Benji In Pitch Perfect

My boyfriend's childhood sweetheart bound herself to a transfer system: everything she ate would be redirected straight into my stomach. She opened a streaming account and broadcast herself eating for twelve hours straight. She earned a fortune. Meanwhile, I collapsed with acute pancreatitis and was rushed to the hospital. When I explained the situation to my boyfriend, he only stared at me like I was insane. "How could something that absurd exist? If food could really be transferred, no one in the world would ever starve. You're just jealous that she's making money from streaming." After that, every time his childhood sweetheart went live, I ended up hospitalized again. I kept hovering between life and death. I sought medical help, but the doctors couldn't explain my condition. Some even wanted to commit me to a psychiatric ward. Then, one day, in order to outdo her rivals in a PK match, she devoured ten pounds of rice in a single sitting. At that very moment, my spleen and stomach ruptured, and I bled to death on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of her very first livestream. This time, I was prepared. I rushed out and bought twenty takeout meals. "This time," I said, "I'll eat first."

I was in a car accident while saving my brothers. However, instead of gratitude, they urged the doctors to amputate my legs. "Carol, we're sorry," they said through tears. "We're useless… but don't worry. Even if we have to sell our blood or our kidneys, we'll make sure you're taken care of." Right after surgery, they abandoned me in a shabby apartment. Blood seeped through the sheets as they looked at me with teary eyes—then left in a hurry, claiming they needed to earn money for my treatment. I did not want to drag them down anymore. Enduring the pain, I crawled to the rooftop of a tall building, planning to end my life. That's when I saw it—inside a luxury hotel, a grand celebration was taking place. My brothers were there doting on another girl. She was eating an extravagant cake I had never even dreamed of, wearing a designer princess gown worth a fortune, sparkling with jewels. Everyone called her the Smith family's one and only princess. They had even hired a world-class symphony orchestra to play Happy Birthday just for her. While I lay bleeding in a dingy apartment, they would not spend a few dollars on bandages for me. I watched as my eldest brother gently fed her cake, his eyes full of tenderness. "Jasmine, only you deserve to be our one and only little sister." The second brother placed a tiara on her head with care. "Even for the smallest birthday, we won't let you suffer a single moment of disappointment." The third knelt to help her into a pair of crystal shoes. "Jasmine, you're our most precious darling." Then, standing on the stage, Jasmine held up the black credit card they had gifted her and smiled sweetly. "Brothers," she said, "Carol lost her legs saving you. Maybe you should go see how she's doing?" My eldest brother let out a mocking laugh. "She's not worth it. Now that she's crippled, she'll never be able to compete with you again. She got what she deserved."

My family was supposed to be the richest of the land, yet I had to refund even a cheap delivery. Why? In my previous life, my housekeeper's daughter got her hands on a trading system. Every cent of money I spent would be hers. She started trying to guilt-trip me into donating to all the impoverished students in her school. It was charity anyway, so I signed a check worth 300 grand. The moment I did, that money became part of her savings, and the amount on my check was zero. Everyone called me names, called me a charlatan. Even the boy toy I spent good money on broke up with me. That girl used my money to donate to charities and became the kind and beautiful heiress. She told everyone I was the housekeeper's daughter instead. Furious, I grabbed my black card and started shopping like crazy. I wanted to prove I was the real heiress, but the balance in my account was cleared immediately. That girl then spent 1.2 million right away, like it was one dollar. She scoffed at me. "Don't try to act like you're rich when you're a broke loser. Your mother doesn't make enough as a housekeeper." The Internet decided to hunt me down. I could not handle the stress, and my mind broke. For some reason, my body withered away at a blistering rate. Before my father could save me, I drew my last breath. When I opened my eyes again, I returned to that fateful day. The day the housekeeper's daughter made me donate to the school.

My daughter is gravely ill, and her medical bills cost a bomb. My husband gives up on treating her. Then, he turns and runs into the arms of his childhood sweetheart, Chelsea Davies. Amid my despair, my first love, Elliot Cox, transfers five million dollars to my account. He cares for my daughter with me. However, my daughter ultimately fails to escape death. Six years later, Elliot and I have our own child. When I head to the hospital to visit one of my friends, I accidentally hear Elliot's conversation with a doctor. "You and Ms. Baxter have your own child now, Mr. Cox. What if she finds out the truth of what happened back then?" "Chelsea was gravely ill at the time; I had no choice but to pull some tricks to have the child's heart transplanted to her. Besides, Holly's pregnant again now, isn't she? It's high time she lets go and moves on." Only then do I discover that my daughter was misdiagnosed on purpose. Elliot took her heart and had it transplanted in Chelsea's body.

My boy friend Caleb Ford's childhood sweetheart, Julia Leclair, is losing her hair from chemotherapy. So, he orders me to cut mine off and make her a wig. "Julia's allergic to synthetic wigs. You've been growing your hair for ten years—it's perfect." I refuse, but his friends tie me down. Someone shaves my head to the scalp, buzzing through my thick, glossy hair until nothing's left but a butchered mess. Julia sits in her wheelchair and laughs, saying I look like a toad. Caleb smiles and nods in agreement. He adds with a chuckle, "It's just some hair. Was that really necessary?" But back when I was bullied for having uneven, choppy short hair for six straight years, it was he who stood in front of me. He had his arms spread wide as he shielded me from harm. Now he's the one wielding the blade. One by one, their little circle chimes in. They tell me not to hold a grudge against someone who's sick. Caleb snaps impatiently, "Stop trying to talk sense into her. She can get lost! Did you see that fit she threw over a few strands of hair? It's not like they won't grow back." I turn around and walk away. I never look back. Later, I hear that Caleb begs for my forgiveness by kneeling his way up 9000 steps until his knees are ruined.

