like my son, Elliot Shelby. I'm stunned, to say the least. Elliot has come down with a fever today, so he's skipped school for the day. Then… who on earth did Owen kill?

The bedroom was dark, and I was holding my wife's hand, feeling like I wanted to do something a little daring. But as I moved her hand, she suddenly stopped me, her hand trembling slightly. When the movie ended and the lights came on, I was shocked to realize that the person beside me wasn't my wife, but our neighbor, Lesley Mendoza...

After failing a bomb disposal mission, my wife, who's also a bomb disposal expert, gives my shield to her true love. I grab her hand and plead with her not to do it, but she shoves me away. "You're so selfish! You have a system that can revive you—why do you even need the shield? Jeremy is already weak, to begin with. He can't handle any impact and needs two shields to keep him safe!" She doesn't know that the system has only given me two chances to be revived. I used the first chance when she begged me to save Jeremy Sawyer. During a mission last year, I used the second chance to save her from the brink of death. It looks like I'm going to die today.

When I'm on my break, I decide to help my neighbor, Yvonne Cook, fix the gas valve, which has been leaking gas. But she instantly lodges a report, saying that I've gone against the rules. She demands compensation for the shock that she's suffered as well. I don't bother defending myself. Instead, I just write a reflection report. After that, my squad leader sentences me to disciplinary confinement. Yvonne wastes no time gloating in the tenants' group chat. "It's time to teach these power-abusers a good lesson, anyway!" Three days later, a fire breaks out in Yvonne's apartment. Thick plumes of dark smoke keep rising from the burning apartment. Yvonne wails as she bangs on my door and pleads with me. "Please crack open the door and put out the fire!" I can only sigh from behind my front door. "I'm under disciplinary suspension right now, so I can't break protocol. You should wait for the fire truck instead."

I've invested in my cousin, Jack Glenwood's farm. His net profit is more than four million dollars per year. On the day I'm supposed to receive my bonus, Jack tears the contract stating that I get a 55% profit share right in front of my family. After that, he transfers 40 thousand dollars to me. He even has the audacity to pat me on the shoulder with a smile on his face. "Noah, you never did anything throughout the year. Since I'm giving you 40 thousand dollars, that means I'm treating you well, right?" I just smile as I look at Jack's greedy and despicable expression. Then, I accept the 40 thousand dollars without saying anything. The next day, I cut off the secret formula to the farm's feed and travel overseas to carry out a new round of investments. This time, I want to see how Jack will fare without my secret formula.