Hera's behaviour—simultaneously attempting to reflect on her actions while struggling to hold in ughter—initially left many of the students in the distant formations utterly bewildered, with no clue as to what was happening.

  It was as though she were reading her reflection letter while someone persistently tickled her, a sensation she couldn't quite shake off.

  However, her eventual failure to suppress the ughter, followed by gasping for breath as she cackled, was nothing short of infectious. Her infectious ugh, filled with energy and charisma, eventually caused some students in the formations below to break into ughter as well.

  The source of their amusement y in the dramatic contrast of her actions—she had just read aloud “filled with remorse and regret” from her letter, but the very next moment, she began giggling. This was hardly the image of someone reflecting seriously on their actions.

  Only those who were closer to Hera began to sense why her behaviour was so out of the ordinary.

  Without the assistance of Xanthia's small flying insect, the stink of her farts cked significant impact. Take Matthew Tan, for example—who was the first to smell it—he merely furrowed his brow but paid no further attention to it.

  Perhaps it could be said that the “Poop King” had a grand enough scope and a high enough threshold. After all, he had already endured worse than a mere fart—he had eaten excrement itself. Why would he be bothered by something so trivial?

  On the other hand, the few fg bearers accompanying her could not hide their discomfort. They silently nodded to themselves, realising they had not made a mistake in their earlier choice of nickname for Hera. Indeed, they were getting a first-hand taste of the chaotic grandeur that was the “Laughing Fart King.”

  Once the ceremony concluded and they returned to their respective csses, they would surely have much to gossip about.

  Fortunately, this was an open-air environment, and while everyone could certainly smell the pungent, rotten-egg-like stench, it was bearable. Everyone simply held their breath and breathed through their mouths instead.

  Although, breathing through their mouths gave the sensation of indulging in the foul fumes, as if they were unwittingly relishing her farts...

  Principal Hercuno’s expression was far from pleasant, but not because he had inhaled Hera’s gas. Rather, it was her utter ck of respect or seriousness during the reflection that disturbed him so much.

  He gave a discreet yet sharp gnce at Director Dublin of the Political Education Department.

  Dublin, known for his acute understanding of Principal Hercuno's silent cues, immediately sprang into action upon receiving the look.

  Resolutely, with a certain air of authority, he marched up to Hera and, in a booming voice, reprimanded her. “Stop! I said, stop right now! If you're not going to reflect sincerely, then don't do it at all! What’s with this smug grin? Have you really taken a moment to think about your actions?”

  His words, loud enough to reverberate through the microphone Hera was holding, were broadcast across the entire school campus.

  Dublin, desperate to restore the serious atmosphere that had been disrupted, hoped to regain some authority. If Hera continued to ugh like this, both he and Principal Hercuno would lose face.

  Naturally, Hera was not happy with this loud reprimand. At that moment, she wished she could unleash a more powerful fart to assert her dominance.

  Determined, she called upon the powers of the “Fart God,” transforming herself into her previous “Laughing Fart King” persona.

  Perhaps her silent, heartfelt plea had reached some mysterious, indescribable entity. With newfound courage, she faced Dublin and boldly decred, “Why should my reflection concern you? I never wanted to do this whole reflection thing in the first pce, but I did it anyway, out of respect for you. Is it so bad to smile a little while doing it? What’s the big deal?”

  Dublin’s face turned an even darker shade of red, his fury now palpable. He had never imagined that a student from Css 1-3, of all pces, would be so insolent. It seemed these students had no sense of reverence whatsoever.

  “You’re not even reflecting properly, and yet you’re hogging the microphone! What exactly do you want from this? Do you have any shame? Think of the time you’re wasting for the entire school!” Dublin spped his own cheek in frustration, his voice growing exasperated. “Is there any dignity left in you?!”

  Had Hera been an ordinary student, he wouldn’t have bothered with such lengthy patience. He would’ve simply kicked her out and dealt with her accordingly. A severe punishment would’ve been inevitable, possibly even expulsion.

