I woke up in the infirmary.

The captain—the head of the program—was tearing into the drill sergeant.

Seeing that I was awake, the captain addressed me, "Ms. Blaire."

He then shoved the sergeant forward. "Miller here wrongfully accused you. I'm going to make him apologize in public to clear your name."

I kept my head down, playing the traumatized victim. "Captain, I don't need an apology. I just want a new drill sergeant."

He listened to the rumors Chloe started and decided I was a liar without verifying anything. Someone like that doesn't deserve to wear the uniform.

The captain nodded grimly. He did not even hesitate. "Done."

Miller Vance looked like a ghost. He opened his mouth to beg, but one look from the captain shut him up.

Once I was cleared to leave, the captain personally escorted me back. He cleared my name and forced the sergeant to apologize publicly.

The former drill sergeant looked like he wanted to vomit. "Ms. Blaire, I was wrong to accuse you of faking illness. I'm sorry."

I nodded, accepting his apology.

He let out a sigh of relief, thinking he was off the hook.

However, the captain's voice cut through the air like a whip. "Miller Vance, you acted without evidence and endangered a student. The order just came down. You're fired. Effective immediately."

My heart actually skipped a beat. I thought he would just get a reprimand or get sent back to base. However, fired? This would count for a dishonorable discharge. His career was over.

Miller knew it too. His shock turned to rage, but he knew he could not touch me, and he definitely could not touch the captain. Hence, he spun around and grabbed Chloe by the wrist.

"You little witch!" he screamed, shaking her arm. "If you hadn't told me she was faking it, I never would've punished her! You're the reason I've lost my job!"

Chloe looked terrified and struggled to pull away. "I don't know what you're talking about! Let go of me!"

Miller roared, "Don't lie to me! I've noticed the way you look at her since day one. You played me! You wanted me to target her!"

That statement hit the crowd like a thunderclap. Anyone who could hear Chloe's inner monologue—which, unfortunately for her, was everyone—bought it immediately.

One student muttered, "Yeah, I remember seeing Chloe glare at Sylvie. She looked like she wanted to rip her throat out."

"No wonder we've only ever heard her trash-talking Sylvie. She's totally jealous," another whispered.

The drill sergeant, remembering the malicious thoughts Chloe broadcast, snapped. He spun around and grabbed her by the neck. "You witch! Go to hell!"

The field dissolved into chaos. Thank God, the captain signaled for help. It took three guys to haul the sergeant off Chloe. Even as they dragged him away, he was still screaming, "You just wait, you little witch! This isn't over!"

Chloe's face alternated between flushed and pale. She shot me a glare, her expression screaming pure humiliation.

Inside, I was laughing. She was cracking already? We were just getting started!

The replacement drill sergeant was much nicer. He actually checked in on me, telling me to take a break if I felt faint. I just nodded and thanked him, but I did not quit. I pushed through the rest of the boot camp.

The tide had turned. The classmates who had been poisoned against me by Chloe's mental broadcasts started seeing the truth. A few even looked for me privately to apologize for accusing me of faking feeling sick earlier.

I gave them my best magnanimous smile and told them I had already forgotten about it.

I had not forgotten about Chloe, though. In my past life, she subjected me to silent treatment and total isolation. Now, it was her turn to taste the freeze-out.

Boot camp ended in a blur, and soon, we faced the day I had been dreading—the hearing for financial aid.

In my previous life, it was during this exact meeting that Chloe had screamed in her mental broadcast that I was a trust fund baby. She claimed my slippers cost five grand and that if I got the grant, I would just blow it on a new phone.

The academic advisor, Harrison Carter, had believed her lies and claimed others 'needed it more'. Just like that, he handed the money to someone else.

Back then, I was living on a hundred bucks a month. Without that grant, I had to work three jobs just to survive. Eventually, the exhaustion triggered a heart attack, and that was it for me.

I shook off the dark memory and looked up. Students were taking turns on the podium, sharing their sob stories and begging for votes.

Soon, it was my turn.

I had barely opened my mouth before Chloe's thoughts blasted through the room like a PA system.

