MTL - The Empress’ Livestream - Chapter 5 005: The iron port is cut off (1)

When I woke up, I was flabbergasted.I was in the world of Naruto, arguably one of the most dangerous place in the world.But I will survive, and reach my dreams neverthelessAlternate universe, be warned.I own nothing#naruto #antihero #genius #system

[This is your typical story where there is a System of unknown origin given to mankind, and the existence of Towers, Dungeons, and Constellations, the known or unknown ‘Gods and Demons’ of humanity’s collection of myths.]

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— Ding!

[Astronomical Event!]

An event called 'Emergence of Races' struck the human world where the planet Earth was stretched out like dough causing it to become seven times its original diameter.

Various Towers and Dungeons sprouted out of nowhere that caused an earthquake that broke the seismic scale.

Billions of humans died in the process that crumbled human society in an instant.

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And just like that, Russell Moon reincarnated in the world of his-considered-failure unpublished novel [The Forgotten Swordsman of Ruined Star], sixteen (16) years before the beginning of the ‘Main Story’ which was set forty (40) years after the Emergence of Races.

And due to that very reason, the existence of 'Untouched and Unknown elements' came back to bite him!

'Why did I write that way?'

Russell Moon lamented.

In America in 1995, the flame of the Internet had just been ignited, mobile phones were still bricks, and Hollywood movies had not yet entered the era of special effects. All these will enter another era due to the appearance of Song Yang.

Some media exclaimed that he is a new generation of Howard Hughes, just like what Hughes did back then, leading the trend and making countless people crazy, and Song Yang was worse than the original Hughes, he changed. an era.

But for the media’s comments, Song Yang just left a sentence, “I’m just me, history will give the answer!”

- 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.