The Omnistore System - Chapter 450: Sisters are enough (R-18)

Perfectly average.

That’s how I would describe myself.

I spent most of my life being just that.

Average test scores with mostly C’s and B’s, average athletic abilities, average appearance, average social life, and average family background.

I wanted to be different, that's why I decided to be a pornstar.

dunno but somehow I awakened the ultimate pornstar system-

will I really be able to become the greatest pornstar?

It was the twenty-third year of Tianxi*. Rumours traversed the streets that the all-knowing Imperial Advisor suffered a great calamity and could not help but enter seclusion to focus on cultivation. However, the commoners secretly clapped their hands and rejoiced. In the winter of the same year, a young monk appeared in the Hui Zhou Fu’s Ningyang District.

The monk’s monastic title was Xuan Min, his memories all missing, yet was versed in the arts of Feng Shui Kan Yu**. On the very first day arriving in Ningyang, he did not hesitate to take care of a dangerous manor, picking up Xue Xian, who was hidden there, along the way.

Since then, Xue Xian – who had been all-powerful in the first half of his life – gained a new life pursuit: to get this baldy*** who had only a good outer appearance to take his last breath and “smile from his grave”.

Xue Xian: If you are unhappy, then I will be happy. If you die, I’ll laugh my ass off.

Xuan Min: …

- Description from Novelupdates

The story is about a man who’s opposed to the now-common practice of implanting false memories, but is one day given memories of a fictional childhood friend. This fabricated happiness torments him, but then, to his surprise, he meets her – a girl who shouldn’t exist.

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.