Miracle Pill Maker Bullies the Boss - Chapter 51: Nerve Soothing Incense Sticks

The Queen of the elves wants to bear his child, the vatican’s saintess is his maid and the empire’s princess wants to elope with him.

But his only concern was his delusion of taking down the creator of the world!

- Description from Novelupdates

Orson transmigrated into the body of a villainous young master in an overpowered protagonist novel, and the first thing he had to do after waking up was to welcome the protagonist, the real young master, back to the family?Is it too late for me to start sucking up to the protagonist now?I took the initiative to find my fiancée to break off the engagement, but her older sister wanted to take her place and marry me instead?To protect the real young master, I berated the imperial princess, but she secretly fell in love with me?I actively pushed the heroines toward the real young master, but the heroines forced me to become the yellow-haired villain!It’s over, truly…

One day, two forum posts titled “I Seem Unsuited for Dating” appeared on Promontory Forum’s Feelings board nearly at the same time.

User A: 「I have a severe case of mysophobia and possessiveness. I cannot accept it if my girlfriend has had relationship experience. I went to see a psychiatrist, but I haven’t improved. I might truly be unsuited for dating.」

User B: 「I think I might be unsuited for dating. I very much enjoy the ambiguous phase of sounding out each other’s feelings, but after becoming official, if they want to hug me, or perhaps kiss me, I will immediately feel nauseous.」

Internet User: 「I beseech that the two of you be together. Don’t go and harm anyone else.」

- Description from Novelupdates

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.