Chapter 3

Then, I woke up.

A week before the Presidential Scholarship Exam, the exam I had already failed, the exam that led to my death.

My memories of that first life were crystal clear.

The first few days were a blur of disbelief and a terrifying hope.

Mark and Kevin were suddenly very attentive, just like they had been in the lead-up to the exam in my first life.

"Hey, sis," Mark said one evening, "I was thinking about the exam. You know, they often focus on themes of societal change or historical turning points. Maybe you should consider something like that."

He mentioned a few specific historical events, "predicting" potential essay topics with an unnerving accuracy that mirrored my first life.

A few hours after Mark "helped" me brainstorm, I saw Tiffany' s popular Instagram page. She had posted a new "thought piece," discussing concepts eerily similar to what Mark and I had just talked about.

Her followers praised her "deep insights."

I remembered the crushing weight of the past injustice, Tiffany' s undeserved triumph, my family' s hardship, the whispers, the isolation. It all came flooding back, raw and painful.

Tiffany, gliding through life on a scholarship she stole, while my family crumbled.

The memory of my mother's tears, my father's silence, the suffocating debt. It fueled a cold anger in me.