Reborn in Classroom Of The Elite With A Lust System

The cafeteria buzzed with energy, packed with students enjoying their lunch. It was no surprise—after all, it was that time of day. The rows of tables were crowded with clusters of students chatting, laughing, and occasionally breaking into animated debates over training, sports, or gossip. The aroma of freshly cooked food wafted through the air, a mix of savory and sweet smells that only added to the lively atmosphere.

I scanned the room for an empty table, weaving through the throng of students. Most of the tables were occupied, some overcrowded with students pulling up extra chairs to squeeze in. Finally, in the far corner, I spotted a vacant one and quickly made my way over before anyone else could claim it. Setting my tray down, I slid into the chair and took a moment to soak in the atmosphere. The laughter, the chatter, and the clatter of trays created a vibrant backdrop, a symphony of school life.

Now, I just had to wait for him—Kamado Yuta.

To call him peculiar would be a gross understatement. He wasn't just peculiar—he was impossible. Imagine being him: effortlessly handsome, unnervingly strong, maddeningly intelligent. Life must have felt excruciatingly mundane, like a video game set to its easiest difficulty, where every challenge was a joke, every victory preordained.

Among all my friends, it was painfully clear that he was different. No, greater. While the rest of us clawed at dreams that barely grazed the surface of mediocrity, Yuta stood on the precipice of greatness without even trying. He didn't strive for success—it simply gravitated to him. An S-rank. The rarest of prodigies. The kind of potential that didn't just set you apart—it redefined what the rest of us thought was possible.

When you looked at him, you couldn't help but feel insignificant. His presence wasn't just commanding; it was magnetic, a force of nature that seemed to bend reality itself around him. His body looked like it had been sculpted by gods who knew perfection was a deadline they couldn't afford to miss. Every movement, every gesture, carried an effortless grace, as though the world itself existed just to accommodate him.

Strength. Speed. Precision. Everything about him was so unfairly exceptional that it bordered on parody, like some poorly written protagonist in a story where the author didn't understand balance.

And I hated it.

Not him. Hating him would have been too easy. He was infuriatingly likable in his own ridiculous way. What I hated—or maybe feared—was his presence. That overwhelming, suffocating aura he carried with him. It wasn't intentional. If anything, it seemed unconscious, like breathing or blinking. But that was precisely the problem: his existence was a constant reminder of how painfully average the rest of us were. Standing next to Kamado Yuta felt like being trapped in his shadow, a towering monument to everything I wasn't and never could be.

I wasn't the only one who felt this way. Karuizawa-san and Mako-chan admitted to it, though they tried to laugh it off. That first meeting with him… God, I'll never forget it. It was like staring into the sun—dazzling, blinding, impossible to look away from. His gaze wasn't cold or sharp like I'd expected. It was calm, almost detached, with a flicker of boredom. Yet, somehow, it carried an unbearable weight, as though his very existence demanded reverence. Being near him was like standing too close to a bonfire: warm and inviting at first, until you realized it would burn you alive if you lingered too long.

Naturally, I assumed he would be exactly what he appeared to be—cold, calculating, impossibly disciplined. A walking legend in the making. Someone so far above us that he wouldn't even notice the ground we stood on.

But Kamado Yuta was nothing like that.

He was an enigma wrapped in contradictions, maddening and impossible to understand. Lazy to the point of absurdity, prone to zoning out mid-conversation, and equipped with the kind of humor that made you want to both laugh and scream. He sprawled out wherever he pleased, treating the world like his personal living room. If you asked him what his dreams for the future were, he'd probably stretch, yawn, and say something ridiculous like, "Haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll figure it out after my next nap." or "I don't baby girl, I will think about after a date with you." 

He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a god. He was an antihero in his own story, someone who had the makings of a legend but chose, inexplicably, to live as an ordinary fool and a dumb playboy. 

It was infuriating.

How could someone so extraordinary be so… indifferent? How could he wield strength that could shatter mountains, yet treat it all like an elaborate inside joke? It wasn't arrogance—arrogance would've implied he cared. No, it was worse than that. His indifference was a quiet dismissal of everything that made him exceptional, as though none of it mattered. And somehow, that made him even more compelling.

He didn't inspire jealousy so much as existential dread. Because standing in front of him, you couldn't help but ask yourself: If he's not even trying, what does that make the rest of us?

