My Only Choice is to Date S-Class Goddesses - Chapter 29 – A little cat

Transmigrated Become Sukuna, but the host is Yukinoshita Yukino?“Ryomen Sukuna? The strongest sorcerer in history? He’s just an ordinary person born in a time without me.”Hayashizaki stood in front of Ryomen Sukuna, looking at him with a playful expression.“On my left is the 'Little Yukinoshita,' a possessor of multiple techniques, easily wielding both the Limitless Cursed Technique and the Ten Shadows Technique; on my right is the 'Big Yukinoshita,' who has awakened a unique modern technique, no less powerful than me. As for slashing techniques, those are just our basic attacks.”“So, tell me, how do you, Sukuna with 15 fingers, plan to deal with this?”Ryomen Sukuna stared at the black-haired young man in front of him, whose cursed energy was identical to his own, dumbfounded.

“Impossible… Why are you not following my orders!? Clearly I sucked your blood, why!?”

On the very first day of high school, the youth subscribing to the philosophy of “absolutely ordinary everyday life,” Kujou Hisui, encountered disaster head on: He was attacked by Rushella Daamu Draculea, the vampire who had lost her memory. Rushella was greatly intrigued to find her vampire powers ineffective against Hisui. Not only did she make Hisui’s home her own, she even enrolled in his school to stick to him–

Hisui had no choice but to help Rushella regain her memory. But before one crisis could be resolved, many more had risen. With tempting advances from the mysterious Sudou Mei, and kidnapped by the girl from the Supernatural Investigations Section in search of Rushella, Hisui’s ordinary life has been replaced by its complete opposite, drama–

Romantic comedy and supernatural action in a school setting!

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.