Surprise Resignation of Female Substitute Secretary - Chapter 8: Quit

Being given a chance and reincarnated is nice and all, yet why do I have to become that male friend who just watches the protagonist flirting with his harem?---World: Kaguya-sama: Love Is War - Hyouka ----

A huge guy is bawling his eyes out. In this day and age? Sure, maybe the world changed while I was away in that other place. I’m not some old-fashioned boomer.But what if that guy is clinging to my pant leg, sobbing and sniffling—And we’re not even acquaintances?Even in modern times, that’s just messed up. Ask any passing kid, they’d agree.So yeah, I shook my leg. He was gross and too close.“The hell’s wrong with you? Crying just ’cause you saw a ghost?” “N-no! I swear, it was really there! You didn’t see it!!”I let the disrespect slide. Barely. He was asking for help and still talking down to me just because I look young?Obviously, I’m not the one who lost his balls. He is.And yet… when I looked where he pointed—Something was there.I threw some coarse salt and looked again.He stared at me like I was insane, but I ignored it.…Yeah. Something was definitely there.It made eye contact.

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.

A master assassin transmigrates into an interstellar era.