Kamado Yuta wasn't a god among men. He was something far more aggravating: a human who could have been a god but chose not to be. And no matter how much I hated the way his presence made me feel—how it stripped me bare, exposed my every flaw—I couldn't look away.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

We all wanted to be him. But Yuta didn't want to be any of us. He didn't want to be anyone but himself. And maybe that's why he scared me most of all. Maybe that's what also made me feel safe when being next to him. That overwhelming strength that makes you feel-

"Ichinose," a familiar voice called out, pulling me abruptly from my swirling thoughts.

I looked up, and there he was. Kamado Yuta. Even in the plain school uniform, he managed to look effortlessly cool, like he belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than in the confines of a classroom. His relaxed posture seemed at odds with the energy that seemed to hum in the air around him.

"Kamado-kun," I greeted, trying to keep my voice steady.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked, his tone casual, as if we were merely discussing the weather. 

"Thanks for coming," I said, gesturing toward the chair across from me. "Take a seat."

"Sure." He slid into the seat with a fluidity that made it look effortless, his sharp yet beautiful eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I felt the weight of his presence, like an invisible pressure filling the space between us.

But then he leaned back, the corners of his lips quirking into a faint smile, and the intensity melted into something softer, more approachable. That was Kamado Yuta for you—a walking paradox. He was the kind of person you could talk to for hours, spilling personal details without fear of judgment, yet his aura always kept you a little on edge.

"So," he said, leaning forward just slightly, "what's this about?"

"I wanted to talk about our classes," I began, feeling a nervous flutter in my chest. This wasn't the kind of conversation I could afford to mess up.

"Our classes?" His brow quirked in mild curiosity.

"Yes," I nodded. "We were thinking about forming a unison with your class."

"A unison?" He repeated the word slowly, tilting his head slightly as if rolling it over in his mind. "Go on. I'm listening."

I took a deep breath. "I think it would be beneficial for both of our classes. We could learn from each other, train together, and pool our strengths. With the exams approaching, it's more important than ever to work smart. We want to bridge the gap between our weaknesses and your strengths."

He didn't respond immediately, instead leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. His expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes scanning me as if trying to gauge the sincerity of my words.

"How do you see this working?" he finally asked, his tone measured.

"We were thinking of joint study sessions for academics and combined physical training days in the afternoon. Your class could help us improve our physical abilities, and we could offer support academically in return." I paused, trying to gauge his reaction. "It's a win-win situation for both sides."

"And why would we need your help academically?" His question was pointed, but there was no malice behind it—just curiosity.

"Because," I said, sitting up straighter, "your class may be strong physically, but you struggle when it comes to academics. Our class, on the other hand, excels in those areas but lacks physical prowess. By working together, we could both cover our weaknesses."

Kamado didn't react immediately, his gaze fixed on me with that same unshakable calm. The silence stretched out just long enough to make my palms start sweating.

"You're the strongest person I know," I added, my voice quieter now, but no less firm. "And the only one who could really help us with this."

He finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't mind helping," he said, his tone calm but blunt. "But I'll be honest with you… I don't really care about your class that much."

His words were like a punch to the gut, even though I'd expected them. Our class are in the same house and yet we were rivals aiming for the top. 

"However," he continued, a small grin tugging at his lips, "just for your sake, I could train you guys. But there's a catch."

"A catch?" I echoed, my voice tinged with apprehension.

"You'll have to convince my class," he said simply, leaning back in his chair again.

"But you're the house leader," I said, confused. "Why would I need to convince them if you're already on board?"

"Because," he explained, his grin widening, "I'm not the leader of my class. You'll need Hirata's approval. Maybe talk to Kushida or Karuizawa. And if they're not enough, try Horikita. If you can get them to agree, I'll help."

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "That sounds fair. I'll talk to them."

Kamado's grin shifted into something more mischievous. "Just remember, convincing them won't be easy. But if you manage it, I'll make sure your class is ready. Just be warned—training with me isn't exactly a walk in the park."

Ding Ding Ding.

The sound of his phone interrupted our conversation. 

"Oh, would you look at that, Ichinose," he said, standing up and stretching lazily. "Looks like our little date is getting cut short. And next time, try to make our date more exciting. "

"Date?" I sputtered.

Kamado smirked. "What else would you call two people sitting together, plotting the future of their classes?"

Before I could respond, he waved casually and started walking away. "Anyway, I've got someone else to meet. Don't keep me waiting too long with your answer, alright?" 

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone at the table with a heart full of determination—and just a little irritation at his infuriatingly casual attitude.

I wasn't going to let his indifference or his class's resistance stop me. This wasn't just about winning points or avoiding expulsion. It was about proving that even the greatest challenges could be overcome. It was maybe the only chance for us to become better...