Baka to Test to Shoukanjuu‎ - Volume 12, The Twentieth Question

“My turn, draw cards”

“It’s better to use this one if you’re fighting”

Looking at the card in his hand, Yue Si gave a villainous smile.

- Description from novelbuddy

Beside the coast, a hundred-meter star gate is overflowing with light.

Outside the star gate, the army made of steel can’t see the edge at a glance.

On the sky, a fighter jet flew across the sky, interweaving the iron curtain.

In the distant ocean, aircraft carriers, destroyers, and frigates are all over the sea, ready to go.

All the muzzles were aimed at a figure walking out of the star gate.

“I order you to withdraw in the name of the Federal Command, otherwise, all-out war awaits you.”

“war?”

Ancient and Jinlai took a step forward, and his body rose against the wind. In an instant, he grew from less than two meters to a Chaos Demon God thousands of meters high. The brilliance of a white dwarf radiated from him, and his own gravity alone caused it to be caused by thousands of miles around. Lightning and thunder, tsunami tides.

He bows his head…

Looking at a toy-like war weapon.

Reaching out, a hydrogen bomb fell into his hand.

The electron degenerate star nucleus in the body releases helium, and the helium element expands. The terrifying high temperature instantly causes the isotopic elements of hydrogen to aggregate deuterium and tritium, and the energy explodes. The sudden white brilliance is like lighting a sun on the sea.

Before waiting for the sun’s energy to be released, he closed his hands together, and the blazing whiteness mixed with hundreds of millions of high temperatures was compressed and sealed in the palm of his hand, escaping less than half of it.

“I think you should choose peace.”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.

Talent, appearance, power.