My rich roommate not only bullied me but also robbed my orphan's scholarship. I went to the counselor to reason with her. Still, the counselor accused me of stirring up trouble and revoked my eligibility to join the council.

I took my case to the dean, but he coldly pulled out expulsion papers instead. "You dared offend the daughter of a university trustee. Did you think you could stay in university?"

They burned my parents' belongings before me and shouted, "You deserve to be an orphan! Your family must have committed countless evils—this is karma!"

Ignoring the burns on my hands, I desperately pulled a metal box from the flames. Later, I knelt in front of the military district headquarters with the iron box full of my family's military medals, shouting in grief and anger. "Take these back. Please, just give me back my family."

My grandfather defended the nation, my father guarded the frontier and my mother ran into danger when everyone else fled. My brother's badge was retired with honor and I have performed acts of valor.

I want to know what I did to deserve this "karma"?

***

After scarfing down a plain bread in the cafeteria, I returned to the dorm with three meal trays. The moment Jasmine took a bite, she threw her bowl of creamy soup in my face. "How dare you bring me cold food in the dead of winter?"

Scalded and stunned, I didn't even have time to react before my two other roommates kicked me to the floor. A storm of punches and kicks rained down on me—pain and numbness blending.

It wasn't the first time. Being an orphan made me an easy target. They'd pick on me to vent their anger whenever they were in a bad mood.

My face hit the floor, rebounded and landed back down again. The hot soup stung as it ran into my nose and mouth. I couldn't even cry. All I could do was spit out a mouthful of bloodied saliva.

Jasmine sneered, stepping on my shoulder as she reached into my pocket. "Don't you think you owe me money after ruining my meal?"

However, all she pulled out was a few crumpled bills and a neatly folded watercolor painting. "So pathetic," Jasmine sneered, while Lily beside her looked equally disgusted. "I heard she cleans toilets for part-time work and digs through trash to sell plastic bottles. It's so gross."

Jasmine smirked, unfolding the painting. She laughed out loud as soon as she saw it. It was a simple drawing of six stick figures—clearly a family portrait. She turned it toward me, her voice dripping with mockery. "Is this supposed to be your family portrait? How hilarious!"

The whole room erupted in laughter, the sharp sound piercing my ears. "Her entire family's dead and she's drawing a family portrait? What a joke. She's cursed—bringing bad luck to her dad, her mom, her entire family!"

"No wonder my boyfriend dumped me. It's all because of this jinx."

"Sharing a dorm with her is just bad luck. I can't even eat properly!"

Hearing this, Jasmine covered her mouth, pretending to stifle a laugh. "No worries! I took her scholarship. I'll treat you all to steak and a manicure later!"

"Wow!" The other two looked at her with starry-eyed admiration. "You're amazing, Jasmine!"

I struggled to lift my head, tears filling my reddened eyes as I confronted her. "The scholarship was supposed to be mine. You're already rich—why did you take it? I'll report you!"

She bent down, lightly patting my face with her hand. "The rules of this world are made by people like us, the elite. Do you understand? It won't matter even if you report me to the central authorities."

Smiling, she tore the watercolor painting to shreds. The fragments fluttered down, landing on my face. I froze in place. That painting was a picture of my family reunited, which I had dreamt of.

Still, in the harsh reality that followed, all that remained were a row of memorial portraits in the living room and cold military medals. I cried as I recreated the scene on paper, imagining myself as a happy child surrounded by family.

Now, everything I held onto had been torn to shreds by her. I struggled to get up, yelling and rushing towards Jasmine, biting her wrist.

"Ahh! You rabid dog!" she screamed, clutching her hand in pain. Without hesitation, she grabbed her shiny new iPhone and smashed it into my face over and over. Blow after blow, until the world around me spun and I collapsed to the ground again.

Jasmine stood over me, her teeth clenched in fury. "An orphan like you. Even if someone beat you to death, no one would care. Beat her to death!"

Terrified they might actually kill me, I mustered every ounce of strength I had left and bolted for the door. Blood trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision as I ran. People on the street gave me strange looks, but I didn't care. I just kept running.

I finally understood. My repeated tolerance had only resulted in escalating abuse. This time, no matter what, I had to find a counselor and demand justice for myself.

As I arrived at the office, I saw the counselor showcasing her new luxury handbag to her coworkers. I cried as I stumbled inside and yelled her name in desperation for assistance. "Ms. Cynthia."

She froze, her eyes scooting over me and then waved her hand at me like I was some pest. "Shoo, shoo! Look at the state of you. Don't dirty my new bag."

Only after she had carefully set her bag aside did she finally glance at me with annoyance. "What is it now?"

"Jasmine Zelman and her friends have been bullying me nonstop! Today, they even beat me up like this!" I said urgently, pointing at my forehead.

"Who? Jasmine?" Cynthia's eyes darted around, then she sighed. "It's normal for students to have scuffles. It's not really something teachers should get involved in."

Not get involved? I thought I'd misheard. Was this something a teacher should say? When I came to my senses, I asked again, "What about my scholarship?"

