MTL - Inventory on the Top of the High-burning Team Battle, Exposing the Sun God - Chapter 437

“I’ll see you on the other side of the stars,” she whispered before breathing her last.

In France, just entered Versailles, with the identity of the Crown Prince.The only problem was that the reigning king was Louis XVI, and in two years, he’d be “snapped”…Since I couldn’t rely on dear old dad and the ministers, I had to take matters into my own hands to reform France!First, make a bit of easy money to solve the financial crisis that had plagued the nation for hundreds of years.Then give a harsh lesson to those nobles harboring treacherous intentions and plotting to seize power.Next, confiscate the Church’s abundant lands, acquired without lifting a finger.Industry, technology, agriculture, commerce—I will all advance side by side, I, the greatest Crown Prince in France!That year, when the little British struggled with the allied forces at his borders, I simply took over his little island.That year, my sword pointed at all of Europe, the magnificent feat Napoleon didn’t accomplish, I will achieve!!!

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.

She is the underworld Ghost Doctor’s only disciple, who accidentally transmigrated into the body of the main wife’s daughter in the general’s mansion. She used to be a punching bag.Now, she stepped on her dregs of an older sister, put her father’s concubine in her place, and teaches any objectionable aristocratic ladies a lesson.

Her days are rather free and unfettered. But when did that cold as ice prince from the rumors, sporting a deadpan face all day long, fix his gaze on her?
He unexpectedly fawned and pandered to her like a devoted dog?

“Go away, you rotten man! Careful or I’ll needle you like a pin cushion!”

“Wife, why are you so fierce? As a husband, I’m so scared”
….the man is all smiles as he approached, his eyes gleaming with a cunning light.

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