I Become Baby Mafia Boss - Chapter 2405: "She Understood Nothing"

Im-sol is an ordinary student who is about to graduate from college.

Hiding the fact that she is a fan of Ryu Seon-jae, the fifth member of the Idol group ‘Potato Pancakes’,

Right now, she is doing cosplay in public.

-BREAKING NEWS- Ryu Seon-jae, a member of the Idol group, ‘Potato Pancakes’, is dead!

Then one day, because of an accident, Ryu Seon-jae died and Im-Sol, who was in sorrow, accidentally picked up a pocket watch and made a time leap to the past, six years ago.….

Gray pants, white shirt, beige knit vest.

No matter how much she blinked and squinted at him, he was standing alive, right before her.

“Seon-jae, that’s Seon-jae. Ah, it’s him. He’s real.”

Ryu Seon-jae, a high school student who she only saw in the picture, was right in front of her eyes.

This may be an opportunity.

An opportunity to prevent Ryu Seon-jae from joining Potato Pancakes and becoming its 5th ‘unlucky’ member.

An opportunity to save Ryu Seon-jae, who died at the age of 23 with no luck because he took a wrong cold medicine.

Eighteen to live again, with only one goal.

It is to save Ryu Seon-jae!

To save the best in the past,

Im-sol’s struggling ordeal, ‘The Best of Tomorrow.’

Accompanied by all kinds of crisis and despair, was the arrival of mankind’s first significant superhero.

[Urban Martial Arts, Passionate Martial World.] He was a super expert who, due to accepting an inheritance, underwent a physical transformation that put his life at risk. To extend his life, the king returned...

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.