The cafeteria was a warzone. Not in the literal sense—though someone had already flipped a lunch table in anticipation—but in the way anime treats high school settings when emotions run hotter than lava. The crowd was a mix of screaming fangirls, confused freshmen, and at least one teacher live-streaming the event on TikTok.
Kendrick sat cross-legged on the vending machine like some tsundere god-king overseeing a gladiator match. His scarf was still somehow blowing dramatically despite the fact that the AC had been broken for weeks.
Drake stood on the left, clutching the mic like a knight’s sword.
Donald Trump stood on the right, holding a single chicken nugget like it was a talisman of divine power.
Between them, the school’s resident DJ—a senior named DJ McFlurry—hovered over his deck with the intensity of a surgeon performing a heart transplant.
The beat dropped.
---
Round 1: Words as Weapons
Drake stepped forward first, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. His eyes locked on Kendrick.
> “Kendrick, my love, I’ve walked miles for your heart,
Through mixtape battles and Billboard charts,
You chase a man with a spray-tan glow,
But I’m the one who’ll never let you go.”
A chorus of “OOOOHHHH”s echoed through the cafeteria. Even the lunch lady, who normally didn’t care about anything, muttered, “Damn.”
Trump smirked and took a step forward, tossing the nugget in the air and catching it in his mouth without blinking. He pointed at Drake like an anime villain pointing at the hero just before his transformation scene.
> “I’m the Don, the king, the president supreme,
Living the life of every man’s dream,
You think you can win with rhymes so cheap?
I’ve got hotels, planes, and gold that’s deep.”
The crowd roared. A freshman fainted into their anime body pillow.
Kendrick leaned back against the vending machine, hiding his face under his scarf. Why is my chest pounding like a trap beat at a club…? Baka Drake… Baka Donald…
---
Round 2: The Power-Up
The DJ’s fingers flew across the turntables, the beat picking up speed until it sounded like an opening theme to a long-running shonen anime. The fluorescent cafeteria lights began flickering like they knew a battle of the gods was happening.
Drake narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t just a rap battle anymore. This was a fight for love. He dropped the mic to his side, took a deep breath, and let his Shonen Protagonist Aura™ explode around him in a visible golden glow.
“Wait—he’s powering up?” a kid in the crowd shouted.
Drake raised the mic again.
> “You can have your towers, your gold, your fame,
But love ain’t something you can stake a claim,
Kendrick, I’ll stand by you through storm and fire,
Not just treat you like a business empire!”
Lightning cracked across the ceiling tiles. Someone’s juice box exploded.
Trump stepped up, smirk widening. “Oh, so you’re glowing? Cute. Watch this.”
He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a MAGA hat, and placed it on his head. The Ultra Capitalist Aura™ ignited around him—a blinding gold-and-orange flame that smelled faintly of McDonald’s fries and high interest rates.
> “Money talks, and I’ve got the speech,
Kendrick knows I’m the one to teach,
You want his love? I’ll buy the whole school,
‘Cause in my world, power’s the rule.”
The crowd screamed. Kendrick’s face flushed—whether from embarrassment, anger, or something else entirely was anyone’s guess.
---
Round 3: The Twist
The beat stopped abruptly. Silence. The DJ looked up from his deck, sweat pouring down his face. “I… I can’t keep up,” he gasped. “Your love… your greed… it’s too strong.”
Kendrick hopped down from the vending machine, landing between the two combatants with perfect anime slow-motion. His scarf whipped around him as he glared at both men.
“Enough,” he said. His voice was low, dangerous. “You think this is about flashy rhymes and who can flex harder? Baka. This is about me.”
Both men froze. Even the crowd leaned in.
Kendrick turned to Drake first. “You, always chasing me… spilling your heart like a bad chorus hook. Do you even know what you’re fighting for?”
Drake opened his mouth, but Kendrick shut him up with a single sharp glance. He then turned to Trump. “And you… thinking you can just buy everything you want. I’m not a building you can own, Donald. I’m…” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “…I’m more than that.”
Trump blinked, uncharacteristically silent.
The crowd gasped. Someone whispered, “Character development…?”
---
Round 4: The Confession That Wasn’t
Kendrick stepped back, clenching his fists. “The truth is… I don’t even know who I want.” His cheeks were crimson now, his tsundere defenses cracking. “Maybe I like Drake… maybe I like Donald… maybe I…” He trailed off, muttering something under his breath.
“What was that?” Drake asked, stepping closer.
Kendrick exploded. “I SAID MAYBE I LIKE BOTH OF YOU, OKAY?! BAKA!!”
The cafeteria fell silent. Then erupted into chaos. People screamed. One guy fell out of his chair. The lunch lady dropped an entire tray of pizza.
Drake’s eyes widened. Trump’s jaw dropped. The tension was thick enough to be sold as limited-edition vinyl.
---
Round 5: The Shonen Love Finale
The DJ suddenly restarted the beat, now faster, louder, and somehow infused with the sound of seagulls. “FINAL ROUND!” he yelled.
Drake and Trump exchanged a look. They both stepped toward Kendrick at the same time, voices overlapping in a chaotic, perfectly in-sync verse.
> Drake: “If it’s both you want, I’ll share the stage,
Love ain’t something we gotta cage,
We can rap together, make the crowd ignite,
Kendrick in the middle, yeah, it feels just right.”
> Trump: “I’ll build a bridge, not a wall, for you,
We’ll all win big—make dreams come true,
Gold for the left, love for the right,
Kendrick, babe, we’ll share the spotlight.”
The cafeteria lost its collective mind. People climbed on tables. Someone set off the fire alarm. Confetti fell from the ceiling—though no one knew where it came from.
Kendrick froze. His heart was pounding like a bass drop. These idiots… these absolute bakas… are they really… working together for me? His scarf fluttered dramatically again, as if agreeing with his thoughts.
---
Epilogue: The Aftermath
By the time the principal showed up to break it all up, Drake, Kendrick, and Trump were sitting together at a lunch table, sharing the McNuggets. The crowd was gone, the cafeteria trashed, and the DJ was lying on the floor, mumbling something about “never spinning for love again.”
Drake leaned on the table, looking at Kendrick. “So… what now?”
Kendrick looked away, cheeks pink. “Baka… we’ll see. But… maybe you’re not as bad as I thought. And Donald…” He glanced at Trump, “…you’re still an idiot, but… you make good nuggets.”
Trump grinned like he’d just closed a billion-dollar deal. “I’ll take it.”
And as the three of them sat there in awkward, oddly warm silence, the camera of life panned up, leaving the question unanswered: Who would win Kendrick’s heart in the end?
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