Genius Martial Arts Trainer - Chapter 342: Revenge (1)

Zhang Qiu is an archaeology undergraduate. One month ago, he went to Qinling Mountains with a group of archaeologist doctorate students led by Prof. Fang, to study the newly discovered ancient tomb. While the people were excited to open the tomb, Zhang Qiu was pushed back, and accidentally fell into an opening. Before he fainted, he saw a pair of red eyes staring at him. When woke up, he discovered that he was deflowered! QAQ he remembered the deeds and often dreamed of it.

I may be a virtual YouTuber, but I’m practically an office worker. You’re saying I have the most subscribers in the group, except for the boss? Well, all those subscribers are on the official account, so it doesn’t really mean anything. Why haven’t I made an official debut? … So, what can you actually do about it?

Through the pirate world, I can resurrect the dead and get one of its abilities.

It is said that pirates are immortal, I want to see, in addition to Roger, which other unlucky person has been written to death.

Luffy: “My brother is dead, I never won a game against him when I was a kid.”

Zoro: “My girlfriend died, and I never won a game against her when I was a kid.”

Sanji: “You still have a girlfriend? Ah, my mother died of illness.”

Usopp: “My mother died too.”

Nami: “It’s good to die, my mother was killed.”

Robin: “It’s okay, my mother was killed too.” Everyone: “???”

Whitebeard: “Zefa, I didn’t expect you to die. I was killed by your disciple. My son made up the knife. Who killed you?”

Zefa: “I was killed by my disciple! Let’s go get revenge together!”

Whitebeard: “Yes, but let’s fight first!”

The most chaotic confession in the pirate world..

- Description from novelbuddy

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.