"Here we go. Sylvie's about to play the victim. She's such a liar. She's a total trust fund baby. Her family owns, like, five rental properties. She's just pretending to be poor so she can scam the college and buy a new phone."

The atmosphere in the room curdled instantly. The sympathetic looks vanished, replaced by suspicion and hostility.

Chloe's mind would not shut up.

"Ugh, if a scammer like Sylvie gets the grant, what happens to the kids who actually need it? Without this money, some of them might have to drop out. She's literally stealing education from the poor just to feed her vanity. Doesn't she feel bad?"

Mr. Carter's expression darkened with every word, and he cut me off before I could speak.

He said coldly, "Sylvie, clearly, your family isn't struggling as much as you claim. We'll be allocating this year's grant to someone else."

I did not panic. I did not flinch. I just calmly pulled a stack of paperwork from my bag.

"Sir, these are my verified documents from social services. They prove my financial status is exactly what I say it is." I held them up. "I need this grant just as much as anyone else here."

His expression wavered, and he looked unsure.

Seizing the moment, I pulled out my phone—a cracked, second-hand brick that took a solid three minutes just to load an app. I opened my payment history.

"If you don't believe the paperwork, sir, take a look at my spending for the last six months."

I held my phone up high, scrolling slowly with my other hand so everyone could see.

One-dollar shirts, five-dollar pants, three-dollar shoes, and ten-pack socks for two dollars. The only expense over a ten dollars in my entire history was for my prepaid phone bill.

Mr. Carter stared at the screen, stunned. He clearly had not expected anyone to actually be living like this. The rest of the class looked just as shocked.

"Can you even wear a shirt that costs a dollar?" one of the other applicants blurted out.

I pointed to the shirt I was wearing. It had been washed so many times that it was practically see-through, and the sleeves were pilling badly. I nodded. "Yes, you can."

The room's energy shifted again. Their anger was not directed at me anymore, and their eyes darted toward Chloe.

Chloe's face went stiff. Then, her thoughts betrayed her again.

"Wow, I didn't think Sylvie was this manipulative! She actually faked her transaction history just for this? Too bad she's an idiot. Her shoes give her away. Those are Balents, limited edition ones. They cost a whopping eight grand!"

Immediately, every eye in the room dropped to my feet. A few students whipped out their phones, snapping photos and running image searches. When the search results confirmed Chloe's claim, the outrage returned, hotter than before.

A student yelled, "Sylvie, one pair of your shoes is worth a year of my living expenses! Why are you trying to steal money from us?"

Mr. Carter looked at me with pure disgust. "Sylvie, we have no place in this class for a student with such moral bankruptcy. You don't deserve to be here."

I kept my voice steady. "Sir, I can explain—"

"What's there to explain?" Mr. Carter cut me off, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I already checked the serial number. Those shoes are legit."

He sneered, looking me up and down. "I'm a faculty member of this college, and even I can't even afford sneakers that cost eight grand. Yet, you still have the nerve to claim you're a struggling student?"

A few of the other grant applicants chimed in, sensing blood in the water.

One said, "Seriously, Sylvie. If you're loaded, stop trying to steal our financial aid. If we don't get that grant, we'll have to drop out and flip burgers."

They circled me, blocking my exit. I felt like a gladiator about to be fed to the lions.

Over by the window, Chloe smirked. She was loving every second of this.

My expression darkened. I was trying to figure out how to explain without revealing everything when a knock echoed from the door.

A hunched, elderly woman in tattered clothes stood nervously in the doorway. She was clutching a hefty trash bag bulging with recyclables.

Grandma!

Several classmates waved their hands in front of their noses, disgusted.

"Where did this lady come from? This is a college, not a dump."

"Ugh, she smells like a landfill. Where's security? Kick her out!"

I froze for a heartbeat, then shoved past the blockade of students. My face lit up as I called out, "Grandma! How did you get here?"

The whole class whipped their heads back and forth between Grandma and me, confused.

Grandma reached into the inner pocket of her worn-out jacket and pulled out a small bag of cash. She pressed it into my hands.

It was mostly nickels, dimes, and crinkled one-dollar bills. Nothing larger than a 20-dollar bill. However, I knew what this was—it was months of Grandma's hard work, scavenging cans and cardboard to sell at the recycling center.

