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  Chapter 146: It's All the School Cafeteria's Fault!

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  The evening had finally arrived, and the afternoon's chaotic spectacle had at st drawn to a close.

  The cssroom of Year 1 Css 3, after the professional cleaners from a sanitation company had done their work, had been restored to its former state.

  One could only say that the cleaners were well-seasoned in their craft, having cleaned the most dismal of rental apartments, infested with cockroaches and completely filthy. Tackling the “stains” in the back of a cssroom? A mere trifle for them.

  Nevertheless, even these professionals were left wide-eyed. They couldn’t help but reflect on their own school days, wondering if they, too, would have been capable of encountering such memorable experiences. Perhaps the new generation of high school students had mastered certain, shall we say, avant-garde techniques that their predecessors never dreamed of.

  After the st of the stains had been cleaned, the back of the cssroom was now saturated with the scent of copious amounts of air fresheners, and the shadow of what could only be described as a “biohazard” was gone.

  Yet, for the miscreants who had sat in those back seats, an uneasy feeling lingered. Perhaps it was the abstract image of the "Laughing Fart Queen" and the "Poop King" engaging in a ridiculous, yet strangely hirious, game of fecal snowball fight that continually fshed through their minds.

  This absurd experience somehow ignited within them an unexpected urge to study harder, striving to achieve better results in the future so that they would never again be relegated to the back row.

  And yet, it wasn’t only the back-row students who were dissatisfied. One of them, Sunny, now called "Football Babe," was particurly irked. The activity css, which should have been a time for carefree enjoyment, had been abruptly cut short by the meddling antics of their homeroom teacher, Mr. Emmanuel.

  They’d been pying football with great fervor when suddenly, the shrill command of Mr. Emmanuel rang out across the field. Most students were instantly subdued by his authoritative voice, and they had no choice but to shuffle back to the cssroom for a study session.

  Sunny couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been secretly reporting them to the teacher. His suspicion was that some sour-faced individual had grown annoyed by their spirited game and had resorted to the most underhanded of tactics- an anonymous tip-off.

  Such behavior, this backstabbing "reporting," was something Sunny found utterly reprehensible.

  Once back in the cssroom, Mr. Emmanuel seized the opportunity to lecture the entire css, pounding the desk with his words.

  "The midterm exams are just around the corner, in about two weeks," Mr. Emmanuel announced gravely. "There’s nearly ten days left for review, and even if your homework is finished early, you should still be preparing for the exams! Saturday afternoon study sessions should be dedicated to revision, not a free-for-all of distractions!"

  "Self-discipline, self-discipline, self-discipline!" he repeated, as though trying to beat the very word into their heads. "Why can’t you all be more like the students from Css 2’s experimental css? They are diligent, and their brains are not any different from yours. But your x attitude toward learning is simply disheartening!"

  Xanthia, seated among the students, couldn't shake the feeling that Mr. Emmanuel’s piercing gaze had rested on her for an uncomfortable moment, as if she were the very embodiment of "ziness" and "ck of discipline."

  But she couldn’t accept this. She knew herself- she was not zy; rather, she was efficient. She had unlocked the cheat code for learning: “study smarter, not harder.” For her, studying didn’t need to be a source of joy. After all, in her previous life, she had been a "exam master," tortured by mountains of practice questions, bravely fought all exams as opportunities to improve, and barely scraping by. Who had the time for joy when there were more important matters to attend to?

  Her approach to education was straightforward: complete the required tasks, maintain decent grades, and safeguard her privileges. Anything beyond that, particurly anything that didn’t yield joy points, was a waste of time.

  For Xanthia, no amount of scolding from Mr. Emmanuel would make her abandon her rhythm- fun and entertainment were her priorities. As for the midterm exams, if Mr. Emmanuel doubted her ability to maintain her grades, well, she would simply show him through action.

  As for the absurd spectacle involving the "Laughing Fart Queen" and the "Poop King," Xanthia had thoroughly enjoyed the show, extracting plenty of joy points, and perhaps even a little pain from the event. After all, even the Head of "Four Great Terrorists" Dublin had been affected by the chaos, which was a delightful surprise.

  The small flying insects, indeed, had proven to be the unsung heroes of the day- “they finish their work, leaving no trace, quietly achieving greatness.”

  "How many times do I have to repeat 'self-discipline'?" Mr. Emmanuel fumed. "Our css still has so many students who only think about having fun and rexing! This is the most undisciplined css I’ve ever taught!"

  Sunny, seated among them, couldn’t help but sneer, gring daggers at Mr. Emmanuel- the one who had ruined his precious socc... football session.

  What he didn’t anticipate, however, was that Mr. Emmanuel had caught the gre in its entirety.

  With a sharp sp to the desk, Mr. Emmanuel’s voice rang out, cold and menacing, “Stand up, Sunny! What’s with that attitude? You think you can sneer at me?”

  Reluctantly, Sunny stood, but almost immediately cowered under the teacher’s gaze. "I… I’m sorry, Mr. Emmanuel," he muttered, defeated. "You were right. I’ll behave."

  "Right? You better not just sit there looking all smug!" Mr. Emmanuel barked. "Go to the back of the css and stand there. Think long and hard about how you can be more disciplined in the future. You should be using every moment for study, not for fooling around!"

  Sunny trudged to the back of the room, still trying to hold onto some sembnce of his usual bravado, but then his memory fshed to the horrors of the back-row incident earlier that day. His smile vanished, repced by a grimace. Standing in the back today would not be the same as usual. That pce had a debuff.

  He inwardly cursed himself for challenging Mr. Emmanuel. This was going to be miserable.

  But, of course, the punishment was mental, not physical. The back row had been thoroughly cleaned, and the entire area was spotless- well, apart from the memories it held.

  The "example" had been set, and the rest of the css, previously just as rebellious, now wisely chose to fall in line.

  Mr. Emmanuel continued his tirade, preaching about the importance of discipline and the upcoming exams. His short speech sted almost half an hour, with every word dripping with frustration. The students were beginning to wonder if the bell for the third period of self-study might ring before he ever finished.

  He had been so thorough, in fact, that by the time the final bell for css rang, he was still going strong, pushing well past the scheduled end time.

  By now, everyone had learned their lesson. Except for Xanthia, of course. She was unaffected, as always, her priority being to enjoy herself. After all, what was school without a little entertainment?

  As for the incident that had caused so much havoc, the "Fecal Wars" and the absurd spectacle they had witnessed- well, no one could deny it was the talk of the school. The ughter, the jokes, the way that absurdity had permeated the entire campus… it was all too much to resist.

  But the true lesson? It all came back to the school cafeteria. Because, if it wasn’t for that miserable meal, none of this would have happened. Surely, that was the real culprit.

  And so, as the two "Kings" of the day- Matthew and Hera- moved forward, their pn was simple: bme the cafeteria. It was their one and only escape route, and they knew it. After all, if they hadn't gotten food poisoning, they might never have resorted to such antics.

  Their reasoning, as fwless as it seemed, was accepted with a nod from their parents doubtlessly. It was the perfect scapegoat.

  And so, their cleverness and sheer audacity earned them the monikers of "Laughing Fart Queen" and "Poop King"- titles they wore with pride, for no matter the consequences, they’d found a way to keep their heads above water, to avoid the dreaded “expulsion.”