MTL - America’s Road To Fame - Chapter 521 The tribe has decided

When people awaken, their class gets ranked.F means nothing.SS means everything.Nobody talks about SSS ranks, because they aren’t real. Well, they weren’t real until he became one.Lucen Ivara was fine with staying average. Keep his head down, take low-tier jobs, eat something hot once in a while. That was the plan.Then his system came online.It didn’t follow the rules.There were no guides. It seemed limitless. There weren’t any safety rails he could cling into.Just a blank interface and a quiet message floating in front of him.[You are the first.]Now Lucen is crafting spells no one’s seen before, hiding a class that could get him killed, and trying to scrape by in a city where dungeon breaks, guild politics, and hidden power plays are part of daily life.He’s not looking to be a hero.But with power like this, staying invisible might be the hardest thing to do..

“No one likes us, it doesn't matter!”“It doesn't matter if everyone likes us!”Aldridge, possessed by time and space, never imagined that one day he would become the boss of the notorious Millwall in England.The Edwards family gave Ferguson seven years to finally recreate the dynasty of the Busby Boys.After Graham's glory, the arsenal was looking for the next Chapman. The professor who was fired for the first time left for Japan, always waiting for the call from Europe.Liverpool, which has won the Champions League four times in seven years, still lives in the shadow of Manchester United.White Hart Lane is gradually becoming ordinary, Stamford Bridge is dimly blue, Jin Yuan's violent Ben challenges the throne, Keegan trains the gorgeous magpie to soar to the sky!In the summer of 1994, the Millwall Youth Army, led by young coach Aldridge, was about to rewrite the history of a hundred years without a championship.That dark blue of a mad lion is determined to sweep Europe...

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.

Past life, her spirit root was dug out from her body. She had wholeheartedly dedicated herself to the just path, but she was sentenced as an evil demonic cultivator.