In my previous life, I had thought Felicity was distant from him. They rarely interacted about research, and their relationship seemed purely professional. I never suspected there was more beneath the surface.
But now I knew the truth: Felicity wasn’t just another student—she was his illegitimate daughter, secretly raised in his hometown.
When I returned to the dormitory, my roommate Nancy was already aware of the situation. While nibbling on some buffalo wings, she casually said, “Felicity is no match for you. What kind of academic work can a third-year graduate student even produce? You’ve been working toward your master’s and doctorate for eight years and have published countless papers.”
Her dining partner, Athena, chimed in, “Your supervisor dotes on you. You’re his only doctoral student, after all. He probably just wants to avoid any gossip by making this competition look fair. Don’t worry—when you win, remember to treat us to dinner!”
Their confidence was palpable, but it only deepened my inner conflict.
My family owns a business, so staying in school wasn’t a necessity for me. Yet, my parents didn’t want me to take on the challenges of the corporate world. They encouraged me to pursue academia and stay in school instead.
In my previous life, when the plagiarism accusations surfaced, I desperately tried to explain my innocence—but no one listened.
But the crushing blow came when my supervisor himself publicly declared that I had plagiarized Felicity. His words sealed my fate, leaving me to bear the shame. My academic accomplishments over the past eight years were erased, my master’s degree was revoked, and soon after, I faced something even worse.
Nancy, believing I had stolen her scholarships with plagiarized work, forced me to drink paraquat. I can still recall the unbearable, heart-wrenching pain of dying—chills run through me just thinking about it.
Felicity, a third-year graduate student under my supervisor, was quiet and reserved. Yet, she was well-liked and surrounded by friends, rarely finding herself in competition with others. In contrast, I was seen as the proud "golden girl"—born into a good family, highly capable, and determined to excel in everything I did.
Back then, I believed the supervisor’s insistence on a fair competition between us was merely to silence rumors and formalize the process. I never suspected the dark truth that lay beneath.