The Bigshot's Superstar Wife - Chapter 127: Surrender

Extras die every day in various ways in the game [Demon King’s Palace 3].

He was an extra when he reincarnated into the game.

I’ll never die. Never.

“Let’s get started.”

Evan had come to a conclusion. He tapped his cheeks as a way of signaling to himself that he had made up his mind.

He would become a character who never dies.

Perfectly average.

That’s how I would describe myself.

I spent most of my life being just that.

Average test scores with mostly C’s and B’s, average athletic abilities, average appearance, average social life, and average family background.

I wanted to be different, that's why I decided to be a pornstar.

dunno but somehow I awakened the ultimate pornstar system-

will I really be able to become the greatest pornstar?

(MATURE CONTENT)I GOT HIT BY A TRUCK AND GOT INTO A STEAMY RELATIONSHIP WITH TWO FREAKING ALPHAS!I guess I was facing Karma. Who knew I'd be reincarnated into an alternate universe as a BOY?! And I became a BETA!why didn't I become an OMEGA? Afterall, I was more pretty than any male omega out there, probably because I was a girl in my last life.Well, living the life of a boy is so much easier. That way, I can do stuff I always snuck to do. Hehe. Ahem!Anyway, I got an apartment with two hot Alpha hunks, who I assumed to be dating but they weren't. They were something like friends with benefits.I somehow get involved in their 'relationship' and have to spend my day with at least one of them.It was exhausting but fulfilling.By the way, there seems to be something weird going on with my body. Do Betas become Omegas overnight?It might just be me being overly sensitive but just in case...If you wanna know more about what I'm talking about, read this new story. You'll like it.*********Check out the next generation of this book,To Byul (Omegaverse)And then my other book,It's Just A Picture (BL)

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.