Regressing as the Reincarnated Bastard of the Sword Clan - Chapter 134: Age 16 (4)

She was the world’s number one genius assassin who struck fear with just a mention of her name. Ruthless and merciless, she killed without leaving a trace. Yet she was deceived and used by the organization, and met a tragic end.

When she was reborn, she became a fat and s*upid female student.

Fat?

She stunned everyone after losing weight!

s*upid?

The president of Peking University personally came to recruit her!

Useless?

Hacker idols begged to call her goddess!

Medical giants knelt to become her minions!

Even mercenaries chased her shouting “Boss”! Math geniuses clung to her asking for solutions!

She just wanted an ordinary life, yet accidentally rose to be number one again, and gained a cunning big shot who protected and secretly pursued her.

The male and female leads fought like cats and dogs, both incredibly sly~

[Dual clean, sweet doting, face slapping, falling from grace, big shots…] [The female lead is calm, strong, a genius who acts before speaking.] [The male lead is cunning, careful, jealous, and dotes on his wife.]

No silly behavior, safe to indulge~

I think my husband wants to kill me.

Whether it’s forgetting to turn off the gas or finding the bathroom door locked after I just finished bathing, it all makes me feel that he wants to kill me.

I know that I shouldn’t be considering this because we are a gay couple and we have been together for seven years.

Our relationship is also stable, and he is very good to me.

But I really think he wants to kill me.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.