Semi Perfect Cell Vs Vegeta Novels & Stories

For eighteen years, my wife, Elizabeth Connerty, never once reached out to her first love, Lucas Ryder. She committed herself fully to me and cooked warm meals for me. She attended every parent-teacher conference for our daughter. She carefully planned our family trips year after year. That was how we lived—quietly, steadily, and happily—for eighteen years. But after our daughter celebrated her eighteenth birthday, I turned to Elizabeth and said, "Let's get a divorce." She stood in the doorway of our daughter's bedroom, staring at me in stunned silence. I added calmly, "When our daughter was born, you promised me that once she turned eighteen, we would divorce."

After transferring into an elite high school, I was bullied. However, it was not my classmates that bullied me; it was every object in the school. The private bathroom in my dorm only ran icy cold water when I showered, forcing me to trek to the public bathhouse in the dead of winter. When I begged the dorm supervisor, Mrs. Linda Mercer, to submit a repair request, she rolled her eyes and said, "The students who lived here last year never had this problem. Why is it suddenly broken when you move in?" My student ID card never worked in the library or the cafeteria. Every single time, it failed to scan, and I had to register manually. The multimedia equipment in the classroom froze whenever I touched it, dragging down the entire class schedule. I went to the teachers for help. They frowned and complained instead. "Everyone else can use it just fine. Why does it only malfunction when you do?" Even my deskmate rolled her eyes and mocked me. "You put on such a show every day. You are the only one who's so special. Are we supposed to stop studying just for you?" One strange incident after another completely isolated me at my new school. I cried and begged my parents to let me transfer again. They said, "The college entrance exam is right around the corner. Stop making trouble. Just endure it, and it will pass." I listened. I decided to grit my teeth and push through. Then, on the day of the college entrance exam, the security gate malfunctioned and started leaking electricity. Everyone else was fine. I was the only one who was electrocuted to death on the spot. Until the moment I died, I could not understand why the entire school seemed to be pushing me out. I was just a newly transferred student who had no grudges with anyone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I arrived to register at the new school.

My in-laws were hit by a car crash. I called my husband, begging him to give me some money to pay the hospital bill. He said, "Oh, if you want money, just come out with it. That excuse is terrible!" He hung up on me. Despite how unfair it felt, I had to call him again. This time, a voice I was familiar with hit my ears. A woman's voice. "Chris, I got a bit too much sunscreen on my hand. Can I smear the rest on your abs?" Lovingly, my husband said, "You little troublemaker." His parents died that night. Overseas.

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."

Of the five boys who'd been raised to marry me, Lance Riverford was the one who hated me the most. And yet, he was the one I loved the most. Three times I was reborn, and three times I forced him to be my husband. Each time ended the same way—he and his childhood sweetheart killed me. When I opened my eyes for the fourth time and met that same look of loathing in his eyes, something inside me finally let go. I turned away and chose his rival, Jace Elden, as my husband instead. But at the wedding, Lance demanded with tears in his eyes, "Why did you choose someone else this time? Are you doing this just to spite me?" That was when I realized… he'd been reborn too.

After being reborn, the very first thing I do is schedule a hysterectomy. In my past life, my boyfriend's first love started a livestream channel to build her image as a brilliant OB-GYN. The moment she saw me vomiting, she deliberately claimed on livestream that I was pregnant. Right then and there, my boyfriend insisted that he had never even slept with me. I tried to explain, but she handed me medication to help sustain the pregnancy. She even told me to take care of myself and take them on time. Viewers made fun of my boyfriend, saying I had cheated on him. Furious, he broke up with me. Later, my personal information leaked, and countless men began harassing me for hookups. I couldn't take it anymore and jumped to my death. Meanwhile, his first love rode the fame wave of her brilliant OB-GYN persona, gaining followers and being idolized by her fans. But this time, I don't even have a uterus. Let's see how she plans to fake a pregnancy scandal now.