  But in this case, given Hera’s status, he had no choice but to swallow his pride and try to control the situation.

  Instead of shrinking back, Hera did something even more rebellious. She turned her back to Dublin, raised her buttocks, and shouted into the microphone, “Fart, come!”

  She then pressed the microphone directly to her behind. Today, she was going to make a statement. If he wanted her to feel ashamed, then let everyone in the school see what true shame looked like!

  Pffffft Pffffft Pffffft Pffffft Pffffft

  The rhythmic, almost ceremonial sound of her farts echoed through the air like a barrage of firecrackers.

  This time, with the microphone amplifying the sound, her farts were deafening—forceful, loud, and horrifying.

  And with her plea for the power of the “Fart God,” the stench was beyond comprehension. It hit like a tidal wave—thick, hot, and suffocating. The smell wasn’t just bad; it was an assault on the senses, a toxic miasma that clung to the air like a death curse.

  The fg bearers froze mid-step. Then, the first wave of devastation hit.

  Gagging. Coughing. Eyes watering. One student let out a strangled gasp—“Oh God, I can taste it!”—before dropping their fg and stumbling backward. Another staggered like a drunk, arms filing as their bance wavered.

  A girl tried to hold her breath, but it was too te—her lungs betrayed her, and the second she inhaled, her body convulsed with dry heaves.

  A strong gust of wind carried the stench across the field, spreading the suffering. The students in the back, thinking they were safe, suddenly recoiled in horror. “No, no, it’s reaching us too!” one cried before tripping over their own feet and crashing into the grass.

  Dublin, the one who started this mess, stumbled backward, hands clutching his throat like he had just swallowed poison. His face twisted in sheer agony as he croaked, “What… what IS this?!”

  The devastation continued. A boy colpsed to his knees, coughing violently, his face red as he tried to escape the invisible gas chamber. Another desperately sprayed perfume into the air, but the sickly sweet scent only made it worse.

  Hera stood tall, defiant. The microphone still in her grip, she smirked. If shame was a weapon, then today, she was the nuclear bomb.

  As Hera gleefully continued her symphony of farts, relishing the moment, she fshed a devilish grin.

  Indeed, she was ughing madly, but unlike before, it was because she was truly enjoying herself. She had reached a moment of self-realisation—her own personal enlightenment.

  While others might scoff at her madness, she ughed because they simply couldn’t see things the way she did.

  Who else in this world could summon such a sound—a series of farts so powerful that they shook the natural order of things?

  No one.

  And that made her proud.

  This was her unique superpower.

  Director Dublin, utterly defeated, was now silent.

  He staggered backwards, hands still clutching his throat, realising, in the face of the "Laughing Fart King," his authority was but nothing.

  Principal Hercuno could only facepalm in disbelief. Then, sensing the overwhelming stench, he covered his nose and mouth, retreating hastily into the administration building, fleeing the biohazard zone.

  Amidst all this chaos, only “Poop King” Matthew remained unruffled. He calmly approached Hera, who was still ughing and farting like a madwoman.

  Without hesitation, he took the microphone from her and, with perfect composure, began his own reflection.

  While the rest of the students were still in shock, processing Hera’s extraordinary dispy, they couldn’t help but think:

  “Wow, so this is the true power of the ‘Laughing Fart King’? I’m in awe!”

  “No wonder she’s on par with ‘Poop King.’ Her farting skills have reached a godlike level.”

  “This is the first time I’ve felt such a shockwave from the school broadcast. It’s so hirious, yet I can’t even ugh. The Laughing Fart King is terrifying.”

  “But no matter what, today, she has proven herself. She’s a legend in our school now.”

  And more importantly, everyone knew that the ‘Poop King’ and ‘Fart King’ had somehow managed to push the cafeteria reforms to the forefront. This, too, was due in no small part to the army of internet trolls who had sung their praises.

  The specific reforms would be announced after the midterm exams, with the school pnning to invite parents to taste the food as part of a public retions campaign.