"The arrival of this batch of examination papers was highly confidential," the principal said grimly. "Aside from a select few, no one else even knew it was here."
"In other words," Detective Harris added, "this wasn’t something one person could have pulled off alone."
His analysis made sense—and it gave me a sliver of hope.
I looked him straight in the eye. “Detective Harris, I won’t deny it—the person in that surveillance footage looks exactly like me. But what's equally true is this: on the day the test paper was stolen, I was locked in the detention center.”
“You have what you think is ironclad evidence,” I continued, voice steady, “but so do I. I don’t even need to provide it myself. The detention center can verify my alibi.”
Detective Harris fell silent.
The room grew tense. No one spoke.
Then one of the officers beside me spoke softly, almost reluctantly. “If it were just the video, maybe we’d still have doubts. But we found physical traces—shoe prints—at the scene. And they match the exact pair you’re wearing now.”
All eyes dropped to my feet.
Snow boots.
The same ones I’d worn when I turned myself in. The police had called in trace specialists, matched the unique wear pattern of my soles to the prints found at the crime scene—and it was a perfect match.
My heart sank.
If I hadn’t had an alibi—if I hadn't been in detention that day—they would have arrested me without hesitation. No questions. No second chances.
“You disgrace!” my father suddenly shouted, stepping forward.
He slapped me hard across the face. Blood welled in my mouth.
“What more do you have to say?” he yelled, trembling with rage. “Do you know how many people’s futures you’ve ruined?!”
His voice cracked as he continued the same speech he had given countless times before.
“We’ve been poor since you were a child! We barely had enough to eat or wear. Your mother and I gave everything just to raise you. We placed all our hopes on you!”
“I taught you that even if we have nothing, we must have dignity—that we must walk upright in this world.”
“But now?” He pointed at me, face twisted in fury. “You’ve shamed this family. Completely.”
He raised his hand again, ready to strike me, but Detective Harris stepped in and held him back.
Still seething, my father spat, “And your grandmother—how good she was to you. Is this how you repay her?”
I stood still, eyes closed, blood on my face, lips tight.
My silence was mistaken for guilt. Everyone thought I had given up—accepted the charges without a word.
Detective Harris sighed heavily. “Take her away. We can’t risk the students outside breaking in. If they lose control, no one here will be able to stop it.”
A uniformed officer took my arm and turned me toward the door.
Behind me, my father shouted one last curse. “Lock this ungrateful brat up for life! It’s the only thing she deserves.”
I bit my lip until it bled, fists clenched.
Memories from two lifetimes rushed through my mind—my unjust death, the mob, my parents’ destruction.
I knew one thing:
This was my last chance.
If I couldn’t clear my name now, I would be crushed all over again—by the same lies, the same fate.
“Wait!”
My voice rang out suddenly, raw and loud.
Everyone froze.
Detective Harris turned. His brows furrowed, but he raised a hand to stop his men.
“What else do you want to say?” he asked tiredly. “All the evidence points to you. The only thing we haven’t figured out yet is how you managed to leave the detention center to commit the theft. And frankly…”
His tone darkened. “We’re already preparing to investigate whether someone at the detention center helped you escape.”
I flinched.
He was right—if they went down that road, innocent people could be dragged into this mess with me. People who had nothing to do with this.
This wasn’t just about proving I was innocent anymore.
It was about protecting everyone else, too.
Seconds passed. No one spoke. Impatience filled the air.
The officers began to move again, ready to drag me out.
But just before they touched me—I slowly opened my eyes.
He looked around the room with a calm, almost smug smile and announced,
“So that’s it.”
“I know who really stole the test paper.”
