Who Killed Gojo

On the day before the college entrance assessment, my three childhood friends have gone missing collectively. Because of that, my phone is swamped with phone calls. The parents of my missing friends keep wailing to me, "We've worked so hard our entire lives just so our sons can get into a great university!" My homeroom teacher, Mr. Levinski, begins pressuring me. "You're the class president, so you must find them! The college entrance assessment is a vital event that can determine how one's future will turn out!" Even my classmates and my neighbors keep texting me for more updates. But what they don't know is that I've already hung up on my friends' phone calls for help by using my revision for the assessment as an excuse. In my previous life, my childhood friends had already gotten bewitched by Lucille Reyes, a delinquent. They insisted on celebrating their coming-of-age ceremony at a nightclub because of her. I accidentally overheard Lucille plotting with her delinquent friends that they intended on taking nudes of my friends and extort money from them so that they couldn't attend the college entrance assessment the next day. So, I did everything I could to stop my friends, only to get kicked to the side. "Don't stop us from pursuing true love!" For the sake of my friends' future, I informed their families at once and had them brought into the exam venue by force. Finally, all three of my childhood friends got into prestigious universities. But Lucille, on the other hand, got beaten to death by the delinquents because she couldn't pay her protection fees due to her scheme getting foiled. My friends broke down mentally because of her death. They then decided to pin the blame on me. On our freshman year, my friends treated me to some drinks out of "gratitude", only for them to spike my drink. Later on, they tossed me to the same group of delinquents, who violated me in an alley. They even had the gall to record everything from the alleyway while keeping an eye out for the police. Thanks to them, my future was completely ruined. My parents committed suicide out of despair. To rub salt onto my wound, those friends showed up at the hospital with the video and backed me into a corner once again. "You owe Lucy this much!" In my despair, I ended up jumping off the rooftop. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day before the college entrance assessment. As I watch my friends excitedly discussing the nightclub party behind my back, I can't help but smile. In this lifetime, I choose to lock my door and sign the guaranteed admission agreement meant for Mephton University, the most prestigious university ever, without any hesitation. As for my so-called friends, they can enjoy their coming-of-age ceremony in hell.

This is thriller where the killer murders with put leaving a detail and you wont ever feel bored i guess all of you guys will enjoy reading this

Namih Chan is a detective. She does not believe in the ghost that will return to earth to demand justice. But since Namih Chan lived in her rented house, her perspective changed. Almost every night, she dreams of a bloody woman. She was begging for justice. It doesn't hold her back anymore. Until she decided to reopen the woman's case when she found out that someone had died in the house she was renting, few years ago. She struggled to trace the woman's origin until she met the family. She was asking for cooperation from the family, but they refused. Until she meets the eldest brother who is also a detective. Joojen Lee, a half blooded korean who used to live in the country. She worked with him. Along with her search for justice is the monthly case of murder of a half filipino women in their city. The woman died the same way as Joana was killed. She concluded that the killer of the woman in their city and Joana's killer had something to do with it. Will they succeed in achieving the justice that Joana demands, in exchange for her silence? Are they ready to find out who is the person behind the murders?

I had personally trained Damiano Vestri and brought him up the ranks to become the mafia’s Don. The family’s inner circle accepted him, and he was loyal only to me. Whenever bullets went flying, he would always shield me and take many of them for me. The night before our wedding, I waited for his return, but what I got was news of his death. A week later, I received an email with a pregnancy report and a photo. The photo showed Damiano caressing another woman’s belly. It turned out he had faked his death so that he could be with his first love. The due date for her pregnancy was approaching. I scoffed and clicked the safety off on my gun. If he wanted to fake his death, I would help him turn it into a real one.

Fifteen years ago, my parents-in-law were cut into pieces. My wife and I spent years searching for the killer. One day, I came back from the market and found that the neighbor’s family had been murdered in the same way. At the crime scene, I saw the neighbor’s face in the mirror. I rushed out and chased him. I was just about to catch him when my wife stopped and handcuffed me with her own hands. “Drop the act. You’re the killer!”

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.