She said, her voice trembling, "Sylvie, when you left for college, I didn't have any money to give you. This is from selling scraps this month. You keep it for food. Don't lose it."

My throat tightened, and tears stung my eyes. I pushed the money back into her rough hands.

"Grandma, I don't need it. I applied for the financial aid grant. I'll have money soon."

Grandma's face lit up with pure relief. She shuffled over to Mr. Carter and grabbed his hand, shaking it gratefully. "You must be Sylvie's teacher, right? Thank you. Thank you for giving the grant to Sylvie."

Mr. Carter looked like he had touched something filthy, but Grandma kept going.

"Sylvie has had such a hard life. Her parents died in a car wreck when she was a baby. I raised her by picking through trash. I was so worried my scrap money wouldn't be enough to feed her, but now... Now, she can finally eat a full meal. Sir, you're a true saint."

Mr. Carter opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly, Chloe's voice rang out—not from her mouth but from inside her head.

"Oh, please. Does he actually believe this? That old hag isn't her grandmother. She's a paid actress! They don't even look alike. Sylvie really will do anything for that cash."

The whisper network started up again, confirming Chloe's toxic thoughts had taken root in the room.

"Sylvie has a pointy chin, and that old woman has a round face. They don't look related at all."

"Did she actually hire a hobo to stage a scene just to get the scholarship?"

"Rich people are the worst. The more they have, the cheaper they are."

Chloe stood in the back, gloating as everyone's suspicion turned into hostility.

Mr. Carter yanked his hand away from Grandma, wiping it on his pants. He looked at us with utter disappointment.

"Sylvie, did your parents fail to teach you about honesty? Do you want financial aid? Fine. But you should just apply through the proper channels!"

He glared at me. "Faking a transaction history wasn't enough? You even hired an actor? Do you have absolutely no respect for me?"

Grandma looked panicked, her hands trembling. "Sir... I really am Sylvie's grandma. She didn't lie to you!"

Mr. Carter ignored her, his eyes cold as they bore into me.

"Sylvie, you lie pathologically. You don't deserve to be a student at this institution." He pointed to the door. "We're expelling you. Now, get the hell out of this college."

Grandma dropped to her knees, sobbing. "Sir! Sylvie didn't lie! Please, I'm begging you, don't expel her!"

I gritted my teeth, grabbed Grandma's arm, and hauled her up. "Grandma, don't kneel to him. We're leaving."

"No!" Grandma grabbed my sleeve, tears streaming down her face. "You worked so hard to pass the entrance exams! You can't leave! If you leave, your life is over!"

Chloe's thoughts echoed in my head again. "Tsk, tsk. Did Sylvie shoot herself in the foot or what? Serves her right. Thank God, Mr. Carter isn't an idiot and saw through her little play."

Any hesitation Mr. Carter might have had evaporated. He looked at Grandma and me like we were gum stuck to his shoe.

"Two of you, grab them and throw them out. Stop them from polluting the air here."

Two burly male students stepped forward, grabbing Grandma and me to drag us out.

Just then, the doors burst open. Chancellor Alex Higgins strode in, followed by a frantic entourage.

The Mr. looked wild-eyed. "Mr. Carter! Where's Sylvie? Get her out here, now!"

Mr. Carter looked confused for a second, then he adopted a fawning smile. "Mr. Higgins! No need to dirty your hands, sir. I've already taken care of the trash. I just expelled her."

Mr. Higgins froze. His face went pale, and his voice cracked, jumping an octave. "You said... you did what to Sylvie?"

Mr. Carter puffed out his chest, looking proud. "Yes, sir. Sylvie hid her family's wealth to scam the financial aid department, and she even hired an actor to stage a scene here. This behavior is a stain on our reputation. She's not a student here anymore, so whatever she does is none of our business."

Mr. Carter was practically beaming with self-satisfaction. He was so busy gloating that he missed the fact that Mr. Higgins looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Mr. Higgins backhanded a stack of newspapers right into Mr. Carter's face. "Who gave you permission to expel her? Open your eyes and read this, you moron!"