"Ms. Cynthia. That scholarship is still mine, right? No one's taken it, have they?" I held my tears and met her guilty eyes.

She pretended to be busy, took a sip of tea and spoke for a long time. "I forgot to inform you about this. Jasmine needs the scholarship more than you do."

A surge of anger rushed to my head. I felt like my entire worldview had been shattered. "Jasmine is rich! Why does she need to take a poor person's scholarship?"

"Equal opportunities. Just because someone has money doesn't mean they don't deserve a scholarship." Her tone grew increasingly impatient.

I choked on my words, "But I'm an orphan. How am I supposed to survive without the scholarship?"

A sneer crept onto her lips. "Sure. You're an orphan, but nowhere in the rules does it say scholarships are only for orphans. Do you know how many orphans there are in the world? Should we give them all money?"

Just then, the phone on her desk lit up and Cynthia instinctively tapped it. Jasmine's voice came through clearly. "Ms. Cynthia, do you like the bag my mom gave you? Oh, by the way, that girl might come running to you soon. You know what to do, right?"

Cynthia panicked and quickly tried to hang up, but it was too late—I'd heard everything. Shaking, I pointed at the designer bag on her desk. "So ... you sold me out for their bribes? You're forcing me into a corner because of some handouts from her parents?"

Cynthia's face twisted in anger when she got caught red-handed. She grabbed a book and hurled it at my head. "How dare you accuse me of such things? I'm always fair and impartial! My students would never bully anyone!"

Already weakened, I couldn't dodge the blow. The book struck me hard and I collapsed to the ground.

Cynthia looked down at me, her eyes filled with malice. "Let me give you some advice. Jasmine's family has connections. Meanwhile, you? You're just an orphan. Going up against her is a death sentence."

I lay sprawled on the ground, letting out a bitter laugh. "You'll get what's coming to you," I muttered.

Cynthia's chest heaved with anger as she returned to the desk, rummaging through the papers. Moments later, she pulled out my council membership application and tore it into pieces. "With that kind of attitude, I won't be your sponsor anymore. You don't deserve to be a member and I'll make sure you get a demerit on your record. Forget about applying for student loans in the future."

She grabbed me by the collar and threw me out of the office, sending me crashing onto the floor. My necklace snapped and the bullet casing on the chain fell to the ground.

Clink, clink, clink. The crisp sound echoed through the hallway, mournful and poignant.

I stared at the bullet casing and, at that moment, I could almost see my father's weathered face. Before departing for the battlefield, he had crafted this necklace with his hands and delicately put it around my neck.

His hand brushed my cheek as he spoke softly, "Back in the war, your grandfather fought bravely and gave his life. His remains were never recovered. This bullet casing was picked up from the battlefield by his comrades—it was the last bullet he fired in defense of our homeland. It was with me through so many victories. Today, I'm giving you this good luck charm to protect my precious child as they grow up healthy and live a happy life." My father left in his country's military uniform and returned home wrapped in his national flag.

Struggling, I crawled forward and clutched the bullet casing tightly in my hand. Sobs wracked my body as tears poured down my face.

Dad, are you crying for me too? I don't want you to win battles anymore. Can you just come back? Dad …

A pair of hands gently touched my face, wiping away my tears. I looked up to see the young teacher, Alexander Scott, gazing at me with deep concern. "Yelena, reasoning with her is useless. If this doesn't work, we'll go find Mr. Chapman."

Hope flickered in my chest as he helped me to my feet, guiding me toward the dean's office. However, just as we reached the door, we ran into the dean himself.

Alexander hurriedly explained what had happened, showing Mr. Chapman the injuries on my body. The man frowned thoughtfully. "I see. Mr. Scott, I'll handle it. You should return to your duties."

Alexander hesitated. "I'm not comfortable leaving her like this."

Mr. Chapman suddenly coughed loudly. His voice was laced with anger. "You're just an intern teacher. Focus on your own duties!"

Startled, Alexander flinched and reluctantly let go of my hand. His concern was visible in his eyes as he walked away, looking back at me every few paces. When he disappeared down the hallway, Mr. Chapman turned to me coldly. "Bullying? Do you have any proof?"

I was bewildered. Weren't these injuries all over me proof enough? Just as I was about to explain, a group of girls came giggling out of the dean's office. Jasmine, at the front, looked at me with a sly smile. "Uncle Carl, don't listen to her nonsense."

The other two girls chimed in, giggling. "Yeah, she's just bitter about not getting a scholarship and trying to drag us down with her."

Mr. Chapman's expression instantly softened as he gave Jasmine a gentle smile. "Jasmine, I've watched you grow up. Of course, I know you wouldn't do something like that."

It felt like a blow to the back of my head. I stood frozen, my heart sinking into despair. Any remaining sliver of hope was extinguished.

Mr. Chapman leaned closer, his belly brushing against me as he whispered with a disgusting smile, "Isn't this all about money? Come to my office later when no one's around and I'll give you $25000."

The rage burning inside me erupted. How dare this pretentious monster say that? I slapped him across the face and immediately called the police, but when the officers arrived, they surrounded me instead.