Seeing that I was emotional and resisting arrest with all my strength, Detective Harris remained calm, his expression unreadable. After a long, heavy silence, he finally opened his mouth.
"You stole the test paper."
His voice was steady, but every word struck like a hammer.
"We are formally arresting you."
My mind went blank. I stood frozen, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"Impossible!" I blurted out, my voice shaking. "I’ve been in the detention center this entire time—how could I have possibly stolen the test paper?"
I stared at him, breathless. "When exactly was the test paper stolen?"
Thinking of the tragedy from my previous life—my ruined future, my parents' deaths, my own unjust end—I forced myself to meet his eyes, pouring every ounce of strength into my words.
But instead of answering, the officers around me exchanged uneasy glances. Doubt flickered in some of their expressions.
Finally, Detective Harris said flatly, "The test paper was stolen three days ago."
Silence fell.
Three days ago—I was still behind bars.
Unlike last time, Detective Harris’s tone now held a trace of hesitation. He wasn’t as certain. But he quickly covered it up with a cold, dismissive glare.
"We have sufficient evidence," he added, as if trying to convince himself as much as the others.
They forced me into the police car and headed toward the school.
The leak of the college entrance exam was a national catastrophe—an earth-shaking scandal. Just like in my previous life, the moment the theft was confirmed, all testing centers were shut down without warning.
Students who had prepared tirelessly for years were suddenly told it was over.
No exam. No future. No justice.
I’d expected this. I’d prepared for it. But hearing it again—this time from the officers’ conversation in the car—still sent a chill down my spine.
No matter how I struggled, it seemed I couldn't escape the fate of my previous life.
When we arrived at the school, chaos had already erupted.
Hundreds of candidates were crowding the playground, yelling at teachers and school officials, demanding answers. Some sat on the ground, sobbing in disbelief. Despair hung in the air like smoke after a fire.
As soon as I stepped out of the car, escorted by Detective Harris and several others, the students noticed me.
Their eyes lit up—not with recognition, but with rage.
"That’s her!" someone screamed. "She’s the one who ruined everything!"
Before the officers could react, the crowd surged toward me like a wave.
Textbooks, notebooks, pens—anything they could throw—rained down on my head. One particularly heavy book struck me, splitting the skin above my eyebrow. Blood blurred my vision.
"Beat her!"
"Because of her, our futures are ruined!"
"I studied for three years, sacrificed everything—now it’s all for nothing!"
A girl wearing thick glasses stood frozen, staring at me with pure hatred. Then she collapsed to the ground, hugging her knees, crying uncontrollably.
Some of the stronger students broke through the officers’ barricade. Fists and feet came flying. I tried to shield myself, but the blows kept coming—vicious, relentless.
Even the teachers watched with dark, disapproving eyes. No one stepped forward. No one helped me.
"I didn’t do it!" I screamed, tears mingling with blood as I collapsed to the pavement. "I swear, I didn’t steal the exam papers!"
But my voice was drowned beneath a torrent of shouts and curses. My truth was too small, too fragile—crushed beneath the weight of anger, panic, and blame.
My parents arrived shortly after, breathless and frantic.
I thought they’d defend me.
Instead, my father slapped me across the face the moment he saw me.
"How many times have I told you to stay grounded?!" he shouted, face red with rage. "Even if you fail the exam, we can accept that. But cheating—this is disgraceful!"
My mother collapsed onto a nearby chair, crying bitterly. Her eyes brimmed with disappointment.
I shook my head again and again. "Dad, Mom, please believe me! I didn’t steal the papers—I really didn’t!"
But no one listened.
In the principal’s office, the atmosphere was thick with judgment. The principal sipped his tea, his face dark with displeasure.
"A few days ago, she was detained for causing trouble," he said to Detective Harris, not even glancing at me. "Honestly, it’s no surprise someone like her would do something like this."
His words cut deeper than any blow.
And once again, I found myself trapped in the nightmare I thought I had escaped.
