Cherreads

The Names... RIYURA SHIKO! - 名前は…リユラ・シコ!

Shyzuli_Lolz
Riyura Shiko isn't your average transfer student-he's a walking thunderclap in a school uniform, armed with a red bow tie, gravity-defying purple hair, and the kind of energy that could power a small city. After a catastrophic incident involving pudding, a ferret, and one tragically heroic trampoline, Riyura is relocated to the halls of Jeremy High in hopes of a "fresh start." The problem? Wherever Riyura goes, normality checks out early. From the moment he bursts through the school gates-shouting greetings at trees, challenging basketball players to dribble pineapples, and composing lunch-table operas for his dumplings-Jeremy High becomes a whirlwind of laughter, embarrassment, and improbable friendship. Yet beneath the slapstick chaos beats a restless heart. Riyura's outrageous confidence hides a kid who's terrified of being ordinary, and his unstoppable antics are his way of reminding everyone-especially himself-that joy still matters. As his classmates slowly learn to see past the absurdity, they discover a spark they didn't know they needed: the courage to be strange, sincere, and fully alive. The Names Riyura Shiko! is a high-energy shonen comedy packed with ridiculous stunts, heartfelt surprises, and the occasional flying pineapple. It's a story about finding belonging not by fitting in-but by blowing the doors off normal and dancing through the confetti that follows. And it is highly unfunny... because it does not aim to be funny. It aims to be as stupid as possible to the point where it annoys the viewer. Because being funny ain't my middle name, because why would I want that! - Sincerely Locke Weisz... :))
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I Leash Emperors: The Dead Shout. I Smile

The dead scream for justice. They have been screaming for centuries. In my office on the 88th floor, the sound is indistinguishable from the hum of the paper shredder. I have twelve of history's most dangerous minds in my vault—Caesar, Cleopatra, Napoleon, Wu Zetian, and eight others whose names are synonymous with the word empire. I stripped them of their crowns and their divinity and left them with the only two things that survive death intact: greed, and memory. Then I put them to work. The boardroom is their new battlefield. Stocks are their arrows. Hostile takeovers are their sieges. The First Emperor runs my supply chains with the same draconian efficiency that built the Great Wall. The Queen of the Nile runs my PR division and calls it beneath her. Caesar rewrites the legal architecture of an entire financial district before breakfast and considers it a light morning. The rules are simple. The Emperor with the highest ROI earns twenty-four hours of full sensory restoration—taste, warmth, the burn of real alcohol, everything the synthetic body cannot feel. The Emperor at the bottom earns something else: a Hell Start. Reincarnation as a beggar, a eunuch, a sacrificial lamb in the next cycle. They know this. It keeps them focused. Every full moon, the tavern opens. The millions they killed in their lifetimes gather as my Jury—compressed into a medium that runs on pure hatred, sustained by a spite so concentrated it has proven, against all known physics, to be a measurable energy source. They vote. They decide which of their tormentors leads the next charge, and which of the most venomous among them earns a temporary body to return to the waking world. Wu Zetian shed her imperial robes to kneel at my feet and beg for a private review of her HR directorship. Arsinoe—murdered by her own sister two thousand years ago—spent six weeks haunting Cleopatra's servers and built a perfect weapon before she ever asked me for the body to deliver it. Cleopatra herself believes her beauty is a currency I will eventually accept. She has not yet understood that in this building, the only currency is performance. I do not need loyalty. I need sharp blades. I do not trade in mercy. I trade in ROI. They believe this is my game. They do not ask why I need to win it. Rules? I am the rule. Harem? The highest-tier spoils of a game they don't know the stakes of. Every arc is a different world. Every world is a wound that needs closing. The Emperors do not know this. They never do. Perhaps the last thing standing between their world and oblivion is a man who stopped caring about it long ago. Let the dead shout. I smile. I have to. Tags: #InfiniteFlow #DarkFantasy #HighStakesPolitics #DivineAutocracy #GrimDark #RuthlessMC #HistoricalFigures #DarkHarem Content Advisory: Heavy power dynamics, sensory manipulation, historical figures in morally compromised positions. MC is an unapologetic autocrat. No redemption arcs.
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