Arena - Chapter 116 – To the Aman Empire (Part 2)

“I, alpha Dylan, reject you, Anastasia, as my mate”.“An- and, I, Anastasia, accept your rejection, alpha Dylan”. I forced myself to say, before I ran away in tears.As soon as I arrived in my room and shut the door, I burst out laughing to my heart's content.“I can't believe this. Finally, Alpha Dylan is off my back!”.You may all be wondering why I am happy to be rejected by my mate, right?That's because I'm not the real Anastasia.

“The new book 'Awakening Items: Mind Reading, Starting with a Crazy 10 Billion' has been released, your collection and support are welcome......”In her past life, the apocalypse had arrived, and her in-laws confirmed to have no bottom line, trading Jhiang Yuan's body for a pack of instant noodles. When she returned, she discovered that her daughter had frozen to death, and she herself died on the way to the hospital.Reborn, she swiftly signed the divorce papers, took the ten million she got from the settlement, and maxed out the scumbag's credit card.She brought her parents over, hoarded supplies like crazy, and turned her home into an apocalypse fortress.Extreme heat or severe cold, Jhiang Yuan enjoyed barbecue and hotpot, looked around at the rooms full of supplies, and just wanted to lie flat and be a salted fish!

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.