Rebirth in 1980: The Farm Wife Makes a Comeback - Chapter 2 What Kind of Home Is This

When she stands, she’s like a white peony. When she sits, she’s like a tree peony. When she walks, she’s like a lily flower. And when you look her in the eyes, she’s like the Great King of Terror.

Despite having the qualities to be a peerless bishoujo, because of the look of her eyes and that atmosphere of hers, she’s feared by others; such a girl is forcefully sent to another world.

Being told that she would be granted a wish as a special favour, the girl made a wish────

“Make my eyes and atmosphere normal please.”

This is a story recounting the lifestyle in a parallel world of a girl who would be perfect (probably) if just her one weakpoint was overcome.

A fantasy comedy with magic, dungeons, and a hero and demon king(candidate) who she gets tangled up with.

Originally, the question Tang Xian was thinking about was whether he should be a hero for a second among this group of destructive bosses, or continue to pretend to be a boss.

Later he found out that if you pretend to be fake, it becomes real.

- Description from novelbuddy

Luke is a half-beast who grew up in the twisty streets of a large city called Oukiwa. Abandoned by his parents as a child, he soon had to learn the arts of thievery to survive.

Even on the fringes of a super-powered society, he has followed a single rule all his life: never get involved with the Adventurers.

However, this rule is broken when his gang begins to hatch a plan to rob the most powerful family in town.

And so begins the chronicles of Luke Lange, a thief with no ancestors who in the future becomes one of the strongest men in history, with powers that are rivaling even the gods.

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.