Captain Capitalism: The Money-Maker System

"Maybe it is but a menagerie of the former civilisation's desire. It should be a relic of a forgotten, secret society─their development, a sphere, a bubble without magic."

The teacher looked at the lovely teenager and shared a wry smile. This nerd had no clue what the purpose behind the words written on the blackboard was.

'Skibidi, rizz, gyatt.'

"Truly a language only the gods could have used," the teacher mused to herself…however it was clearly not whatever her student had currently tried to convey.

"It was a nice attempt, Kevin. But please just make sure to use words that you do know the meaning of before you talk," lectured the middle-aged woman clearly fed up with the amount of pseudo-intellectual words that left the mouths of these useless people in front of her.

"Oh these words, they are so cutesy-poo, so Jeremiad, so flimflam. My Gyatt has so much RIZZ, like a bumbershoot's worth."

This attempt at a verbal war crime came from Malissa, the best yapper of this entire class, and maybe even this school filled with social rejects of all kinds. Dressed in clothing that blurred the line between modest schoolgirl and prostitute she conveyed why she was abandoned by her family and thrown into this military institution.

Her school uniform, if one could even call it as such, had been replaced by a bikini top and shorts that let her "body breathe" as she often liked to claim.

The teacher could only shake her head, despite her obvious natural gifts and the genetics she got from the famous seductress that was her mother, including the rather voluptuous assets, it was just sad that respect for authority seemed to be the one aspect that was skipped.

Her golden hair and freckled face chewed on bubble gum without a care in the world.

"Thank you Darling, would you kindly raise your fingers beforehand, so I can mentally prepare for whatever insanely 'smartass' things that always leave your mouth?"

Malissa nodded with glee in her mouth; she just knew what buttons to push to make the life of the teacher a living hell.

"You are the best hun," the teacher continued, clearly hating her job a little bit more than she thought could ever be possible at this very moment.

Here she thought the reactions were bad when the recently discovered words had been "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious', yet these words magically made things even worse. Maybe their true potential was that they can cause a heart attack in unsuspecting teachers tired of dealing with the bullshit of their pupils.

Everywhen life seemed at its worst, she knew things would get worse. It was like a natural law in this jungle of animal teenagers. When hormones meet the different flavours of idiots, then a cocktail of idiocracy was about to bloom into a beautiful shit flower.

Who of these lovely kids would be the one to kill her joyful mood today?

Was it Kevin, who was digging for gold inside his nose with his two fingers?

Was it Malissa, who with her magical talent of leaving the house without any shame dressed like she was?

Or was it the worst of them all, the dumbest guy in the room…the one currently sleeping with his face softly placed on wooden tables that were one wrong move away from breaking up.

Moros Terra, the famous bad boy of the illustrious Terra family with his talented younger brother and the family that had kicked him out because he was a talentless wastrel.

Worst of all, he really did not seem to care about what the others thought about him or how they viewed him…heck even he barely showed any reaction to Malissa's secret plan to be thrown out of this school by dressing more provocatively every day.

Were it not the middle of the winter and she a flame mage, it would be no wonder if she were to have died somewhere.

Moros on the other hand did not give a damn about the lovely lady's plan to bring forth a nudist cult in this school as he soundly slept through the world of idiots he was living in.

Were he to be asked what the purpose of words on the blackboard was, he would look at you, pat you on the back and then just sleep again.

"The answer is always the same," he would mumble…"It must have something to do with magic."

Since everything in this world is decided based on this power that everyone has been given from birth alone.

Magic would settle your fate before you even had a chance to speak…that was just how unfair the world was. And Moros lacked the qualities the modern society of magics sought after.

He did only what he could do best: sleeping.

He slept like a log, when people stammered idiocratic answers to the teacher. He slept when said teacher considered self-harm after hearing her students open their mouths.

Sleeping is what he liked to do and sleeping is what he was born to do in this cruel world.

"Moros Terra, MOROS TERRA, MOROS TERRA!" The angry voice of the teacher awoke the youth from his blissful slumber.

With a tired gaze, Moros opened his eyes to see that all the people had already disappeared from this classroom. School had finished once again and the teenager had regretted the unfortunate passing of time.

His teacher yelled at him a few more things, but he was already ignoring her words again. He knew that she knew that he would pass regardless since the name "Terra" was too big to shame without a just cause.

16 years of age, 180 centimetres tall, black hair, brown eyes that would not care if the world were to suddenly explode. A face that one might call handsome, were it not due to the dark, black bags beneath his eyes that made it seem like he never slept in his life.

The fairly muscular build was overshadowed by his uniform being covered in dried blood and torn fabric.

The smell of dead monsters surrounded him and his uniform, so much so that his perfume was called "guy who had never known the concept of a bath or a shower".

His teacher threw him a glance of pity, the duties of a descendant of a clan were truly a fate no one wanted to have.

Moros on the other hand just lamented his life choices and why his teacher had the gall to remind him about the upcoming troublesome work.

He looked at the teacher in question and just wondered what crime he had committed this time.

What was so wrong about catching up on lost sleep? It had been a long, sleepless weekend filled with annoying work for the Terra family.

So he slept, and she ignored him. What was wrong with such an arrangement?

It was a perfect truce. Both parties got what they desired. He got his sleep and she got one less idiot to worry about.

Win-Win as they do say.

But NOW she wanted to lecture him about whatever, or whoever, he could not care in the slightest about what she was trying to tell him.

Without any concern, he flung his small backpack over his shoulders and walked out of the classroom with a swagger unparalleled. His teacher continued to throw words at him, but his mental shield could not be penetrated by any such helpful advice.

For he was invincible to the teaching of adults who had given up on the "animals" as they often loved to refer to the students of Cannivore High.

Cannivore High was a household name for all the famous clans, families to throw away their unwanted, undesired and untalented descendants.

Here they would be taught a few skills, basic etiquette and many other things before they would have to leave the planet through a random portal and fend for themselves in any lower world of choice.

Their children won an all-time exclusive trip to any world ruled by savages and could make up for the lost talent by giving this world the resources they needed by enslaving and conquering all the lower worlds.

So that even the talentless could give back to the wonderful planet of Elysium.