Who Let Him Play Yu-Gi-Oh! - Chapter 178: Who’s the Real President?

The Invincible Immortal Emperor reincarnates, taking over the body of a student at the Huaxia Medical College. He displays extraordinary skills both in combat and medicine.In his previous life, he was the undefeated War Emperor and the supreme master of medicine. Yet, he found himself ensnared in the mundane affairs of the world, confronted by endless temptations.Would he lose himself to these temptations or remain steadfast in his principles? Would he succumb to despair and decadence, sinking into oblivion, or would he rise with strength and resilience, reversing the course of destiny?As he sets forth on his path to reclaim his status as the Immortal Emperor, he vows to make the ghosts and gods of the myriad realms tremble in fear!

Xu Zifan climbed to the top circle from the slums, and eventually became a boss level figure, who knew that once he crossed, he became a male cannon fodder!

However, it doesn’t matter, he still wants to be the Big Boss, and whoever doesn’t have eyes will be turned into a slag in seconds!

An idol was destroyed by a reborn woman? Start a company to cherish you!

The real daughter of a rich family despises the childhood sweetheart? It doesn’t matter. I’ll have more fun with the fake daughter~

A slag father gave his property to the half-brother? Give at will… How does bankruptcy feel, President?

Should strive in every life to be the Big Boss!

- Description from Novelupdates

This story is about a man named Putra Indra Santoso who reincarnated as Huo Yuhao. Witness his journey in Douluo Dalu's universe where he discovered and fulfilled his ultimate goals.My Grammar is not the best, but hope you guys like it.(An: I don't own anything besides my OC)

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.