I Became a Murderer in the Academy. - Chapter 11: Delusional.

WARNING!-DARK ROMANCE-“Why do you have scars?” All of sudden, Iris changed the topic, as she looked at Cane in the eyes. She was still clutching to his sleeves.“Your father gave me,” Cane replied. He thought, Iris wouldn’t remember this conversation when she woke up.“That must be so painful.”“They are.”“Will the scars heal?”“I don’t think so.”The night indeed made you vulnerable and let you said something that you would never admit when it was bright. The obscurity softened your heart.“Too bad. You have a warm soul.” Iris frowned slightly.“I no longer have a soul.” He had sold his soul for the freedom of his people. There was nothing left of him right now.“Yes, you have, but you are in so much pain.” Iris blinked her eyes. “Your beast is in pain. You have so many scars.”“The only scars that I have is on my face.”Iris shook her head meekly. “I am not talking about your face. I am talking about your soul. Too bad, you are in so much pain… what my father and brother had done to you must be painful…”And after that, Iris closed her eyes and fell asleep.======================She is the daughter of an alpha who has killed his family, razed his pack and has also made his people slaves.Now, he has achieved revenge after ten years of being treated as a slave and was living a life that no one would ever imagine. Life akin to hell.And ten years later, Alpha Cane manages to take over and kill the alpha who has made the lives of his people worse than death.It was time for him to make the children of the alpha pay for what their father had done.Only…Iris was a runt and she was very different from her father.

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.

As a male fashion model, Su Nuo didn’t like others calling him feminine. But against all of his hopes, his beautiful appearance really betrayed him.

I was transported into the romantic fantasy novel my younger sister was reading, not as the male lead but as the second male lead. If I remember correctly, this punk is fated to go into war in the future and die in the male lead’s place.

Okay, I’ve made up my mind. Let’s not go anywhere near the main characters and stay healthy until I can go home.

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