After dating for seven years, I proposed a hundred and one times to my boyfriend, Jason Brown. However, he always told me that he was not ready, rejecting my proposals. This continued to my 28th birthday. In his suit pocket, I found a ring box. Thinking he was about to propose to me, I was overjoyed. However, to my horror, I saw him going down on one knee to propose to his assistant, Marcella Hopkins. Right before my eyes, he placed the ring I had yearned for so long on her finger. When one of his buddies asked what he planned to do with me, Jason wrapped his arm around his new love and chuckled. "Dude, I don't think I can bring myself to marry a woman who wants to get married that badly. She's so needy. However, if I do get a second wife, I might consider her. After all, she is hopelessly in love with me." He was sure I would wait for him, and he even placed a bet with his friends that I would crash his wedding. However, on his wedding day, I never showed up. Moments before his wedding ceremony was about to start, he suddenly noticed me, fully dressed up in a wedding gown in a separate banquet hall. Seeing me about to marry someone else, he almost went crazy.

After my third dive in search of my missing boyfriend, I suffer a miscarriage. When I wake up in the hospital and find out he's still alive, I rip out the IV and drag myself home. But as I approach the house, I overhear Beck Wilder talking to his friends. "Maren had a child with her ex-husband. Who knows if she's really over him? "I can't go through with the wedding without being sure. I'd rather set a trap to see if she'd risk everything for me." Someone hesitates. "What if she finds out you lied? She might get furious and leave you." Beck chuckles confidently. "She's a breeze to manipulate. I'll make her sign the marriage papers and host a lavish wedding. She'll be as meek as a kitten." Two weeks later, I leave the miscarriage report on the wedding dress and walk away. The once-proud heir of the Wilder family is left in tears, scouring every inch of Larkspur in desperate search of his runaway bride.

My husband and I have been married for a decade. When I finally conceive for the first time in ten years, I realize my worst enemies are my family, who all want me dead. I've made a promise to return to the fertility shrine on the mountain and fulfill my vow if things work out, but my mother-in-law deliberately messes up the cable car tickets. In the process of hiking up the mountain for two hours, I lose my baby. In the hospital, I cry to my husband about all the vicious things his mother has done to me, but he kicks me in the stomach. "I had a vasectomy a long time ago. There's no way that bastard inside you is mine!" When he hands me the proof, I'm completely speechless. I break down in tears and run back to my parents' place. Not only do my parents hire a nanny to help take care of me, but they even move out of the house so I can rest in tranquility. When I'm eight months pregnant, I overhear them whispering in the bathroom. "We can never let Gina have the baby. I don't care if it kills her—we're all screwed if the child is born!" "Relax. The doctor already told me that Gina's got leukemia from all the formaldehyde in our new house. Even the baby's deformed!" Shocked, I burst into the bathroom to confront them, but the slippery floor causes me to fall hard. Instantly, blood snakes across the tiles. As I lie there in pain, I look up and see the cold, twisted smiles on my parents' faces before taking my last breath. I cannot fathom why my family wants me dead. I thought they'd been looking forward to his baby for a decade. When I open my eyes again, I return to the very day my mother-in-law insists on taking me to the mountain.

My best friend, Sienna Monroe, who always swears she'll never marry, goes with me to the fertility clinic and suddenly snatches away the donor profile I choose. That's when I know she has come back to life too. In my previous life, I wanted a mixed-race baby, so I chose the IVF route. Sienna mocked me, saying I'd just be raising someone else's child. But two weeks later, I was taken to the royal palace of Valoria. It turned out the donor I picked was none other than the Prince of Valoria, a man of eight national lineages. He not only insisted on marrying me as his princess but also promised that our child would inherit the throne. The baby and I were cherished by the entire royal family, so much so that the jewels they draped over me nearly bent my back. Meanwhile, Sienna flaunted her extreme feminist stance and offended business partners. In the end, she was fired and blacklisted across the industry. Sienna spent all her savings on a plane ticket to attend my party, where I would introduce my baby to everyone. But when I went to welcome her, she crushed my son to death in her hands and splashed concentrated acid on me. "You don't deserve such good fortune! You worthless witch!" But when I opened my eyes again, I had gone back to the day I asked her to go with me to the fertility clinic.

During a critical heart transplant, my doctor husband insisted his intern assist despite her garish nail art compromising the sterile field. When I called her out, he abandoned the patient mid-surgery to comfort her. I begged him to return, but he snapped, "Giselle is upset. Can't you wait? This is nothing compared to her feelings." 40 minutes later, the patient bled out and died. Later, they discovered that he was our highly respected mayor and placed the blame on me. "If it weren't for you causing a scene and kicking us out of the operating room, the mayor wouldn't have bled to death. This is all your fault!" Defenseless, I was sentenced to life in prison, tortured, and died in agony. My husband and his intern walked down the aisle, enjoying their happy life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of that fateful surgery.