After my hundredth disastrous blind date, my best friend and I made a bold decision: we would have children without husbands. She chose sperm from a brilliant PhD donor. I chose a donor with an eight-nation mixed heritage. Later, the PhD donor from Kingsford University was diagnosed with low sperm motility and decided he wanted to marry my friend, Melissa Shaw. She agreed. Whenever she saw me going to my prenatal checkups alone, Melissa would wrap her arm around her husband and mock me. "You're destined to be alone," she sneered. "You can't even find a man to marry you. My husband just launched a major national research project. His future is limitless." What she did not know was that the father of my child was the Prince of Dubaria. He took me back to his country and made me his princess. The jewels I wore were so heavy they practically weighed me down. However, after she saw the yacht I posted on social media, Melissa suddenly called me in tears. "I don't know what happened," she sobbed. "My husband's project was suddenly suspended. We can barely afford baby formula for our child." She said she wanted to make up and even asked if I would be her child’s godmother. However, the moment I stepped through her door, she raised a chainsaw and hacked me to death. "Why do you get to live a better life than me?" she screamed. "Just because you chose better sperm?!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my best friend and I first decided to have children without husbands.

Every other student could hear the inner thoughts of Chloe Yates, the campus belle. It was like a radio station was broadcasting her mind, and unfortunately for me, the broadcast was usually bad news. It started during the ROTC courses in our freshman year. I was doubled over with terrible period cramps and asked to sit out. Chloe just shook her head, letting out a dramatic, pitying sigh. "Oh, this is awful," her internal voice broadcast to everyone. "Should I tell everyone the truth? Sylvie is totally faking it. If the sergeant finds out she's lying, he's going to punish the whole class because of her." The sergeant, hearing her thoughts, immediately assumed I was a liar. He forced the entire class to run 30 laps as punishment. After that, no one would talk to me. Later, when I applied for the need-based financial aid grant, Chloe went on a rampage with her internal thoughts. "Her family isn't poor!" her voice screamed in everyone's heads. "They have a car and a house. She's just vain. She's trying to scam the college out of grant money so she can buy a new phone. I feel so bad for the actual poor kid whose spot she's stealing." Once the class heard that, they silently agreed to vote against my application. Without that money, I had no choice but to work three part-time jobs just to survive. I worked myself into the ground until I finally gave out. I collapsed in the classroom while clutching my chest, suffering a massive heart attack. I cried out, begging my classmates to call 911. However, Chloe's voice cut through the air right then. "She doesn't have a heart condition. She's pregnant. She's trying to trick a guy into taking her to the hospital so she can get an abortion, and then she's going to frame whoever helps her for getting her knocked up." Terrified of being blamed, the students backed away from me like I was radioactive. They stood there and watched as I died on the classroom floor. Right up until the moment I died, I never understood why my life had turned into such a nightmare. However, when I snapped my eyes open, I had returned to the day of the ROTC courses. The cramps were back, and the sun was beating down on me. Chloe did not know one crucial detail. This time, I could hear her thoughts too.

My boyfriend has always doted on me. However, after learning that I can't go to work at the bank after falling and injuring myself, he snaps at me. "Why didn't you tell me you switched shifts with someone else? That was a cheap move!" I don't refute him. Instead, I pull out a hospitalization record as I watch the bank descend into chaos. In my past life, I attended to a couple who wanted to deposit five million dollars into their account. Their child had been diagnosed with a rare illness. They'd gotten the money by selling their organs and mortgaging the home—it was to save their child's life and pay for the surgery the following day. However, the money was stolen the following day. I helped them check where the money was withdrawn, but the surveillance footage showed I was the one who did it. My best friend wept when the couple questioned me. "You shouldn't have stolen the money someone needed to save a life, no matter how materialistic and covetous you are!" My boyfriend hurried over and said, "I wondered why you suddenly had money to buy a car—you stole it! You're heartless!" The child died after failing to receive treatment in time, and the couple stabbed me to death on the streets out of devastation. When I open my eyes again, I think injuring myself will help me escape this. To my surprise, the surveillance cameras once again capture me stealing the money.

My five-year-old daughter loved telling lies. I had taken her out to a simple school supplies run, but she yelled on the street that I was a human trafficker. Consequently, I nearly got arrested and taken to the police station. When we went home, she cried and threw herself in my husband’s arms to complain about me before I could say anything. “Dad, Mom wouldn’t buy me stationeries. She even hit me on the street!” I offered my husband an explanation. He heard me out, but I did not expect him to angrily slap me when I was finished. “Our daughter is only five. She can’t lie. Can’t you just put up with it?!” When I drove my daughter to school, she got down on her knees in front of me while the other parents were around. “Mom, please let me go to school. I don’t want to take naked photos for those guys.” When the teacher checked my phone, it was full of my daughter’s explicit photos. A mob of angry parents pushed me into the traffic, killing me. I could not figure out why my biological daughter would behave that way, even as I lay dying. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day when I was about to buy stationery for my daughter.