Chapter 3

On June 5th, I boarded the university shuttle to the University of Arendale.

Three other students with guaranteed admission traveled with me, including two men and a woman. I didn't know any of them.

They spent the whole trip chatting enthusiastically, discussing which cafeteria at University of Arendale served the best food and whether the dorms had private bathrooms.

I leaned against the window and did not participate in a single word of the conversation. All I could think about was Sabrina.

In my past life, she had cried even harder than Mom when she reported me. She told the investigation team, "Kiara and I have been best friends for three years. Reporting her hurts me more than anyone else, but I believe cheating can't be condoned. It's unfair to the other students. I'm doing this for justice."

The moment she uttered the word "justice", a single tear rolled down her chin. The investigators were completely moved.

"What a brave child," they thought. "She's turning in her best friend for the sake of academic integrity."

I had sat beside her, shaking violently all over, but I couldn't say a single word. Now that I thought about it, she must have rehearsed that act a thousand times and had the timing of every tear calculated down to the second.

At the University of Arendale, we were assigned dorms, collected our materials, and toured the laboratories.

Emmanuel Richard, the professor in charge of showing us around, was a man in his early 40s with half-gray hair. He spoke with a slight southern accent and had a calm, gentle manner.

"You four are the first batch to arrive this year. For the next two weeks, you'll be working on projects with my research group. You'll check in every day, keep lab logs, and submit a final report at the end."

He paused, looked at the four of us, and continued, "I understand you've just finished taking the exams.

"Wait, no. You're not taking the exams; your peers are. But now that you're here, don't think about slacking off. I have zero tolerance for slackers."

A man standing next to me whispered under his breath. "Professor Richard is so strict."

I said nothing. I was glad that he was strict. The stricter he was, the stronger my proof would be.

…

June 7th was the first day of the exam.

At 8:00 am, I checked in via facial recognition at the laboratory door. At 8:30 am, I put on my lab coat and entered the lab. At 9:00 am sharp, just as millions of students across Crisea began answering their exams, I weighed samples under Professor Richard's watchful eye.

The laboratory had four security cameras covering every corner with zero blind spots. Three graduate students acting as mentors stood nearby, guiding me through the operations the whole time.

I had to sign my name in the lab logbook and record the timestamp for every step I performed.

At 10:15 am, my phone buzzed. Someone in the class group chat tagged everyone.

"Good luck on the exams! Crush that first Crisean test!"

It was followed by a flood of "Good luck!" and "Let's do it!" responses, but I didn't reply.

At 11:30 am, when the Crisean test ended, the group chat exploded with discussions about the essay question. Some said they went off-topic, and others said they did okay.

I set my test tube down and glanced at my phone.

Sabrina had posted in the group chat. "This year's exam was so tough. I barely finished the essay section."

Several classmates chimed in to agree with her.

I stared at her white cat profile picture and let out a cold laugh in my heart.

"Take your tests well, Sabrina. You're counting down your good days anyway."

After the math test in the afternoon, more discussions followed, and by the evening science test, the debate grew more intense.

I spent the entire day in the laboratory, checking in three times, writing five pages of lab logs, and getting captured on the security cameras for ten hours.

When Professor Richard checked the logs that evening, he nodded. "Kiara Callaway, right? Nice work. Your records are thorough and well organized."

"Thank you, Professor Richard."

After returning to the dorm, I took a shower and lay in bed. My roommate was asleep and snoring lightly, while I stared at the ceiling, struggling to drift off to sleep.

The whistleblower letter would be submitted tomorrow, according to the timeline of my past life.

…

June 8th was the second day of the exam.

Sabrina would walk into the office of the State Admissions Board representatives stationed at the examination hall right before the afternoon tests started. She would carry her printed whistleblower letter, with two "witnesses" tagging along.

The thought almost made me laugh.

On June 8th in my past life, I sat in the examination hall, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

But in this lifetime, I was at the University of Arendale, 125 miles away from the examination hall, armed with attendance sheets, security footage, lab logbooks, and Professor Richard's signature.

"Come on, Sabrina. I'm waiting."