YamaGod: The Supreme Overlord

YamaGod knew without a shadow of a doubt that Class D was an abomination, a collective mess of incompetence, a wasteland of wasted potential, and a black hole draining every ounce of valuable oxygen it occupied.

But don't get it wrong—these weren't his words. Oh no, this was the very label slapped on them by the school itself, the official, brutally honest assessment laid down by this so-called elite institution.

Class D wasn't just subpar; it was branded a collection of defective products.

Yet who could've imagined that they would be so utterly worthless as to be laughing, joking, and blabbering away right in front of their teacher?

Sae Chabashira's reaction alone told the entire story—she looked like a woman who had completely given up on these clowns, an educator so defeated she couldn't even muster the energy to reprimand them anymore.

Despite whatever reputation this school might've had, the behavior of Class D defied belief.

It wasn't merely disrespectful; it was a colossal display of idiocy, sheer and unfiltered foolishness, to blatantly disregard their teacher like this.

How could they be so fundamentally lacking in even the most basic common sense that they found it appropriate to treat their class like a playground?

Seriously, even Ken Sudou had the nerve to be passed out, snoring like a wild boar in the middle of the lesson, while Ike Kanji was absorbed in some meme on his smartphone.

Among all this joke, only Ayanokouji and Horikita seemed to have the decency to pay attention. Sure, there were a few exceptions like Chiaki Matsushita and some others who had functioning brains, but the rest?

They were lost causes, merrily screwing around with zero awareness, zero respect, and certainly zero focus.

And what about Kushida?

Well, what the hell did you expect from her?

She was the classic trend-following butterfly, far more concerned with her precious social status and keeping up her flawless facade than actually giving a damn about the class's reputation or performance.

Her whole existence revolved around her own manipulative games, her sugary-sweet mask covering up the poisonous ambition underneath.

And Sae?

The poor, jaded teacher continued with the lesson like an automaton, eyes dull and voice monotonous, without offering so much as a token reprimand.

Not even a single scolding.

Not a whisper of authority.

Perhaps, deep down, this is what it meant to be a woman scorned.

Vengeful, vindictive, and utterly done with their bullshit.

Maybe Sae was just reveling in silent, petty revenge, letting these idiots sink deeper into their self-dug pit.

As for the future, it was already set in stone—zero points.

Next month's score was going to be a bloodbath, a spectacular disaster of wasted opportunities. Both private points and class points would be hammered, mercilessly, all thanks to the sheer indiscipline and collective ignorance of these hopeless fools.

How could a supposed elite academy stand for this kind of behavior?

How could any government tolerate such clowns when they were supposed to be the nation's future, handpicked to uphold society's highest standards?

Companies wouldn't touch this human garbage with a ten-foot pole, and yet, the government had the gall to proclaim that every graduate from this school had a guaranteed 100% chance of employment?

The very notion was laughable.

These elite students were supposed to be the cream of the crop, the pride of a system that poured resources into their education.

Do you understand the magnitude of it?

A monthly income of 100,000 yen per student, every damn month, and for what?

Multiply that by 40 students per class, across four first-year classes, and you're staring at a staggering 16,000,000 yen per month.

Extend that across the second and third years as well, and the cost expands to an astronomical 48,000,000 yen monthly.

All of this cash, poured down the drain so that these entitled brats could slack off, laze around, and make a mockery of their education.

It was a waste of monumental proportions, an embarrassment to any taxpayer funding this circus.

No wonder they were scorned as defective products, mocked and derided with no hope of redemption.

If something good falls into your lap, the first question should always be, "How do I repay this?" Not, "How can I squander this without a care in the world?"

But these clowns never learned; they never even thought about the consequences.

If it were Yamaincel here instead of YamaGod, this class would've been unsalvageable, doomed beyond redemption.

But lucky for them, YamaGod was here.

His ambition to rule this school hadn't wavered, not even a little.

He was playing the long game, biding his time. He didn't even bother reminding them of their impending doom.

Not yet.

The time wasn't right—yet.

Let them sink, let them laugh, and let them savor the excruciating taste of their own bitter medicine.

In due time, they will plunge into despair, their laughter silenced forever.

Naivety will be stripped away, shattered into irretrievable fragments, as they bear witness to the unvarnished and merciless reality of this school.

They will learn their lessons in the most brutal and uncompromising way, as the harsh truths they once dismissed are force-fed to them, leaving them no choice but to choke on the unforgiving price that comes with every ounce of a school's so-called generosity.

Their voices will falter, reduced to a hushed silence when, next month, they find their precious monthly allowance of 100,000 yen per month obliterated.

They will not see a single coin or, at best, a pittance that falls far short of the life they've grown accustomed to.

How much they receive will be dictated entirely by the whims of YamaGod's generosity and ambitions.

If he chooses to be merciful, perhaps he will let them scrape by with a modest income, barely enough to cling to their fragile income.

But if he is feeling ruthless, if his patience runs thin, then what?

Well, let fate decide how they will survive.

But the crushing truth doesn't end there.

Oh no, the final blow will come when they realize that graduation does not automatically guarantee them the golden ticket to a life of privilege.

Only Class A holds the sacred right to 100% employment prospects, and everyone else?

They will learn, too late, that this school is no sanctuary but a ruthless battlefield where the strong dominate and the weak are left to rot.

YamaGod has no use for naïve fools or mindless lambs, no patience for the useless or complacent.

He demands capable allies, cunning and loyal followers who will help build his empire, both within the fortress-like walls of this academy and in the harsh world beyond.

Let them sink into the deepest, darkest pits of hell itself if that is what it takes for them to understand the price of worth and usefulness.

Only then, when they claw their way back from the abyss, will they be of any value to him or to society at large.

He observed them with a chilling indifference, his gaze never wavering.

His eyes remained locked onto the teacher, unwavering and composed, as he diligently wrote down every word she dictated to the class, his pen moving with a cold, meticulous precision, capturing every syllable of a future they were too blind to see.